Keryl Raist's Blog, page 6
August 13, 2014
Shards To A Whole: Skeptical
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 367: Skeptical
Gibbs is skeptical. That's probably the best way to put it. But in the two months since he called Jenny, this is the first place she's found that she thinks might be what he's looking for in a family home.
It's big. Definitely big. And beaten up, really beaten up. He asked for big and beaten up, and it's really big and really beaten up.
Ten bedrooms, seven baths, lots of extra space (there will be no problem sticking a table big enough for twenty for Shabbos in the… empty space that could be a dining room, or living room, or something, let alone one for their current group), a good deal of land, and water access.
It's ugly as sin. Whoever designed this thing… Hell, no one designed this. No one in their right mind would design this. It probably started a someone's little (or not so little) vacation place, and then that someone (or a different someone) just kept tacking on rooms as needed.
This is the part that's in good shape.It's beaten up. Four days after Lana Turner died, Tropical Storm Tina roared in and left the place battered. Window damage, roof damage, siding torn off. One of the trees had uprooted and was blocking the driveway, another one took out a back corner of the house. But, since no one was living there at that point, no one noticed, and a full winter went by before her sons remembered they had this chunk of property in Virginia. And, remembering it, they wanted to get rid of it so they could settle her estate that much faster.
Gibbs stares at it. There are things they can do to lessen ugly, new siding, new roof (beyond what they had to fix to deal with the storm damage), new windows. But it's still shaped like a house made out of Legos by a kid.
Gibbs does not like the look of this.And the inside… water damage, weather damage… Most of it looks okay, but where the roof ripped off and the window broke is a mess. And if that's mildew and not water staining those walls, that'll be a lot of work to deal with.
Plus, it looks like no one's done much with the place since the '70s. No one's decorated, that's for sure. (Polyester shag carpeting left open to the elements for seven months is a sight Jethro never wants to see again.) Whatever this house was, it was not a valued bastion of happy family memories. At least, not any recent ones.
But as he's roaming the back he notices something, stone patio. Big one. Fire pit, two foot tall wall that works for additional seating, and something big covered with a tarp. It looks a lot newer than the rest of the house.
"What's that?"
"Not sure," Jenny says, checking her notes. "Oh. Outdoor kitchen. According to the notes, back in '08 they began to refurbish for a sale, but the sale fell through." She starts to pull the tarp off, and he quickly takes over and then feels the smile easing across his face.
It is an outdoor kitchen. It's stone, gray something or other. There's a built in (small, given the shape the rest of the house is in, likely broken) fridge, and a sink, but the main part is a huge grill, and, he smiles even wider, an oven. There's even, though it's cracked and splintered, a pizza peel on a hook on the far side.
Gibbs may not be a deeply superstitious man, but he also doesn't believe in coincidences, so, with this staring him in the face, he gets his phone out and starts taking pictures.
"Let's go through again."
Jenny shakes her head, if he wants to see the place again, she'll show him. After all, if she can get someone to take this Albatross off the Turner's hands, all the better for her and them.
This time, he gets shots of everything.
He's printing out the photos when he hears Mona hop up and head to the door, followed by the sound of it opening.
No insane barking, so it's got to be someone she approves of.
"Hi Mona." Borin's voice. He smiles at that.
"Hey."
She's in his living room a few seconds later, hugging him from behind, looking over his shoulder. "What's that?"
He turns to kiss her. "Surprise for the kids, maybe."
She squints at the shot that's printing out, perplexed on how this might be a welcome surprise for the kids. "That looks like a wall with a pretty nasty case of black mold. They pissing you off?"
He laughs. "I'm hoping it's not, but it might be." He shuffles through the shots finding one of the whole house from the outside. "Duck and Penny want to find a place where we can stay without tripping all over each other."
She looks at the shot, eyes wide. "Won't be a problem there."
"Nope. Room for all of us, the kids, any more kids they may have, and twenty-five years from now, any new kids they may bring home."
"So, a family home for you?"
"Yeah. For all of us. Home used to be NCIS, but we're not all there all the time, and even if we were, the babies wouldn't be. So, home. At least on weekends and holidays and summers and as often as we can all get there. We're already overflowing Tony and Ziva's for Shabbos, and we're tight for any sort of sit down meal here. We never all fit at Penny and Ducky's. And Tim and Abby or Breena and Jimmy can just get everyone squeezed in, now, but in ten years we'll have who knows how many kids all running around. So, home, for all of us, together."
She smiles at that. "Ducky and Penny are bankrolling it, and you're…"
"Finding the place, seeing if we can make it livable, and then in charge of getting it that way. Kids'll add muscle and sweat. Realtor seems to think this is about as good as we're going to find given what we're looking for. Less than an hour from DC, big, on the Potomac, with a pier and boathouse. Beat up shape, but that's something I want."
She looks at the shot of the whole place, thinks about the almost completely done boat in the driveway, and says, "Give you a job to do?"
"Among other things. We don't want the kids putting cash into this, but if it's beat all the hell up they can put work into it. It'll be theirs, even if they aren't bankrolling it."
She nods at that, looking through the pictures. "It's really… unique."
"Ugly."
She nods. "Yeah."
He smiles dryly. "With any luck, by the time we're done, it'll 'have character.'"
She snorts at that.
He looks at his house. "This one was ugly as sin when we got it. Turns out there was pretty under all that '70s crud."
She stares at the picture. "You think there's pretty hiding under there?"
Yeah, this is the nicest room in the place.He inclines her head in a way that says very doubtful. She's right, unless they bulldoze a bunch of it, that place'll never be pretty. "It'll be big. We'll be in one place, but everyone'll have their own room, and with my kids…" He shakes his head. "I've slept over at Tim and Abby's often enough to know you don't want to share a room with them, or be in the room next to them."
Her eyebrows rise at that.
He gives her a Yes, exactly what you're thinking is correct, they are horny and loud look. "And I've got no reason to think Jimmy and Breena or Tony and Ziva are any different."
She smiles at that, kisses him gently, nips his bottom lip, and pulls back saying, "Apples didn't fall far from the tree, or are you taking after them?"
He laughs, silently, eyes warm. He glances around, sees she's got her purse and her go bag, but didn't bring any food. "You wanna go out tonight?"
"Out?"
"Yeah, like a restaurant or something. Delivery is fine, but… maybe I like having everyone see you on my arm for a night?"
"Got a place you're thinking of showing me off?"
"You like meatloaf?"
"I've been known to eat it every now and again."
"I've got a place."
Elaine approves.
Vast, visible rays of Oh My God, Gibbs, she's PERFECT are radiating off of her as she pours more coffee and gets their orders.
"Now, I know what he wants. He's here on a Thursday night, he's looking for meatloaf. But what can I get for you? And for his friends… You got a hankering for something not on the menu, we can do it."
Borin looks over the menu. She does eat meatloaf on occasion, but she's got to be in the right mood for it, and right now, she's not.
"Bacon cheeseburger, fries."
"Sure. Rare?"
That surprises Borin. "You serve rare hamburgers?"
Elaine smiles, very satisfied. "Grind our own beef, to order. Takes longer, but you can order rare anything here and won't get sick."
"Yes, I'd like a rare hamburger. Haven't had a rare burger in forever."
Elaine smiles. "Back in a bit."
Borin looks at Gibbs. "This who you're showing me off to?"
He nods, sipping his coffee. "Best comfort food in DC, too. Once Elaine knows you, you don't have to order. She sees you pull in, and by the time you're sitting down she's already got Joe, her husband, cooking it. And she always knows what you want. You might not, but she does."
"And on Thursdays you want meatloaf?"
"Today's special. Try some of mine, you'll know why."
"That why your retirement party was here?"
"One reason. Kids knew this was one of the places I'd put up with. Wouldn't have been true for a lot of other places. Elaine and Joe would have been invited to the party, which meant closing up shop, so might as well have it here and let them make some money, maybe get some new customers."
That makes sense to Borin. She takes another sip of her coffee, thinking about the house.
"They really are 'the kids' now, aren't they?"
He nods his head. "Got asked if Tim was mine on Sunday, said yes without thinking about it."
She smiles at that. "What's he think about that?"
"When I was hurt, out of it, the docs asked who he was, he said he was my son. Right now he and Abby are my next-of-kin. They and Ziva are more mine than the others. Abby's parents are dead, so are Ziva's. Tim'd be better off is his were. So, it's more whatever it is, with them. But they're all my kids. Some of them have some other parents, too. Breena's not less mine because both of her parents are alive and well and actually good at being parents."
"Sharing them?"
"Yeah."
"So, who was asking if Tim was your kid?"
And while they wait for dinner he tells her about adventures in dealing with Ed.
The second time Gibbs shows Ducky and Penny a stack of pictures it's just the one place.
This time Ducky and Penny are a lot happier with the results.
"It's in awfully rough shape," Gibbs says by way of warning.
"And yet you've already gone to see it?" Ducky asks.
"Yeah."
"Can we see it?" Penny asks.
"As of this morning, no one's placed a bid on it. It's an hour ten from here, if traffic cooperates, closer to forty-five minutes if I drive it."
"We'd prefer to get there alive," Ducky adds, dryly.
Gibbs acknowledges that with a head tilt. "If you're free, we can see it tomorrow."
"What else would I be doing?" Ducky may be doing better at adjusting to retired life than Gibbs is, but that's not exactly saying much. In June a new semester begins at American, and as the spouse of a Professor he can take whatever classes he wants. He's looking forward to that. Been a long time since he's done anything with Classical Greek, and there's two high-level musical theory seminars that have piqued his interest. They're also talking about possibly letting him teach a class or two on criminal pathology, he's obviously qualified for the job, and that intrigues him, as well.
But June is still two months off.
Gibbs gives him a look. "You weren't the one I was asking, Duck. Got class, Professor Langston?"
"I have an early seminar on Fridays, but after ten I'm free until Shabbos."
"Then we'll pick you up at American and go from there."
"How's the other half of the hunt going?" Gibbs asks several minutes later after they've got the details of who is driving out of the way.
"Slowly," Penny replies. "I'm getting to know some interesting people, but so far…" She trails off and looks at Ducky. Gibbs can feel there's something the two of them have talked about and wanted to hold off on mentioning until they were alone with him.
"Jethro, are you sure you're set on this plan?" Ducky asks.
"Yes." Of course he's sure. Why would he not be sure?
They both look at each other.
"Ah." Ducky says, delicately.
"Ah? 'Ah' what?"
"Do you think it's wise to simultaneously be starting up a relationship with the Coast Guard's Head of the Chesapeake Division while trying to work on smuggling, by sea, illegal aliens into the country?"
"Ah." Yes, that's a point. And that's something he's been working really hard on not thinking about. "I know."
"Jethro, we want you to be happy. We're behind you on what you want to do with these girls," Penny says. "But we don't see how sleeping with the head of the local CGIS is going to work well for that."
Jethro could, if he wasn't feeling so defensive, actually sit down and think about this, but he is feeling defensive, so he shoots back with, "How did sleeping with a four star Admiral work for your peace activism?"
Penny inclines her head. That's a point. And she can see what Jethro's doing, that this is two things he wants clashing and he's trying to not really deal with it. "I'll give you that was tense. But neither of us were looking a prison time for what we were doing." Jethro just stares at her, remembering something she said about the occasional leaked detail, and she knows he's remembering it. "Okay, point taken."
"I'm not saying anything to her until I can't not, and then… I can't imagine this would be a problem for her."
Penny's just looking at him, letting those words just sit there. One of the things she knows from very long association with people who are convinced they're in the right is that they have a very hard time understanding how anyone else might disagree with them.
He doesn't budge on it, so Penny says, "She's the Coast Guard, Jethro, having a problem with stuff like this is her job."
"He was an Admiral, having a problem with leaking stuff was his."
Ducky's listening to this quietly.
Penny sighs. She can see Jethro's got his wall up on this, so she pulls back and tries a different tact. "I had more than twenty-five years of marriage with him before we got there. I knew that man in and out and through all things, and he knew me the same way. In that we were married, we couldn't be forced to testify against each other. In that he was an Admiral, he was above suspicion. We knew we could get away with it clean. You and Borin are none of those things."
That hits. Hits him hard. Hits him so he can't shy away from it or try to shift what she's saying away from the point. "Fuck." He barely puts any voice into it, just mouths it really. The heart wants what it wants. It wants Borin, and it wants to be able to find girls in trouble and give them a better life. It wants to not just save lives but offer lives worth living.
And it wants a home, that it's starting to imagine with a woman who gets the job and the need to do it and who likes bourbon and steaks by the fire. "Fuck." Little louder this time. Because Penny and Ducky are right, and these two sides are at odds with each other. He doesn't know why she ended up at the Coast Guard, not specifically, not yet… And just because this is a no brainer to him, doesn't mean it's one for her.
If it's just the job, just going after killers, she probably won't have an issue with what he wants to do. If it's about service to the country, if it's about protecting the borders she may. FUCK.
"We don't even know if we'll find someone, yet."
He sees the look Penny and Ducky share.
"That does not mean you stop looking for someone. If…" He licks his lips. If it's the right thing to do, and he's sure it is, then he can't be with her if she doesn't agree. "If Borin can't be okay with this, then she's not the one for me. That's just how it is. But if there's nothing to be okay with, then…"
"Hedging your bets, Jethro?" Ducky asks.
"Why not? I'm allowed to, right? I've borrowed more than enough trouble over the years, maybe I can put this one off until I've actually got some trouble to borrow?"
"Okay." Ducky and Penny can both see that he won't, can't just let it rest. He wants to. Wants to pretend it's not there, but in that they've actually spoken to him about it, he can't, not anymore.
"See the place tomorrow?" Jethro asks, again, getting them off of Borin. They both nod.
"Rough." Ducky says, as they walk around the outside.
Lana's sons hadn't wanted to put the money or effort into fixing the place up. They just wanted to get rid of it and get her estate settled as quickly as possible. (Something about how getting rid of the property would mean that all of her holdings would be in Maryland, and that would streamline something with the taxes… Gibbs was paying significantly more attention to the house than what Jenny was saying about the Turner family.)
It was a big, sprawling, something. Might have been a Cape Cod style house originally. But over time a lot of different wings and rooms got added onto it. Now it was two, or three, and in one spot where there was both attic and basement, four floors of rooms spreading off a huge, two story kitchen-living area wrapped around a massive, open to both sides, stone fireplace.
It was ten bedrooms, with a master suite on the first floor, and an in-law suite in the basement.
It was dull, blue weather-beaten wood siding on the outside, grimy gray trim, tarps covering some of the roof and several windows, three acres of lawn that hadn't seen a mower in months, another three acres of woods, and a path down to a small beach, boathouse, and pier leading on the Potomac.
Inside it was… depending on which part you were in, wood and stone floors, cool white (where there wasn't water staining and possibly mildew) walls, and warm, golden oak trim. It was two spacious suites (shag carpeting and fake oak wood paneling), and eight more bedrooms ranging from huge echoing squares of space (one with mirrors on the ceiling) to one small octagonal one, with floor to ceiling windows on five sides. Bathrooms ranged from copious space with Jacuzzi tubs and good light to tiny, dank closets tiled in avocado and bubblegum pink. It was close to 5,000 feet, plenty of room for nine (and Gibbs hopes, ten) adults and an indeterminate number of children with them.
Inside it was also water damaged from the storm and the winter that came after, hardwood floors rotting, drywall Jethro knew was going to have to come down because it's falling apart, and fake oak paneling that was going to have to come down because it's so ugly it's making his skin crawl.
But the bones, and the parts that had weathered the storm… He turns to Ducky and Penny and asks, "So, is it home?"
Penny rests her hand on the fireplace in the center of the main living space. It's slate and granite, gray, cool under her touch, just about at her eye-level is a mantle piece, also in warm oak, that wraps all the way around. There's room for a lot of memories on that mantle, a lot of pictures.
That buffalo head's the first thing that's going to go. And above it, the chimney goes straight up the ceiling fifteen feet above their heads.
"I think the big version of our crest goes there."
Ducky nods, pointing in front of it. "Dining table here?"
Penny smiles. "I think so. How much effort is it going to take to get this place livable?"
That's a real sticking point. Jethro shrugs. "This is more than I can just do on my own. This is ask the rest of them if they're willing to put some real time into it before making a bid. This is you," he's looking at Ducky, "and I have something to do every day for the next three months, at least, and that might just be tear down." Gibbs looks a little uncomfortable with it, but… "Ed and Senior offered to help with the building on Tony's place. Supposedly they know what they're doing. I've seen Breena handle drywall, so Ed does know what he's doing, 'cause he taught her how to do it right. Not sure about Senior. If we can wrangle them into it, we should take the help. And if…" he pointed to a discolored smear along the far wall, "that's mold and not just water staining, this'll be an even bigger and more expensive project."
"Then tonight at Shabbos, we shall talk," Ducky says.
Next
Chapter 367: Skeptical
Gibbs is skeptical. That's probably the best way to put it. But in the two months since he called Jenny, this is the first place she's found that she thinks might be what he's looking for in a family home.
It's big. Definitely big. And beaten up, really beaten up. He asked for big and beaten up, and it's really big and really beaten up.
Ten bedrooms, seven baths, lots of extra space (there will be no problem sticking a table big enough for twenty for Shabbos in the… empty space that could be a dining room, or living room, or something, let alone one for their current group), a good deal of land, and water access.
It's ugly as sin. Whoever designed this thing… Hell, no one designed this. No one in their right mind would design this. It probably started a someone's little (or not so little) vacation place, and then that someone (or a different someone) just kept tacking on rooms as needed.
This is the part that's in good shape.It's beaten up. Four days after Lana Turner died, Tropical Storm Tina roared in and left the place battered. Window damage, roof damage, siding torn off. One of the trees had uprooted and was blocking the driveway, another one took out a back corner of the house. But, since no one was living there at that point, no one noticed, and a full winter went by before her sons remembered they had this chunk of property in Virginia. And, remembering it, they wanted to get rid of it so they could settle her estate that much faster.Gibbs stares at it. There are things they can do to lessen ugly, new siding, new roof (beyond what they had to fix to deal with the storm damage), new windows. But it's still shaped like a house made out of Legos by a kid.
Gibbs does not like the look of this.And the inside… water damage, weather damage… Most of it looks okay, but where the roof ripped off and the window broke is a mess. And if that's mildew and not water staining those walls, that'll be a lot of work to deal with.Plus, it looks like no one's done much with the place since the '70s. No one's decorated, that's for sure. (Polyester shag carpeting left open to the elements for seven months is a sight Jethro never wants to see again.) Whatever this house was, it was not a valued bastion of happy family memories. At least, not any recent ones.
But as he's roaming the back he notices something, stone patio. Big one. Fire pit, two foot tall wall that works for additional seating, and something big covered with a tarp. It looks a lot newer than the rest of the house.
"What's that?"
"Not sure," Jenny says, checking her notes. "Oh. Outdoor kitchen. According to the notes, back in '08 they began to refurbish for a sale, but the sale fell through." She starts to pull the tarp off, and he quickly takes over and then feels the smile easing across his face.
It is an outdoor kitchen. It's stone, gray something or other. There's a built in (small, given the shape the rest of the house is in, likely broken) fridge, and a sink, but the main part is a huge grill, and, he smiles even wider, an oven. There's even, though it's cracked and splintered, a pizza peel on a hook on the far side.Gibbs may not be a deeply superstitious man, but he also doesn't believe in coincidences, so, with this staring him in the face, he gets his phone out and starts taking pictures.
"Let's go through again."
Jenny shakes her head, if he wants to see the place again, she'll show him. After all, if she can get someone to take this Albatross off the Turner's hands, all the better for her and them.
This time, he gets shots of everything.
He's printing out the photos when he hears Mona hop up and head to the door, followed by the sound of it opening.
No insane barking, so it's got to be someone she approves of.
"Hi Mona." Borin's voice. He smiles at that.
"Hey."
She's in his living room a few seconds later, hugging him from behind, looking over his shoulder. "What's that?"
He turns to kiss her. "Surprise for the kids, maybe."
She squints at the shot that's printing out, perplexed on how this might be a welcome surprise for the kids. "That looks like a wall with a pretty nasty case of black mold. They pissing you off?"
He laughs. "I'm hoping it's not, but it might be." He shuffles through the shots finding one of the whole house from the outside. "Duck and Penny want to find a place where we can stay without tripping all over each other."
She looks at the shot, eyes wide. "Won't be a problem there."
"Nope. Room for all of us, the kids, any more kids they may have, and twenty-five years from now, any new kids they may bring home."
"So, a family home for you?"
"Yeah. For all of us. Home used to be NCIS, but we're not all there all the time, and even if we were, the babies wouldn't be. So, home. At least on weekends and holidays and summers and as often as we can all get there. We're already overflowing Tony and Ziva's for Shabbos, and we're tight for any sort of sit down meal here. We never all fit at Penny and Ducky's. And Tim and Abby or Breena and Jimmy can just get everyone squeezed in, now, but in ten years we'll have who knows how many kids all running around. So, home, for all of us, together."
She smiles at that. "Ducky and Penny are bankrolling it, and you're…"
"Finding the place, seeing if we can make it livable, and then in charge of getting it that way. Kids'll add muscle and sweat. Realtor seems to think this is about as good as we're going to find given what we're looking for. Less than an hour from DC, big, on the Potomac, with a pier and boathouse. Beat up shape, but that's something I want."
She looks at the shot of the whole place, thinks about the almost completely done boat in the driveway, and says, "Give you a job to do?"
"Among other things. We don't want the kids putting cash into this, but if it's beat all the hell up they can put work into it. It'll be theirs, even if they aren't bankrolling it."
She nods at that, looking through the pictures. "It's really… unique."
"Ugly."
She nods. "Yeah."
He smiles dryly. "With any luck, by the time we're done, it'll 'have character.'"
She snorts at that.
He looks at his house. "This one was ugly as sin when we got it. Turns out there was pretty under all that '70s crud."
She stares at the picture. "You think there's pretty hiding under there?"
Yeah, this is the nicest room in the place.He inclines her head in a way that says very doubtful. She's right, unless they bulldoze a bunch of it, that place'll never be pretty. "It'll be big. We'll be in one place, but everyone'll have their own room, and with my kids…" He shakes his head. "I've slept over at Tim and Abby's often enough to know you don't want to share a room with them, or be in the room next to them."Her eyebrows rise at that.
He gives her a Yes, exactly what you're thinking is correct, they are horny and loud look. "And I've got no reason to think Jimmy and Breena or Tony and Ziva are any different."
She smiles at that, kisses him gently, nips his bottom lip, and pulls back saying, "Apples didn't fall far from the tree, or are you taking after them?"
He laughs, silently, eyes warm. He glances around, sees she's got her purse and her go bag, but didn't bring any food. "You wanna go out tonight?"
"Out?"
"Yeah, like a restaurant or something. Delivery is fine, but… maybe I like having everyone see you on my arm for a night?"
"Got a place you're thinking of showing me off?"
"You like meatloaf?"
"I've been known to eat it every now and again."
"I've got a place."
Elaine approves.
Vast, visible rays of Oh My God, Gibbs, she's PERFECT are radiating off of her as she pours more coffee and gets their orders.
"Now, I know what he wants. He's here on a Thursday night, he's looking for meatloaf. But what can I get for you? And for his friends… You got a hankering for something not on the menu, we can do it."
Borin looks over the menu. She does eat meatloaf on occasion, but she's got to be in the right mood for it, and right now, she's not.
"Bacon cheeseburger, fries."
"Sure. Rare?"
That surprises Borin. "You serve rare hamburgers?"
Elaine smiles, very satisfied. "Grind our own beef, to order. Takes longer, but you can order rare anything here and won't get sick."
"Yes, I'd like a rare hamburger. Haven't had a rare burger in forever."
Elaine smiles. "Back in a bit."
Borin looks at Gibbs. "This who you're showing me off to?"
He nods, sipping his coffee. "Best comfort food in DC, too. Once Elaine knows you, you don't have to order. She sees you pull in, and by the time you're sitting down she's already got Joe, her husband, cooking it. And she always knows what you want. You might not, but she does."
"And on Thursdays you want meatloaf?"
"Today's special. Try some of mine, you'll know why."
"That why your retirement party was here?"
"One reason. Kids knew this was one of the places I'd put up with. Wouldn't have been true for a lot of other places. Elaine and Joe would have been invited to the party, which meant closing up shop, so might as well have it here and let them make some money, maybe get some new customers."
That makes sense to Borin. She takes another sip of her coffee, thinking about the house.
"They really are 'the kids' now, aren't they?"
He nods his head. "Got asked if Tim was mine on Sunday, said yes without thinking about it."
She smiles at that. "What's he think about that?"
"When I was hurt, out of it, the docs asked who he was, he said he was my son. Right now he and Abby are my next-of-kin. They and Ziva are more mine than the others. Abby's parents are dead, so are Ziva's. Tim'd be better off is his were. So, it's more whatever it is, with them. But they're all my kids. Some of them have some other parents, too. Breena's not less mine because both of her parents are alive and well and actually good at being parents."
"Sharing them?"
"Yeah."
"So, who was asking if Tim was your kid?"
And while they wait for dinner he tells her about adventures in dealing with Ed.
The second time Gibbs shows Ducky and Penny a stack of pictures it's just the one place.
This time Ducky and Penny are a lot happier with the results.
"It's in awfully rough shape," Gibbs says by way of warning.
"And yet you've already gone to see it?" Ducky asks.
"Yeah."
"Can we see it?" Penny asks.
"As of this morning, no one's placed a bid on it. It's an hour ten from here, if traffic cooperates, closer to forty-five minutes if I drive it."
"We'd prefer to get there alive," Ducky adds, dryly.
Gibbs acknowledges that with a head tilt. "If you're free, we can see it tomorrow."
"What else would I be doing?" Ducky may be doing better at adjusting to retired life than Gibbs is, but that's not exactly saying much. In June a new semester begins at American, and as the spouse of a Professor he can take whatever classes he wants. He's looking forward to that. Been a long time since he's done anything with Classical Greek, and there's two high-level musical theory seminars that have piqued his interest. They're also talking about possibly letting him teach a class or two on criminal pathology, he's obviously qualified for the job, and that intrigues him, as well.
But June is still two months off.
Gibbs gives him a look. "You weren't the one I was asking, Duck. Got class, Professor Langston?"
"I have an early seminar on Fridays, but after ten I'm free until Shabbos."
"Then we'll pick you up at American and go from there."
"How's the other half of the hunt going?" Gibbs asks several minutes later after they've got the details of who is driving out of the way.
"Slowly," Penny replies. "I'm getting to know some interesting people, but so far…" She trails off and looks at Ducky. Gibbs can feel there's something the two of them have talked about and wanted to hold off on mentioning until they were alone with him.
"Jethro, are you sure you're set on this plan?" Ducky asks.
"Yes." Of course he's sure. Why would he not be sure?
They both look at each other.
"Ah." Ducky says, delicately.
"Ah? 'Ah' what?"
"Do you think it's wise to simultaneously be starting up a relationship with the Coast Guard's Head of the Chesapeake Division while trying to work on smuggling, by sea, illegal aliens into the country?"
"Ah." Yes, that's a point. And that's something he's been working really hard on not thinking about. "I know."
"Jethro, we want you to be happy. We're behind you on what you want to do with these girls," Penny says. "But we don't see how sleeping with the head of the local CGIS is going to work well for that."
Jethro could, if he wasn't feeling so defensive, actually sit down and think about this, but he is feeling defensive, so he shoots back with, "How did sleeping with a four star Admiral work for your peace activism?"
Penny inclines her head. That's a point. And she can see what Jethro's doing, that this is two things he wants clashing and he's trying to not really deal with it. "I'll give you that was tense. But neither of us were looking a prison time for what we were doing." Jethro just stares at her, remembering something she said about the occasional leaked detail, and she knows he's remembering it. "Okay, point taken."
"I'm not saying anything to her until I can't not, and then… I can't imagine this would be a problem for her."
Penny's just looking at him, letting those words just sit there. One of the things she knows from very long association with people who are convinced they're in the right is that they have a very hard time understanding how anyone else might disagree with them.
He doesn't budge on it, so Penny says, "She's the Coast Guard, Jethro, having a problem with stuff like this is her job."
"He was an Admiral, having a problem with leaking stuff was his."
Ducky's listening to this quietly.
Penny sighs. She can see Jethro's got his wall up on this, so she pulls back and tries a different tact. "I had more than twenty-five years of marriage with him before we got there. I knew that man in and out and through all things, and he knew me the same way. In that we were married, we couldn't be forced to testify against each other. In that he was an Admiral, he was above suspicion. We knew we could get away with it clean. You and Borin are none of those things."
That hits. Hits him hard. Hits him so he can't shy away from it or try to shift what she's saying away from the point. "Fuck." He barely puts any voice into it, just mouths it really. The heart wants what it wants. It wants Borin, and it wants to be able to find girls in trouble and give them a better life. It wants to not just save lives but offer lives worth living.
And it wants a home, that it's starting to imagine with a woman who gets the job and the need to do it and who likes bourbon and steaks by the fire. "Fuck." Little louder this time. Because Penny and Ducky are right, and these two sides are at odds with each other. He doesn't know why she ended up at the Coast Guard, not specifically, not yet… And just because this is a no brainer to him, doesn't mean it's one for her.
If it's just the job, just going after killers, she probably won't have an issue with what he wants to do. If it's about service to the country, if it's about protecting the borders she may. FUCK.
"We don't even know if we'll find someone, yet."
He sees the look Penny and Ducky share.
"That does not mean you stop looking for someone. If…" He licks his lips. If it's the right thing to do, and he's sure it is, then he can't be with her if she doesn't agree. "If Borin can't be okay with this, then she's not the one for me. That's just how it is. But if there's nothing to be okay with, then…"
"Hedging your bets, Jethro?" Ducky asks.
"Why not? I'm allowed to, right? I've borrowed more than enough trouble over the years, maybe I can put this one off until I've actually got some trouble to borrow?"
"Okay." Ducky and Penny can both see that he won't, can't just let it rest. He wants to. Wants to pretend it's not there, but in that they've actually spoken to him about it, he can't, not anymore.
"See the place tomorrow?" Jethro asks, again, getting them off of Borin. They both nod.
"Rough." Ducky says, as they walk around the outside.
Lana's sons hadn't wanted to put the money or effort into fixing the place up. They just wanted to get rid of it and get her estate settled as quickly as possible. (Something about how getting rid of the property would mean that all of her holdings would be in Maryland, and that would streamline something with the taxes… Gibbs was paying significantly more attention to the house than what Jenny was saying about the Turner family.)
It was a big, sprawling, something. Might have been a Cape Cod style house originally. But over time a lot of different wings and rooms got added onto it. Now it was two, or three, and in one spot where there was both attic and basement, four floors of rooms spreading off a huge, two story kitchen-living area wrapped around a massive, open to both sides, stone fireplace.
It was ten bedrooms, with a master suite on the first floor, and an in-law suite in the basement.
It was dull, blue weather-beaten wood siding on the outside, grimy gray trim, tarps covering some of the roof and several windows, three acres of lawn that hadn't seen a mower in months, another three acres of woods, and a path down to a small beach, boathouse, and pier leading on the Potomac.
Inside it was… depending on which part you were in, wood and stone floors, cool white (where there wasn't water staining and possibly mildew) walls, and warm, golden oak trim. It was two spacious suites (shag carpeting and fake oak wood paneling), and eight more bedrooms ranging from huge echoing squares of space (one with mirrors on the ceiling) to one small octagonal one, with floor to ceiling windows on five sides. Bathrooms ranged from copious space with Jacuzzi tubs and good light to tiny, dank closets tiled in avocado and bubblegum pink. It was close to 5,000 feet, plenty of room for nine (and Gibbs hopes, ten) adults and an indeterminate number of children with them.Inside it was also water damaged from the storm and the winter that came after, hardwood floors rotting, drywall Jethro knew was going to have to come down because it's falling apart, and fake oak paneling that was going to have to come down because it's so ugly it's making his skin crawl.
But the bones, and the parts that had weathered the storm… He turns to Ducky and Penny and asks, "So, is it home?"
Penny rests her hand on the fireplace in the center of the main living space. It's slate and granite, gray, cool under her touch, just about at her eye-level is a mantle piece, also in warm oak, that wraps all the way around. There's room for a lot of memories on that mantle, a lot of pictures.
That buffalo head's the first thing that's going to go. And above it, the chimney goes straight up the ceiling fifteen feet above their heads."I think the big version of our crest goes there."
Ducky nods, pointing in front of it. "Dining table here?"
Penny smiles. "I think so. How much effort is it going to take to get this place livable?"
That's a real sticking point. Jethro shrugs. "This is more than I can just do on my own. This is ask the rest of them if they're willing to put some real time into it before making a bid. This is you," he's looking at Ducky, "and I have something to do every day for the next three months, at least, and that might just be tear down." Gibbs looks a little uncomfortable with it, but… "Ed and Senior offered to help with the building on Tony's place. Supposedly they know what they're doing. I've seen Breena handle drywall, so Ed does know what he's doing, 'cause he taught her how to do it right. Not sure about Senior. If we can wrangle them into it, we should take the help. And if…" he pointed to a discolored smear along the far wall, "that's mold and not just water staining, this'll be an even bigger and more expensive project."
"Then tonight at Shabbos, we shall talk," Ducky says.
Next
Shards To A Whole: Sons-In-Law
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 366: Sons-In-Law
They're wrapping up Sunday dinner when Amy's boyfriend Collin asks Jimmy, "Can I come to Bootcamp with you guys?"
"Uh..." Jimmy glances at Tim and Gibbs who both nod. "Yeah, sure."
"Cool." Collin's grinning at them. "Used to do MMA in college. Haven't found a group around here I really like. They're either way too much kill everyone or too into proper form. Where do you fight?"
Jimmy gives him the address for the Navy Yard.
"Okay. I'll follow you guys there."
"Do you have gear?"
"Yeah. Amy said Breena said you'd probably be cool with me joining in."
"Ah." Jimmy nods. As soon as Collin's in his car he quietly says to Gibbs and Tim. "What the hell was that?"
Gibbs grins at him before slipping into his own car, and says, door open. "That's a guy contemplating becoming your brother-in-law. He's about to pull an end run around Ed."
Collin actually can fight. In an academic, never-done-it-in-a-life-or-death-situation sort of way. (He runs his own graphic design business, so it's not like pounding on people is part of his job description.) So, honestly, he's pretty even with Jimmy, who's also never fought for real, and not too far behind Tim, who's never done it with his fists.
Real danger adds an extra edge to your skills, and Collin doesn't have that.
What he does have is he's ten years younger than Tim and Jimmy, five years younger than Ziva, and really, really quick.
He's actually making Ziva sweat, which is amusing to all of the guys. (She still won. Five years and fast doesn't win over Mossad-trained and does this for real, but it was more of a workout one on one than she's had in a long time.)
So, it was fun, and Collin is a pleasant companion, pretty quiet, focused, making sure that he's not annoying anyone.
Once they are all showered and dressed again, he says, "That was fun. Can I buy you all something to drink." Ziva and Tony demur, their no-longer-missing twin is proving to be unreasonably quiet, and they're going to take another swing at breaking him.
Which is how, ten minutes later, Tim, Jimmy, Gibbs, and Collin are outside, milling around Seth's coffee cart, letting Collin hand over drinks, and getting ready to really talk to him.
Once handed out, they're sitting in the shade, enjoying bright sunshine and a warm April day.
Collin takes a sip of his iced coffee and says to Jimmy, "So, I don't suppose there's some magic formula for making Ed like me?"
Jimmy laughs. "If you find it, let me know?" He shakes his head. "Being worth a few million dollars and signing pre-nup saying that Amy gets all of it if you two ever split up might do it."
"Got a few million I can have?"
"Amazingly enough, I'm all tapped out on millions right now."
"Yeah, figured that. Is it worth it? I mean, all three of you know him better than I do, and he seems to actually like you," he says to Gibbs. "I love Amy, but…"
Jimmy nods again. "Yeah, 'but.' I know all about 'but.' I spent a long time thinking about that before I asked Breena to marry me. If you love her. Really love her. Then yes. But this isn't light love, or cute love. If you have a good, strong, healthy relationship, he's going to be a stressor, and if you've got a rocky one, he'll break it. It really does have to be you and her, back to back, able to take on all comers."
Collin nods at that. "I do love her."
"Good," Gibbs says. "He's protecting his girls. Finally started warming up to Jimmy a bit when he figured out that Jimmy wasn't going anywhere and he had the balls to keep his girls safe. He respects strength and he respects money, because they represent a safe, secure life for his daughter."
"And I was light on both of them when Breena and I started dating."
"Even if you had piles of money and used to be a drill sergeant, he still wasn't going to like you," Tim says.
"True. And he's not going to love you, Collin, either. Because both of us mean that he's not his little girl's number one man anymore."
"Great." Collin's not thrilled by that. "She really loves him."
"He's her dad," Tim says. "And the more I learn about that family, the more I see that if there's one thing Ed Slater ever did right, it was raise three amazing daughters. They all adore him, and not in a spoiled-brat,-sucking-up-to-daddy-for-presents sort of way, but in a he-provided-them-with-all-the-support-they-needed-to-become-brilliant-women sort of way."
Jimmy nods along with that. "Complete son-of-a-bitch, to me, and you, and any other poor bastard who marries one of them, but to them, best dad ever."
Collin thinks about that.
Jimmy does, too. "When it comes down to it, you've got to be sure that Amy does chose you. Breena picked me over Ed. If it ever comes down to me or him, she'll back me. Having to pick'll break her heart, but she'll back me. And he has tested it to make sure. Part of our wedding being so stressful was him asking every ten minutes if she really wanted to do this, and how she could back out at any time, including while he was walking her down the aisle." Tim hadn't known that and he winces at it. "But she picked me. She picked me even when I asked her to postpone the party part of the wedding. If you and Amy don't have that, he'll kill your relationship. You've got to love her enough to put up with him. She's got to love you enough to draw the line in the sand and tell him you're not going anywhere, so he better get used to you."
"Okay." Collin looks, determined is probably the best way to put it, as he drinks his coffee.
"Look, only reason I'm going to say anything about this is because you're here and you're asking. Breena and I got married before we lived together. That was us, and it worked for us. This one," he points to Tim, "lived with Abby for…"
"Year and a half."
"Year and half, before they got married, and I helped them move in, so it's not like I've got a problem with it. But this is your acid test. She wants you. She wants Daddy happy. She can't have both, so she's fooling around trying to hold it as long as she can by lying to him. If she's not willing to go with you and tell Ed you're living together, and take the shit storm that is going to come upon both of you from him, pack you stuff and move out. She doesn't have your back, not the way you need. Not the way you want if you're serious about being married forever.
"And don't dither about it. I had to threaten to beat the shit out of the man to get him to treat me like a human. He drops by to visit, notices you live there, he's going to understand that as you don't have the balls to talk to him about it and he will never offer you a dime's worth of respect."
Gibbs nods. "And you won't deserve it, either. You're sticking around, you're looking to join his family, you talk to him."
Tim can see that startles Collin. "It's not an old-fashioned he owns her sort of thing. You don't ask for her, because she doesn't belong to him. But you do talk to him. It's just polite. It's showing him that you do have the strength to sit down, look him in the eye, and prove to him you've thought about his daughter's future enough to have a plan. A lot of hard things are going to happen in your life, and if you can't handle her Dad, a man who loves her and wants what's best for her, how are you going to do with people who genuinely want ill for her? He loves her. He doesn't want her getting hurt or hooking up with a loser, so you show up and prove you aren't one."
"And then he laughs until he cries, tells you over his dead body, and spends the rest of his life annoying you, but, still… you do it anyway. We all did. It wasn't fun. None of us liked it—"
"I thought it was fun." Tim adds.
"That's because you talked to him." Jimmy replies.
Collin's looking from Tim to Gibbs, really confused. "Wait, isn't he your dad?" They don't really clarify exactly how the McGee branch of the family is related to each other. The larger Slater-clan just has them all classified as 'Jimmy's friends.'
"Yes," Gibbs says. Collin does not appear to find that answer useful for his real question, namely, why was he asking you? "And if you spend ten years working for Ed, save his life several times, always have his back, when he'll say 'yes' without thinking about it if someone asks him if you're his kid, you too can enjoy Tim's level of just show up, pull out the ring, and say, 'So, you giving her away or what?'"
"I did not do that."
Gibbs flashes him his amused look. "You sure as hell didn't ask."
"No. You'd have laughed if I asked." Gibbs nods. "And Abby would have been pissed off about it. 'Cause you don't own her." Gibbs nods at that, too. "But I did show up, and I did show him the ring, because… Because I wanted to, really. It's a cool ring. But, if I hadn't worked for him for ten years and if he didn't know about my writing, I would have shown it to him as a way of saying, 'Look I'm serious about this and I've got the sort of cash to support her and your grandchildren.'"
Jimmy shrugs. "I asked, and the ring was tiny, and he laughed. I didn't get part of it was a pissing contest. But especially with Ed, what you're doing is showing him you can and will stand up for his daughter, against him if need be." Jimmy stares at Collin, looking him over coolly. "And just for the record, nothing against you or personal, we did this in February with Tim's soon to be brother-in-law, but the one thing Ed and I do agree on, and you'll find the rest of this crew does, too, if you hurt one of the girls, you better run fast and hide good because otherwise we will hurt you."
Tim nods along with that. "And by hide good, he means you never touch a computer again, 'cause otherwise I will find you." Then he nods at Gibbs. "You also never go outside, and you stay away from windows, because he can still nail a headshot at a thousand meters. I've been right behind the guy where if he had missed it would have hit me, so trust me when I say this one can still shoot."
"We're guys, and we're not her dad. We get it. We're not saying you can't break it off, or if you do marry her that you've got to stay married forever. But you start banging the secretary while you're married or stop being a dad to your kids, you're going to wish you were dead."
Collin's eyes are wide and he's looking between Gibbs, Tim, and Jimmy, realizing none of them are kidding. He nods slowly. "Okay."
"Okay!" Jimmy says brightly with a big smile. "So, you wanna come next week? Trust me, we also all get wanting a good excuse to get out of Sunday dinner early."
"Uh, yeah, that sounds good." He stands up. "I should probably get going."
The other three of them nod at him. "See you next week," and other variations on the theme of goodbye echoing from them.
Gibbs leaned back against the bench, sipping his coffee, grinning. "Ed's not going to know what hit him."
Jimmy and Tim are looking at him curiously.
"You're going to report back to Breena that he's a good guy. I'm going to report to Ed that he's a good guy. I'm sure he's spending time with Jeannie. By the time he's ready to move on a ring, he'll have Amy, Breena, Jeannie, and me all hitting Ed with the fact that he's good son-in-law material. That kid's not stupid. Little scared, maybe—"
Jimmy shakes his head. "Amy's scared. Look at how he's handling us. He's not afraid to say they're living together. She is."
"He's scared now," Gibbs says, "Not sure she'll pick him in the long run."
"Oh. Yeah."
"Think she will?" Tim asks, sipping his drink.
"I'm sure we'll know one way or another soon."
They're walking back to the car when something hits Tim. He gently nudges Gibbs with his shoulder. "You gonna be doing that again? Talking to Borin's dad?"
That gets him a headslap, a head shake, and "You're just as bad as the girls."
Tim grins at him.
Next
Chapter 366: Sons-In-Law
They're wrapping up Sunday dinner when Amy's boyfriend Collin asks Jimmy, "Can I come to Bootcamp with you guys?"
"Uh..." Jimmy glances at Tim and Gibbs who both nod. "Yeah, sure."
"Cool." Collin's grinning at them. "Used to do MMA in college. Haven't found a group around here I really like. They're either way too much kill everyone or too into proper form. Where do you fight?"
Jimmy gives him the address for the Navy Yard.
"Okay. I'll follow you guys there."
"Do you have gear?"
"Yeah. Amy said Breena said you'd probably be cool with me joining in."
"Ah." Jimmy nods. As soon as Collin's in his car he quietly says to Gibbs and Tim. "What the hell was that?"
Gibbs grins at him before slipping into his own car, and says, door open. "That's a guy contemplating becoming your brother-in-law. He's about to pull an end run around Ed."
Collin actually can fight. In an academic, never-done-it-in-a-life-or-death-situation sort of way. (He runs his own graphic design business, so it's not like pounding on people is part of his job description.) So, honestly, he's pretty even with Jimmy, who's also never fought for real, and not too far behind Tim, who's never done it with his fists.
Real danger adds an extra edge to your skills, and Collin doesn't have that.
What he does have is he's ten years younger than Tim and Jimmy, five years younger than Ziva, and really, really quick.
He's actually making Ziva sweat, which is amusing to all of the guys. (She still won. Five years and fast doesn't win over Mossad-trained and does this for real, but it was more of a workout one on one than she's had in a long time.)
So, it was fun, and Collin is a pleasant companion, pretty quiet, focused, making sure that he's not annoying anyone.
Once they are all showered and dressed again, he says, "That was fun. Can I buy you all something to drink." Ziva and Tony demur, their no-longer-missing twin is proving to be unreasonably quiet, and they're going to take another swing at breaking him.
Which is how, ten minutes later, Tim, Jimmy, Gibbs, and Collin are outside, milling around Seth's coffee cart, letting Collin hand over drinks, and getting ready to really talk to him.
Once handed out, they're sitting in the shade, enjoying bright sunshine and a warm April day.
Collin takes a sip of his iced coffee and says to Jimmy, "So, I don't suppose there's some magic formula for making Ed like me?"
Jimmy laughs. "If you find it, let me know?" He shakes his head. "Being worth a few million dollars and signing pre-nup saying that Amy gets all of it if you two ever split up might do it."
"Got a few million I can have?"
"Amazingly enough, I'm all tapped out on millions right now."
"Yeah, figured that. Is it worth it? I mean, all three of you know him better than I do, and he seems to actually like you," he says to Gibbs. "I love Amy, but…"
Jimmy nods again. "Yeah, 'but.' I know all about 'but.' I spent a long time thinking about that before I asked Breena to marry me. If you love her. Really love her. Then yes. But this isn't light love, or cute love. If you have a good, strong, healthy relationship, he's going to be a stressor, and if you've got a rocky one, he'll break it. It really does have to be you and her, back to back, able to take on all comers."
Collin nods at that. "I do love her."
"Good," Gibbs says. "He's protecting his girls. Finally started warming up to Jimmy a bit when he figured out that Jimmy wasn't going anywhere and he had the balls to keep his girls safe. He respects strength and he respects money, because they represent a safe, secure life for his daughter."
"And I was light on both of them when Breena and I started dating."
"Even if you had piles of money and used to be a drill sergeant, he still wasn't going to like you," Tim says.
"True. And he's not going to love you, Collin, either. Because both of us mean that he's not his little girl's number one man anymore."
"Great." Collin's not thrilled by that. "She really loves him."
"He's her dad," Tim says. "And the more I learn about that family, the more I see that if there's one thing Ed Slater ever did right, it was raise three amazing daughters. They all adore him, and not in a spoiled-brat,-sucking-up-to-daddy-for-presents sort of way, but in a he-provided-them-with-all-the-support-they-needed-to-become-brilliant-women sort of way."
Jimmy nods along with that. "Complete son-of-a-bitch, to me, and you, and any other poor bastard who marries one of them, but to them, best dad ever."
Collin thinks about that.
Jimmy does, too. "When it comes down to it, you've got to be sure that Amy does chose you. Breena picked me over Ed. If it ever comes down to me or him, she'll back me. Having to pick'll break her heart, but she'll back me. And he has tested it to make sure. Part of our wedding being so stressful was him asking every ten minutes if she really wanted to do this, and how she could back out at any time, including while he was walking her down the aisle." Tim hadn't known that and he winces at it. "But she picked me. She picked me even when I asked her to postpone the party part of the wedding. If you and Amy don't have that, he'll kill your relationship. You've got to love her enough to put up with him. She's got to love you enough to draw the line in the sand and tell him you're not going anywhere, so he better get used to you."
"Okay." Collin looks, determined is probably the best way to put it, as he drinks his coffee.
"Look, only reason I'm going to say anything about this is because you're here and you're asking. Breena and I got married before we lived together. That was us, and it worked for us. This one," he points to Tim, "lived with Abby for…"
"Year and a half."
"Year and half, before they got married, and I helped them move in, so it's not like I've got a problem with it. But this is your acid test. She wants you. She wants Daddy happy. She can't have both, so she's fooling around trying to hold it as long as she can by lying to him. If she's not willing to go with you and tell Ed you're living together, and take the shit storm that is going to come upon both of you from him, pack you stuff and move out. She doesn't have your back, not the way you need. Not the way you want if you're serious about being married forever.
"And don't dither about it. I had to threaten to beat the shit out of the man to get him to treat me like a human. He drops by to visit, notices you live there, he's going to understand that as you don't have the balls to talk to him about it and he will never offer you a dime's worth of respect."
Gibbs nods. "And you won't deserve it, either. You're sticking around, you're looking to join his family, you talk to him."
Tim can see that startles Collin. "It's not an old-fashioned he owns her sort of thing. You don't ask for her, because she doesn't belong to him. But you do talk to him. It's just polite. It's showing him that you do have the strength to sit down, look him in the eye, and prove to him you've thought about his daughter's future enough to have a plan. A lot of hard things are going to happen in your life, and if you can't handle her Dad, a man who loves her and wants what's best for her, how are you going to do with people who genuinely want ill for her? He loves her. He doesn't want her getting hurt or hooking up with a loser, so you show up and prove you aren't one."
"And then he laughs until he cries, tells you over his dead body, and spends the rest of his life annoying you, but, still… you do it anyway. We all did. It wasn't fun. None of us liked it—"
"I thought it was fun." Tim adds.
"That's because you talked to him." Jimmy replies.
Collin's looking from Tim to Gibbs, really confused. "Wait, isn't he your dad?" They don't really clarify exactly how the McGee branch of the family is related to each other. The larger Slater-clan just has them all classified as 'Jimmy's friends.'
"Yes," Gibbs says. Collin does not appear to find that answer useful for his real question, namely, why was he asking you? "And if you spend ten years working for Ed, save his life several times, always have his back, when he'll say 'yes' without thinking about it if someone asks him if you're his kid, you too can enjoy Tim's level of just show up, pull out the ring, and say, 'So, you giving her away or what?'"
"I did not do that."
Gibbs flashes him his amused look. "You sure as hell didn't ask."
"No. You'd have laughed if I asked." Gibbs nods. "And Abby would have been pissed off about it. 'Cause you don't own her." Gibbs nods at that, too. "But I did show up, and I did show him the ring, because… Because I wanted to, really. It's a cool ring. But, if I hadn't worked for him for ten years and if he didn't know about my writing, I would have shown it to him as a way of saying, 'Look I'm serious about this and I've got the sort of cash to support her and your grandchildren.'"
Jimmy shrugs. "I asked, and the ring was tiny, and he laughed. I didn't get part of it was a pissing contest. But especially with Ed, what you're doing is showing him you can and will stand up for his daughter, against him if need be." Jimmy stares at Collin, looking him over coolly. "And just for the record, nothing against you or personal, we did this in February with Tim's soon to be brother-in-law, but the one thing Ed and I do agree on, and you'll find the rest of this crew does, too, if you hurt one of the girls, you better run fast and hide good because otherwise we will hurt you."
Tim nods along with that. "And by hide good, he means you never touch a computer again, 'cause otherwise I will find you." Then he nods at Gibbs. "You also never go outside, and you stay away from windows, because he can still nail a headshot at a thousand meters. I've been right behind the guy where if he had missed it would have hit me, so trust me when I say this one can still shoot."
"We're guys, and we're not her dad. We get it. We're not saying you can't break it off, or if you do marry her that you've got to stay married forever. But you start banging the secretary while you're married or stop being a dad to your kids, you're going to wish you were dead."
Collin's eyes are wide and he's looking between Gibbs, Tim, and Jimmy, realizing none of them are kidding. He nods slowly. "Okay."
"Okay!" Jimmy says brightly with a big smile. "So, you wanna come next week? Trust me, we also all get wanting a good excuse to get out of Sunday dinner early."
"Uh, yeah, that sounds good." He stands up. "I should probably get going."
The other three of them nod at him. "See you next week," and other variations on the theme of goodbye echoing from them.
Gibbs leaned back against the bench, sipping his coffee, grinning. "Ed's not going to know what hit him."
Jimmy and Tim are looking at him curiously.
"You're going to report back to Breena that he's a good guy. I'm going to report to Ed that he's a good guy. I'm sure he's spending time with Jeannie. By the time he's ready to move on a ring, he'll have Amy, Breena, Jeannie, and me all hitting Ed with the fact that he's good son-in-law material. That kid's not stupid. Little scared, maybe—"
Jimmy shakes his head. "Amy's scared. Look at how he's handling us. He's not afraid to say they're living together. She is."
"He's scared now," Gibbs says, "Not sure she'll pick him in the long run."
"Oh. Yeah."
"Think she will?" Tim asks, sipping his drink.
"I'm sure we'll know one way or another soon."
They're walking back to the car when something hits Tim. He gently nudges Gibbs with his shoulder. "You gonna be doing that again? Talking to Borin's dad?"
That gets him a headslap, a head shake, and "You're just as bad as the girls."
Tim grins at him.
Next
Shards To A Whole: When Are You Bringing...
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 365: When Are You Bringing...
"Think he's gonna bring her?" Tony asks Ziva as they get ready for Shabbos.
"No. He'll tell us ahead of time."
"It's been six weeks. Not like we've never met her before."
"I know, but…" She spreads her hands wide. Short of kidnapping Borin and dragging her to Shabbos or Sunday Dinner or Bootcamp, they've done everything they can think of to try and get Gibbs to bring her to one of their weekly gatherings.
But he hasn't, and besides glaring at them when they all stare at him and drop less and less subtle hints (Last week's was Breena flat out asking, 'So, when are you going to bring her?' and by that point you really can't call it a hint anymore.) he refuses to give them any sort of response.
Which means he's got six frustrated, gossiping kids on his hands, all of whom really want to get to meet (again) the new girlfriend, and get to see her as a girlfriend.
Gossiping about Gibbs and Borin is currently the favorite hobby of what used to be the MCRT. And it's not like they don't have other things to do, but right now they're the big news. After all, no one's pregnant (and by mutual accord they don't gossip about efforts related to getting that way, at least, not beyond their own spouses at home), everyone's married (except Gibbs), all babies are settled in, jobs are jobbing along.
All in all, the status quo has, for the moment, re-set, and sure Jimmy's collection of interviewees was fun, but that was two days of chatting. (Mostly about what on earth a 'personal demon' is and who would possibly mention that to someone at an interview, followed by Jimmy doing a bit more scrutinizing of Ms. Bast's work history and coming to the conclusion that she'd left way more animal-oriented jobs after a year or so than was comfortable.) And yeah, the thing with Tim's navy test was cool, but, well, besides Tim getting all hot and bothered about the details, it's kind of nebulous for anyone who isn't Abby.
It's not like they're doing anything mean, they aren't being snide or snippy, talking about Gibbs and Borin. Invasive, sure. It probably wasn't entirely necessary for Abby to dig up that face morphing software and make up some baby Gorins. (They were awfully cute, though.)
And looking at Baby Girl Gorin, (while Tony and Abby discussed whether any potential Gorins would be their kids' cousins or aunts and uncles) Jimmy said, "I think that train left the station a long time ago."
Which resulted in Abby, Ziva, and Tony all staring at him. "What do you mean, Palmer?" Tony asked.
This was when it occurred to Jimmy that Gibbs' vasectomy was unlikely to be common knowledge, and that it was entirely possible that besides Ducky (who was Gibbs' medical proxy and doctor for a million years) he might be the only one who knows about that.
"Just, you know, get the sense he's done with kids. Three ex-wives, no kids with them." Jimmy said, fast.
"You are a terrible liar," Ziva replied, closing on Jimmy.
"How can that possibly be a lie? He has three ex-wives. He didn't have kids with them."
"But that is not why you think he's done with kids." Ziva said.
"Okay, how about he's almost sixty, and no man in his right mind starts a family that old?"
Ziva didn't buy that, either.
"Okay, I know he's done with kids."
"Jimmy?" Abby asked.
"Doctor patient confidentiality. Can't tell."
More staring, but they let it drop.
"She coming?" Breena asks as they head into Tony and Ziva's place on Friday night.
Ziva shakes her head. Week seven, still no Borin. She turns to Jimmy and Tony, "On Sunday, you two and Tim, you will get Gibbs, and you will talk to him, and you will make him bring her next week, yes?"
"With what? Am I going to drug him or something?" Jimmy asks. "If anyone's going to make him do something it's you girls. You need to go cry on him or something."
Ziva rolls her eyes. "You will talk. Explain. This is home. We bring the people we love home."
"Might not be love. Not yet. Not this soon. And…" And for Tony it all clicks into place, slamming into place, hard. "And if it is love, we're not going to see her anytime soon. If it's love, it's going to scare the shit out of him and he's going to take it really slow."
Jimmy nods.
Breena stares at both of them, eyes narrowed and shakes her head. "Men."
Jimmy sighs. "No. I get it. If she's a disposable girlfriend he can bring her around, because if it doesn't work it won't hurt so bad. If it's real, and he lets us see it's real, then if it doesn't work out, he doesn't just have to deal with being hurt, he's got six of us trying to be useful and comforting and…"
And Gibbs steps into the kitchen saying, "And in my business all the time, hovering around, asking me how I am, treating me like I'm made of broken eggshells, and moping on me."
Ziva takes two steps over and gives Gibbs a hug and a kiss. "We want you to be happy."
He gets double teamed by Breena with another hug. "And we want to see you being happy."
"Are we doing hugs in here? I want hugs!" Abby bustles in mid-hug. Adding herself to the press. "Borin meeting you here?"
Gibbs stares up at the ceiling. And yes, he does not mind having his arms full of warm girls all happy to see him, but… "How about you guys let me date her for a while before you get the wedding all planned out?"
Abby and Breena look slightly guilty. (Not like they planned the whole thing out, but… Slow day. No customers at Slater's, Tim's software is whipping through the paperwork in the lab, so they may have spent an hour or two texting about it.)
"Fine. Still, you know she's welcome in any of our homes, right? Just as welcome as you are. You don't ever have to feel like you can't bring her around. And, it's exciting, Gibbs! You're dating again and acting so much happier and… We want to share, too!" Abby says.
He kisses Abby's forehead, then Ziva, then Breena, and sighs. "It's going well. I'm enjoying it. But, I don't even know if we're really dating or not. So, how about you let us get that figured out before adding you to the mix?"
"How can you not know?" Breena asks.
"We… haven't actually gone out."
Which is true. They've made dates to see each other, at one of their homes. And she drops by sometimes. (He's been tempted to just show up at her place but A: he does not have a key, and B: if she wants people-free downtime, he doesn't want to barge in. Sometimes you just need to be alone.) But there have been several ten day long stretches where they didn't see each other at all. And she has had to cancel two the 'dates' they made. Though they usually text for a minute or two a day. So, it's not like weeks have gone by without any contact.
And yes, he thinks (hopes) this is serious, or could move in a serious direction, but they could just be fuck buddies. (Okay, he could be building that in as a buffer so it won't hurt so damn bad if it falls apart.) It feels real and serious and good, but… he's wary. After all, they've had some pretty serious conversations, but… but they've all been about the past, and Gibbs is fairly sure that those conversations are just mostly housekeeping, the kind of things you talk about if you're anywhere near a half-way decent person and you want to do what you can to avoid hurting the person you're with or wasting their time.
So, besides a general sense that they seem to be liking this, and they'd like to keep seeing each other, there's been no definition as to what it is they have.
"You haven't gone out?" Breena stares at Gibbs as they pull away from him and move into getting dinner on the table mode. "What are you doing?"
Abby laughs at that and the somewhat startled look on Gibbs' face when she asks. "Jimmy's rubbing off on you, Breena. That's a question worthy of him."
Breena squints at Gibbs. "Come on, that can't be all you're doing, right?"
No, it's not all they're doing. Eating, sleeping, talking, quietly reading/watching movies/watching a game, sometimes go for a run or swim (maybe that qualifies as out for a date?), all happens, too, but, yeah it's a lot of what they're doing. Plus it's one of Borin's favorite ways to blow off a bad day at work, and it certainly was one of his back in the day, too. So, it might be two thirds of what they're doing when they're together and awake.
Tony's got a really dirty grin on his face as he slaps Gibbs on the shoulder while Gibbs continues to stand there feeling a bit blindsided by that question. "Lucky man!"
That snaps him back into action. Tony gets a light head slap. "I'll bring her round when we're both ready for it. Okay? And you all nattering at me isn't speeding me up, got it?"
He gets four versions of "Fine" from the ladies and Tony.
They say the prayers, bless the children, and sit down for dinner.
"How was the first week?" Tim asks Ducky, passing the Challah. Monday had been his last day at NCIS, and unlike Gibbs, when Ducky said that he did not want any fussing about it, they paid attention.
"Infernally slow, Timothy." He and Gibbs share a look. "But not as bad as it could have been. I've been spending a few hours a day working with Eleanor on her profiling technique. It is an interesting hybrid approach we're creating, her use of numbers and patterns with my use of psychology.
"Possibly, if this proves to be effective, we'll have a paper or two worth writing."
"And a new sub, sub-specialty for people to work on," Penny adds.
"There is that." He passes Penny the salt, unasked. "And how is your new assistant settling is?"
Jimmy starts to answer but Tony cuts in with, "You mean The Ghost?"
"He's quiet," Jimmy says.
"No. You and Tim are quiet. Ziva, when she's in ninja mode, is quiet. Your new assistant is dead."
Jimmy rolls his eyes a little. "Thursday was our first call out. Dr. Allan is still trying to figure out the line between properly respectful and… unnervingly reserved. He's never been at a crime scene before, let alone one that was in someone's home. So he was being very quiet, and very precise—"
"And very nervous. If he inhaled twice the whole time you were in there—" Tony says.
"It's also been a long time since he's had anything to do with a dead body. And that was a smelly crime scene. So, yeah, he was nervous, and he was being very careful, and he didn't breathe much because the vic had been in that house for forty-eight hours. And at one point, while he was laying out the body bag, he was being so quiet Tony almost tripped over him."
"Just about broke my ankle trying to save from that."
Jimmy rolls his eyes a little again. Allan may not be huge, but even if he was silent, he's still a full-grown man next to a dead body; Tony should have been paying better attention. (Of course, Tony's got a different view of the subject, along the lines of he was photographing behind the body, and the last time he looked, no one was back there, and next thing he knew he'd stepped back into something soft and moving.)
"So you are saying he's a perfectly functional medical professional trying to do a good job in a new and sensitive environment?" Penny says, dryly.
"Precisely. Thanks Abby." He takes the green beans from her, taking a large serving for himself, put five of them on Molly's plate, and passes them onto Gibbs who is sitting next to Molly. "He talks more when we're back in Autopsy. But, especially when someone else is there, he doesn't want to be cracking jokes over the corpses."
Breena shakes her head. "You've got to break him of that, or this job'll kill him."
"We're working on developing a sense of humor. I'm trying to get across the idea that they're people. Dead people, but still people, and people like humor, they like being talked to, and the like getting a chance to tell their stories."
"He'll get there," Abby says. "You were awfully quiet the first few weeks, too."
"That's how I remember it."
Ducky laughs. "That's not how I remember it. You hovered around behind me, repeating everything I said into that recording device." Ducky mimics the way Jimmy held the recorder, right up to his face. "How many hours did it take before you just recorded what I was saying?"
"Three minutes." Jimmy says dryly. "I remember things better if I say them and hear them. Since you found it annoying, I just started doing it in my head."
"How are you liking having Autopsy all to yourself?" Gibbs asks.
Jimmy shrugs. "It's really quiet. I'm," he looks to Ducky, "used to a constant stream of some sort of educational information, stories, anecdotes, or something in the background. So, now when we're working, I start talking, just to fill up the quiet."
Ducky nods, understanding.
"Meanwhile, Dr. Allan's looking at me like I'm some sort of bizarre wing nut because I can talk about things like wing nuts, and why they're called wing nuts, and when they started using them, and—"
"You weren't really going on about wing nuts, were you?" Ziva asks.
"No." Everyone's staring at him. "Sort of. Surgical screws. Our current guest has three in his femur. That's how we were able to ID him."
"DNA?" Tim asks. (He's been busy with the Navy-wide computer test, and was out of the office yesterday and spent just about all of today sitting in front of his computer digging through what he got access to yesterday, so he missed this part.)
"Missing identical twins. We found one of them," Tony says.
"But not which one," Tim fills in, the light going on for him. "Anyone want that chicken wing?" Everyone shakes their heads so he snags it. (The wings are his favorite part. At least they are the way Ziva cooks chicken, all brown and crispy and salty and yum!)
"Right." Jimmy says, catching the bit of chicken Molly tried to send flying before it got more than two inches from her fork. "No flinging food. Do you need to be excused?" Molly shakes her head; she knows that if she's excused before she eats everything on her plate, there'll be no dessert, and Aunt Ziva always makes sure there's a special dessert for her, so she doesn't want to miss it. "Anyway, he's got the screws, we take them out, look them up. And then we've got an ID."
"Do you have a missing twin?" Tim asks.
"As of 13:27 this afternoon we have a missing twin." Ziva answers.
"He's not being overwhelmingly forthcoming on why he was missing and what happened to his brother. So he's spending some quality time in holding, and we're going to head back in around two in the morning to have another chat with him," Tony replies.
"He's not the vic?" Tim asks.
Abby shakes her head. "Bishop and Ducky and I ran the numbers, looked through everything, and best we can tell, he's two or three levels behind this, but not directly responsible for it."
"Yeah, he did something that went, very, very wrong, brother dear ended up dead, he ran for it, and now we've got to figure out what the hell he did to get a guy so angry at him that he stuck a knife in his brother seven times."
"The guy's wife?" Breena asks. "Tim can you…" She's nursing Anna while trying to eat, but can't cut her chicken one handed. Tim's sitting next to her so he takes over slicing the chicken breast into bite sized pieces for her. She nods her thanks when he's done.
"Seven stab wounds, yeah, it's something like that," Tony answers. "So, you were in Norfolk today?" Tony asks Tim.
"Yesterday…" He takes a few minutes to explain how his conversation with Admiral Finnegan went, what he learned, what he hoped to do. "If I can pull it off…" he wraps up, "whoever's in charge of that ship is going to wet his pants when it happens. I'm thinking I'll make the ship target another one of the ships nearby. It won't actually target or shoot but the computers will think it is."
"Can you do that?" Penny asks between bites of sage stuffing.
"That's where 'if I can pull it off' comes in. I've got the blueprints and an invitation to come on in and ransack the place, now all I've got to do is see if I can."
"In your copious spare time," Abby says while wiping mushed cauliflower off of Kelly's chin.
"Got a bit more of it now. Paperwork software is still holding strong. Only two error reports today and both of them were user issues."
"User issues?" Ducky asks.
Tim shakes his head. "Code 1D10T, problem is located between chair and keyboard. Same thing with the job processing software. Cops can't type. And if they don't put the information in correctly, the computer can't use it. But that's not a bug on my end, so I'm feeling very good about this."
"You should. Monday's case, we broke the case by three, finished filling in the database once, and by five all of the paperwork had spit out, nicely filled out, ready to file. It was perfect, McGee!" Ziva says, very happy.
"Great. Now, how do you feel about running a how-to-type-class for those twits in the desks behind yours?"
Ziva shakes her head. "Not a chance."
Breena and Abby are tidying up the dishes after dinner. Abby's rinsing, Breena's making sure everything is stacked properly in the dishwasher, and Gibbs is on lugging dishes in from the table duty.
He places the dishes next to Abby, and she puts her hand on his wrist. "This week, take her out. Go somewhere, in public, with her, and have a good time."
He raises an eyebrow.
"Women like to go out, Gibbs."
Breena nods along with that. "Makes us feel good. And we like showing off when we've got a handsome man on our arm."
He just looks at both of them and then nods quickly before heading back into the dining room to grab more dishes.
When he came back in, Ziva followed him, and she has a different question for him. "You are almost done with Shannon, right?"
He nods. Everything's done but the name, which he's still stuck on.
"So, does that mean you are out of projects?"
He eyes her tummy for a second, and she catches that. "I am right now."
"Good." She pulls him back into their dining area and pats their table. It's a good dining room table. Sleak, elegant hardwoods in rich, warm cherry browns. "This seats six comfortably, nine of us is a squeeze, Borin will be ten, and the kids will need more room soon. Would you be willing to take a commission for a dining room set?"
"No. But I'd make one for you as a gift."
"The wood and hardware and everything has to cost real money." And yes, properly kiln dried hardwoods are not inexpensive. "Let us pay the cost, at least. You can gift us the designing and the labor." (She and Tony had guessed this was probably the best deal they could get out of him.)
His eyes narrow at that, but Ziva's got that set look on her face, and he's sure that if he doesn't budge on this, they'll just go buy a table.
"Fine. You want something like this but bigger?"
She nods a bit. "Not precisely like this. We want it to look like something you made, but we like these colors."
He nods again, and thinks a little more, especially about what he's doing on Monday. About the Realtor DiNozzo Sr. had hooked him up with and what she wanted to show him on Monday. Namely, what might be the future Mallard Manor.
And if this place is big enough, and close enough (supposedly it is) that might end up being where future Shabboses (Shabbi? He doesn't know what the plural of Shabbos is) are held. Because it's not just that kids will take up more space (because they will) but because he's fairly sure there will be more than four of them, and if Borin does become part of this, that gets them up to at least fourteen people for dinner, and he none of them have a dining area that can handle that easily. He knows for certain that nowhere Senior's going to find for Tony and Ziva will feature enough room to hold the kind of table she's talking about, at least, not if they want to use that room for anything else, and they will.
"Get me pictures of what you like. We'll talk more, then."
Ziva smiles at him.
Next
Chapter 365: When Are You Bringing...
"Think he's gonna bring her?" Tony asks Ziva as they get ready for Shabbos.
"No. He'll tell us ahead of time."
"It's been six weeks. Not like we've never met her before."
"I know, but…" She spreads her hands wide. Short of kidnapping Borin and dragging her to Shabbos or Sunday Dinner or Bootcamp, they've done everything they can think of to try and get Gibbs to bring her to one of their weekly gatherings.
But he hasn't, and besides glaring at them when they all stare at him and drop less and less subtle hints (Last week's was Breena flat out asking, 'So, when are you going to bring her?' and by that point you really can't call it a hint anymore.) he refuses to give them any sort of response.
Which means he's got six frustrated, gossiping kids on his hands, all of whom really want to get to meet (again) the new girlfriend, and get to see her as a girlfriend.
Gossiping about Gibbs and Borin is currently the favorite hobby of what used to be the MCRT. And it's not like they don't have other things to do, but right now they're the big news. After all, no one's pregnant (and by mutual accord they don't gossip about efforts related to getting that way, at least, not beyond their own spouses at home), everyone's married (except Gibbs), all babies are settled in, jobs are jobbing along.
All in all, the status quo has, for the moment, re-set, and sure Jimmy's collection of interviewees was fun, but that was two days of chatting. (Mostly about what on earth a 'personal demon' is and who would possibly mention that to someone at an interview, followed by Jimmy doing a bit more scrutinizing of Ms. Bast's work history and coming to the conclusion that she'd left way more animal-oriented jobs after a year or so than was comfortable.) And yeah, the thing with Tim's navy test was cool, but, well, besides Tim getting all hot and bothered about the details, it's kind of nebulous for anyone who isn't Abby.
It's not like they're doing anything mean, they aren't being snide or snippy, talking about Gibbs and Borin. Invasive, sure. It probably wasn't entirely necessary for Abby to dig up that face morphing software and make up some baby Gorins. (They were awfully cute, though.)
And looking at Baby Girl Gorin, (while Tony and Abby discussed whether any potential Gorins would be their kids' cousins or aunts and uncles) Jimmy said, "I think that train left the station a long time ago."
Which resulted in Abby, Ziva, and Tony all staring at him. "What do you mean, Palmer?" Tony asked.
This was when it occurred to Jimmy that Gibbs' vasectomy was unlikely to be common knowledge, and that it was entirely possible that besides Ducky (who was Gibbs' medical proxy and doctor for a million years) he might be the only one who knows about that.
"Just, you know, get the sense he's done with kids. Three ex-wives, no kids with them." Jimmy said, fast.
"You are a terrible liar," Ziva replied, closing on Jimmy.
"How can that possibly be a lie? He has three ex-wives. He didn't have kids with them."
"But that is not why you think he's done with kids." Ziva said.
"Okay, how about he's almost sixty, and no man in his right mind starts a family that old?"
Ziva didn't buy that, either.
"Okay, I know he's done with kids."
"Jimmy?" Abby asked.
"Doctor patient confidentiality. Can't tell."
More staring, but they let it drop.
"She coming?" Breena asks as they head into Tony and Ziva's place on Friday night.
Ziva shakes her head. Week seven, still no Borin. She turns to Jimmy and Tony, "On Sunday, you two and Tim, you will get Gibbs, and you will talk to him, and you will make him bring her next week, yes?"
"With what? Am I going to drug him or something?" Jimmy asks. "If anyone's going to make him do something it's you girls. You need to go cry on him or something."
Ziva rolls her eyes. "You will talk. Explain. This is home. We bring the people we love home."
"Might not be love. Not yet. Not this soon. And…" And for Tony it all clicks into place, slamming into place, hard. "And if it is love, we're not going to see her anytime soon. If it's love, it's going to scare the shit out of him and he's going to take it really slow."
Jimmy nods.
Breena stares at both of them, eyes narrowed and shakes her head. "Men."
Jimmy sighs. "No. I get it. If she's a disposable girlfriend he can bring her around, because if it doesn't work it won't hurt so bad. If it's real, and he lets us see it's real, then if it doesn't work out, he doesn't just have to deal with being hurt, he's got six of us trying to be useful and comforting and…"
And Gibbs steps into the kitchen saying, "And in my business all the time, hovering around, asking me how I am, treating me like I'm made of broken eggshells, and moping on me."
Ziva takes two steps over and gives Gibbs a hug and a kiss. "We want you to be happy."
He gets double teamed by Breena with another hug. "And we want to see you being happy."
"Are we doing hugs in here? I want hugs!" Abby bustles in mid-hug. Adding herself to the press. "Borin meeting you here?"
Gibbs stares up at the ceiling. And yes, he does not mind having his arms full of warm girls all happy to see him, but… "How about you guys let me date her for a while before you get the wedding all planned out?"
Abby and Breena look slightly guilty. (Not like they planned the whole thing out, but… Slow day. No customers at Slater's, Tim's software is whipping through the paperwork in the lab, so they may have spent an hour or two texting about it.)
"Fine. Still, you know she's welcome in any of our homes, right? Just as welcome as you are. You don't ever have to feel like you can't bring her around. And, it's exciting, Gibbs! You're dating again and acting so much happier and… We want to share, too!" Abby says.
He kisses Abby's forehead, then Ziva, then Breena, and sighs. "It's going well. I'm enjoying it. But, I don't even know if we're really dating or not. So, how about you let us get that figured out before adding you to the mix?"
"How can you not know?" Breena asks.
"We… haven't actually gone out."
Which is true. They've made dates to see each other, at one of their homes. And she drops by sometimes. (He's been tempted to just show up at her place but A: he does not have a key, and B: if she wants people-free downtime, he doesn't want to barge in. Sometimes you just need to be alone.) But there have been several ten day long stretches where they didn't see each other at all. And she has had to cancel two the 'dates' they made. Though they usually text for a minute or two a day. So, it's not like weeks have gone by without any contact.
And yes, he thinks (hopes) this is serious, or could move in a serious direction, but they could just be fuck buddies. (Okay, he could be building that in as a buffer so it won't hurt so damn bad if it falls apart.) It feels real and serious and good, but… he's wary. After all, they've had some pretty serious conversations, but… but they've all been about the past, and Gibbs is fairly sure that those conversations are just mostly housekeeping, the kind of things you talk about if you're anywhere near a half-way decent person and you want to do what you can to avoid hurting the person you're with or wasting their time.
So, besides a general sense that they seem to be liking this, and they'd like to keep seeing each other, there's been no definition as to what it is they have.
"You haven't gone out?" Breena stares at Gibbs as they pull away from him and move into getting dinner on the table mode. "What are you doing?"
Abby laughs at that and the somewhat startled look on Gibbs' face when she asks. "Jimmy's rubbing off on you, Breena. That's a question worthy of him."
Breena squints at Gibbs. "Come on, that can't be all you're doing, right?"
No, it's not all they're doing. Eating, sleeping, talking, quietly reading/watching movies/watching a game, sometimes go for a run or swim (maybe that qualifies as out for a date?), all happens, too, but, yeah it's a lot of what they're doing. Plus it's one of Borin's favorite ways to blow off a bad day at work, and it certainly was one of his back in the day, too. So, it might be two thirds of what they're doing when they're together and awake.
Tony's got a really dirty grin on his face as he slaps Gibbs on the shoulder while Gibbs continues to stand there feeling a bit blindsided by that question. "Lucky man!"
That snaps him back into action. Tony gets a light head slap. "I'll bring her round when we're both ready for it. Okay? And you all nattering at me isn't speeding me up, got it?"
He gets four versions of "Fine" from the ladies and Tony.
They say the prayers, bless the children, and sit down for dinner.
"How was the first week?" Tim asks Ducky, passing the Challah. Monday had been his last day at NCIS, and unlike Gibbs, when Ducky said that he did not want any fussing about it, they paid attention.
"Infernally slow, Timothy." He and Gibbs share a look. "But not as bad as it could have been. I've been spending a few hours a day working with Eleanor on her profiling technique. It is an interesting hybrid approach we're creating, her use of numbers and patterns with my use of psychology.
"Possibly, if this proves to be effective, we'll have a paper or two worth writing."
"And a new sub, sub-specialty for people to work on," Penny adds.
"There is that." He passes Penny the salt, unasked. "And how is your new assistant settling is?"
Jimmy starts to answer but Tony cuts in with, "You mean The Ghost?"
"He's quiet," Jimmy says.
"No. You and Tim are quiet. Ziva, when she's in ninja mode, is quiet. Your new assistant is dead."
Jimmy rolls his eyes a little. "Thursday was our first call out. Dr. Allan is still trying to figure out the line between properly respectful and… unnervingly reserved. He's never been at a crime scene before, let alone one that was in someone's home. So he was being very quiet, and very precise—"
"And very nervous. If he inhaled twice the whole time you were in there—" Tony says.
"It's also been a long time since he's had anything to do with a dead body. And that was a smelly crime scene. So, yeah, he was nervous, and he was being very careful, and he didn't breathe much because the vic had been in that house for forty-eight hours. And at one point, while he was laying out the body bag, he was being so quiet Tony almost tripped over him."
"Just about broke my ankle trying to save from that."
Jimmy rolls his eyes a little again. Allan may not be huge, but even if he was silent, he's still a full-grown man next to a dead body; Tony should have been paying better attention. (Of course, Tony's got a different view of the subject, along the lines of he was photographing behind the body, and the last time he looked, no one was back there, and next thing he knew he'd stepped back into something soft and moving.)
"So you are saying he's a perfectly functional medical professional trying to do a good job in a new and sensitive environment?" Penny says, dryly.
"Precisely. Thanks Abby." He takes the green beans from her, taking a large serving for himself, put five of them on Molly's plate, and passes them onto Gibbs who is sitting next to Molly. "He talks more when we're back in Autopsy. But, especially when someone else is there, he doesn't want to be cracking jokes over the corpses."
Breena shakes her head. "You've got to break him of that, or this job'll kill him."
"We're working on developing a sense of humor. I'm trying to get across the idea that they're people. Dead people, but still people, and people like humor, they like being talked to, and the like getting a chance to tell their stories."
"He'll get there," Abby says. "You were awfully quiet the first few weeks, too."
"That's how I remember it."
Ducky laughs. "That's not how I remember it. You hovered around behind me, repeating everything I said into that recording device." Ducky mimics the way Jimmy held the recorder, right up to his face. "How many hours did it take before you just recorded what I was saying?"
"Three minutes." Jimmy says dryly. "I remember things better if I say them and hear them. Since you found it annoying, I just started doing it in my head."
"How are you liking having Autopsy all to yourself?" Gibbs asks.
Jimmy shrugs. "It's really quiet. I'm," he looks to Ducky, "used to a constant stream of some sort of educational information, stories, anecdotes, or something in the background. So, now when we're working, I start talking, just to fill up the quiet."
Ducky nods, understanding.
"Meanwhile, Dr. Allan's looking at me like I'm some sort of bizarre wing nut because I can talk about things like wing nuts, and why they're called wing nuts, and when they started using them, and—"
"You weren't really going on about wing nuts, were you?" Ziva asks.
"No." Everyone's staring at him. "Sort of. Surgical screws. Our current guest has three in his femur. That's how we were able to ID him."
"DNA?" Tim asks. (He's been busy with the Navy-wide computer test, and was out of the office yesterday and spent just about all of today sitting in front of his computer digging through what he got access to yesterday, so he missed this part.)
"Missing identical twins. We found one of them," Tony says.
"But not which one," Tim fills in, the light going on for him. "Anyone want that chicken wing?" Everyone shakes their heads so he snags it. (The wings are his favorite part. At least they are the way Ziva cooks chicken, all brown and crispy and salty and yum!)
"Right." Jimmy says, catching the bit of chicken Molly tried to send flying before it got more than two inches from her fork. "No flinging food. Do you need to be excused?" Molly shakes her head; she knows that if she's excused before she eats everything on her plate, there'll be no dessert, and Aunt Ziva always makes sure there's a special dessert for her, so she doesn't want to miss it. "Anyway, he's got the screws, we take them out, look them up. And then we've got an ID."
"Do you have a missing twin?" Tim asks.
"As of 13:27 this afternoon we have a missing twin." Ziva answers.
"He's not being overwhelmingly forthcoming on why he was missing and what happened to his brother. So he's spending some quality time in holding, and we're going to head back in around two in the morning to have another chat with him," Tony replies.
"He's not the vic?" Tim asks.
Abby shakes her head. "Bishop and Ducky and I ran the numbers, looked through everything, and best we can tell, he's two or three levels behind this, but not directly responsible for it."
"Yeah, he did something that went, very, very wrong, brother dear ended up dead, he ran for it, and now we've got to figure out what the hell he did to get a guy so angry at him that he stuck a knife in his brother seven times."
"The guy's wife?" Breena asks. "Tim can you…" She's nursing Anna while trying to eat, but can't cut her chicken one handed. Tim's sitting next to her so he takes over slicing the chicken breast into bite sized pieces for her. She nods her thanks when he's done.
"Seven stab wounds, yeah, it's something like that," Tony answers. "So, you were in Norfolk today?" Tony asks Tim.
"Yesterday…" He takes a few minutes to explain how his conversation with Admiral Finnegan went, what he learned, what he hoped to do. "If I can pull it off…" he wraps up, "whoever's in charge of that ship is going to wet his pants when it happens. I'm thinking I'll make the ship target another one of the ships nearby. It won't actually target or shoot but the computers will think it is."
"Can you do that?" Penny asks between bites of sage stuffing.
"That's where 'if I can pull it off' comes in. I've got the blueprints and an invitation to come on in and ransack the place, now all I've got to do is see if I can."
"In your copious spare time," Abby says while wiping mushed cauliflower off of Kelly's chin.
"Got a bit more of it now. Paperwork software is still holding strong. Only two error reports today and both of them were user issues."
"User issues?" Ducky asks.
Tim shakes his head. "Code 1D10T, problem is located between chair and keyboard. Same thing with the job processing software. Cops can't type. And if they don't put the information in correctly, the computer can't use it. But that's not a bug on my end, so I'm feeling very good about this."
"You should. Monday's case, we broke the case by three, finished filling in the database once, and by five all of the paperwork had spit out, nicely filled out, ready to file. It was perfect, McGee!" Ziva says, very happy.
"Great. Now, how do you feel about running a how-to-type-class for those twits in the desks behind yours?"
Ziva shakes her head. "Not a chance."
Breena and Abby are tidying up the dishes after dinner. Abby's rinsing, Breena's making sure everything is stacked properly in the dishwasher, and Gibbs is on lugging dishes in from the table duty.
He places the dishes next to Abby, and she puts her hand on his wrist. "This week, take her out. Go somewhere, in public, with her, and have a good time."
He raises an eyebrow.
"Women like to go out, Gibbs."
Breena nods along with that. "Makes us feel good. And we like showing off when we've got a handsome man on our arm."
He just looks at both of them and then nods quickly before heading back into the dining room to grab more dishes.
When he came back in, Ziva followed him, and she has a different question for him. "You are almost done with Shannon, right?"
He nods. Everything's done but the name, which he's still stuck on.
"So, does that mean you are out of projects?"
He eyes her tummy for a second, and she catches that. "I am right now."
"Good." She pulls him back into their dining area and pats their table. It's a good dining room table. Sleak, elegant hardwoods in rich, warm cherry browns. "This seats six comfortably, nine of us is a squeeze, Borin will be ten, and the kids will need more room soon. Would you be willing to take a commission for a dining room set?"
"No. But I'd make one for you as a gift."
"The wood and hardware and everything has to cost real money." And yes, properly kiln dried hardwoods are not inexpensive. "Let us pay the cost, at least. You can gift us the designing and the labor." (She and Tony had guessed this was probably the best deal they could get out of him.)
His eyes narrow at that, but Ziva's got that set look on her face, and he's sure that if he doesn't budge on this, they'll just go buy a table.
"Fine. You want something like this but bigger?"
She nods a bit. "Not precisely like this. We want it to look like something you made, but we like these colors."
He nods again, and thinks a little more, especially about what he's doing on Monday. About the Realtor DiNozzo Sr. had hooked him up with and what she wanted to show him on Monday. Namely, what might be the future Mallard Manor.
And if this place is big enough, and close enough (supposedly it is) that might end up being where future Shabboses (Shabbi? He doesn't know what the plural of Shabbos is) are held. Because it's not just that kids will take up more space (because they will) but because he's fairly sure there will be more than four of them, and if Borin does become part of this, that gets them up to at least fourteen people for dinner, and he none of them have a dining area that can handle that easily. He knows for certain that nowhere Senior's going to find for Tony and Ziva will feature enough room to hold the kind of table she's talking about, at least, not if they want to use that room for anything else, and they will.
"Get me pictures of what you like. We'll talk more, then."
Ziva smiles at him.
Next
Shards To A Whole: Setting Things In Motion
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 364: Setting Things In Motion
There have been a few, rare, moments where Tim's wanted to rub his hands together, cackling like a mad scientist, shouting 'Eureka!'
And right now he's awfully tempted to start doing it.
Exactly one month ago he hit the key that set the Beta test of the paperwork software live. Over the course of that month his guys and Autopsy had managed to snag, break, stall out, and confuse the software six times. (He was expecting that to be the first day of reports, not the first month.)
And now, fixes in place, patches patched, he's once again getting ready to send the software live, this time for the gamma test, NCIS Navy Yard-wide.
He hits the enter button and, boom, it's up.
A fast email to everyone, (he'd already written it, just needed to hit send) explaining what was up, and how everyone would still need to do their paperwork by hand, but that the computers should be doing it, too, and how if something went wonky they needed to let Cybercrime know.
And then it was time to settle in and wait for the error reports.
He's feeling more and more at ease in this job. His guys are moving more smoothly. They're teaming properly now, and as of last week the job software went live for the whole of NCIS, so they're running twenty-four seven with full teams. (Granted the members of said team may be spread along three continents.) With his current talent pool, no case ever has to wait for more than a few hours to find someone who knows how to run it.
That makes him very happy.
Sure, getting hands on work can still be a bit rough. ID10T errors seem fairly common when, say, someone in Bogota needs a phone hacked, and the nearest hacker is in Eido, and Bogota is having a hard time figuring out how to get the phone hooked into the system so Eido can hack it. But, talking Bogota through how to do it is still faster than sticking the phone on a helio and moving it to the closest hacker (Mexico City) and then waiting for him to get into the office, get done with his other cases, and then hack the phone.
So, in that he doesn't have a mound of paperwork on his desk to fill out, and in that he's also (not yet) getting inundated with error reports, and in that his Minions who also do not have mounds of paperwork to fill out and are now on 24/7 are whipping through the job queue, something he hasn't thought about for a while springs to mind.
Namely, back when he tested Cybercrime the first time Jarvis mentioned that he'd like a copy of the report and a feasibility study for doing it Navy-wide.
Might as well start that up.
"Can I ask you for some advice?" Tim asks, walking into Gibbs' living room later that evening. (He cut out a little early, wanted to talk to Gibbs. Kind of hoping to just 'drop by' when Borin was there so he could report back to the crew that he had at least seen them both in the same place at the same time, but no dice.)
"Sure," Gibbs answers, looking up from his kindle. (Tim makes a mental note to get him a new one for Christmas, this one's two generations out of date.)
"I started writing that report on the feasibility of my Cybercrime test navy-wide."
"Yeah."
Tim sits next to him on the sofa. "Okay, I've hit a brick wall. I don't know precisely how their computers are set up, and I can't determine how feasible this is if I don't know that."
"Sounds like you know what's going on."
"Yeah, on that part. None of the tech is an issue. I mean, I can find out how they're set, on my own, but, that's about twenty grades above my clearance and really illegal. So, what… Do I tell Vance, and he tells Jarvis? Do I go straight to Jarvis? I mean, what's the chain of command here? He asked me to do it so, do I go straight to him?"
Gibbs thinks about that. How to do politics is something he's not good at. How the chain of command works, he's… still not good at. His plan was to always go to the guy who could get you what you want or need and screw the intermediaries. He tries to think about it like he was the kind of guy who wanted a career and that not pissing off the powers that be mattered. That didn't work, he's not that guy, never was, and really can't imagine him too well. So, he tries it from how he would have handled it.
"You wanna own this, or do you want NCIS to own it?"
"Not following."
"If it's your baby, then you call Jarvis' secretary and make the appointment. If it's NCIS being useful to the Navy, if it's Leon loaning you out, then you put it through Leon."
Tim thinks about that for a while. His first instinct is that this is his. He thought it up. He put it in motion. His second instinct is that Leon might not see it that way. "Do you think Leon will be upset if I take this?"
Gibbs shrugs. "Maybe. Probably depends on what you do with it and how the rest of your jobs go. Keep doing your job and doing it well, he likely won't mind."
"Will Jarvis?"
"He asked you for this?"
"He told me that if I had time I should write it up for him."
"Sounds like he asked for it."
"That's how I took it. So, call his secretary?"
"Unless you want to share the glory with the rest of NCIS."
"I'll think about it."
And Tim did. For a day. Then he called Leon's office, got his secretary, Karen, and asked for Jarvis' email. Which she gave him.
Then he carefully drafted an email with his current findings and explaining what he needed to know and why in order for him to take this to a Navy-wide level. He cced it to Leon, but did not address it to him.
A few hours later he got a quick note from Leon:
Looks good. Keep me in the loop.
Four days later he got this from Jarvis (also cced to Leon):
McGee,
I've read over your preliminary reports and your plan for how to roll this out wider. I like what I'm seeing.
If I remember correctly, you were involved in the hunt for Harper Deering. He used his knowledge of our system to find flaws and attack us with them.
Put your Deering hat on. Set up a test, find our flaws, break them open, and let's get them patched before someone on the outside can break into them. Once that's done, I'd like you to set a testing protocol for the Navy, so that we may continue running these tests, but doing so doesn't become your full-time job. I have a feeling you have other jobs that need doing just as much as this one.
Admr. Dean Finnegan runs all Cybersecurity for the US Navy. I've included his contact information and sent him a note to offer you any assistance you desire.
Clayt
For a long moment Tim just stares at that. Clayt. He swallows hard and gets to work. Jarvis is right, he's got jobs to do, lots of them. (Like right now he's the lead hacker breaking into a hyper-secure shell corporation's inter-web.)
But he also takes a moment to write an introductory email to Admr. Finnegan, requesting a meeting. Once he's got the access he needs, he can design one hell of a test, and he's really enjoying the idea of that.
Traditionally Admirals have flagships. They have battle groups and one specific ship that is their, for all practical purposes, home.
Admiral Finnegan does not have a flagship. That's sign one of how much naval warfare has changed over the years. He could have a flagship. He's an Admiral. He could have his very own pink aircraft carrier should he so desire. (Tim's father and grandfather have/had aircraft carriers. Not pink ones though.)
But he doesn't.
He's out of Norfolk for several reasons, but primarily because it's the Cyberhub of the Navy, and if it happens on a computer anywhere in the world under a US Navy command, he's hooked into it from there. And because he's on land, in a hardened base, he doesn't have to worry about his command getting knocked out by wonky satellites, storms, or anything that could mess with a ship.
So, if there is one Admiral in the Navy that Tim McGee wants to visit in his home base, it's Admiral Finnegan.
Tim would have to admit to feeling a little nervous about this as he's driving down to Norfolk. He knows it will clear once they get talking, because Finnegan seemed very enthusiastic about what he wanted to do in his emails, but he's still going to visit an Admiral, and even if it's not The Admiral, it's still got a lot of the same associations buried in the back of his mind.
At least it's on dry land.
Over the years, Tim has been pleased that McGee is a very common last name. Because there are lots of McGees out there, the number of people who have put together Admiral John McGee with Special Agent (and now Director of Cybercrime) Tim McGee have been very few and very far between.
For example, he's not sure if Jarvis has twigged to it. He knows the only reason Leon found out was they had that one case his dad was part of. Armstrong actually did some research on him when he showed up to recruit him for NCIS, which is how he found out. He'd worked for the MCRT for five years before they knew what Navy Brat actually meant in regards to Tim.
But, of course, there are only eleven Admirals in the US Navy, and they know each other, so…
Tim can hope it won't come up, but he's not thinking it's likely.
So much for hope. Admr. Finnegan's secretary walked Tim in, they shook hands and then Finnegan looked at him carefully, thought about it for a few seconds, and then said, "Are you John McGee's boy?"
Tim supposes he probably does look like his dad some. And even if he doesn't, last Sarah said, he still had a picture of him up in his office, so…
"Yes, sir."
"No need for that. Dean'll do. How's the old son-of-a-bitch doing?"
"I understand he's well." Which is true but doesn't require him to pretend they have any sort of relationship.
Finnegan seems to catch it though, thinks about that for a second, like he was about to either ask a follow-up question or say something else about John, but decides not to.
Instead he nods and says, "You've got Clayt all fired up about this, so what do you need from me?"
Finnegan shows him their central hub. He talks through how everything works, giving Tim some very good ideas.
"We do this for ourselves, of course. My guys run tests on our ships, on our bases, on anything with a computer on it."
"Good tests?"
"Yes. But they still come from the inside. And they've still got a… Navy feel to them."
Tim smiles at that. "I trained at MIT, and I can spot another Beaver from my era from a mile away. I know what you mean about having a certain feel to them. Trust me, nothing that comes from my office is going to feel like a Navy attack..." Tim thinks about that. "Unless I want it to."
Finnegan smiles at that. "Tit for tat? Want us to take a swing at you guys?"
"Certainly. So far all of my attacks have come from the inside, too. Part of how I could hack my own system. And you've got to keep watch for that, too. Especially with how spread out your organization is."
Finnegan nods. "Physical security of the system is just as important as keeping the internals safe."
"Exactly. We've had people break into the building because that's easier than hacking the system from the outside."
"So, you going to break in and 'compromise the physical layout'?"
Tim smiles. "Maybe. I'd have to talk to Jarvis about this, but… I think I'm going to make them think I broke in and launched from the inside, but actually strike from the outside."
Finnegan grins at that, really enjoying that idea. "That'll be fun."
"Oh yeah."
A week after talking to Finnegan, Tim had finished the first test protocol.
If he were to explain it to Finnegan, it would take three hours and involve a lot of words that most laymen don't know.
If he were to explain it to Gibbs, it would go something like this: My computer at work is going to slip a program into Norfolk. That program will hit the computers there that run everything. Those computers are hooked into every command center in the Navy. From there a program will hop to whatever ship we're testing. That ship will then get a message to do something bad. The ship will also get the message that it's being told to do something bad from one of the computers on the ship. The test is can the guys on the ship get it shut down in time, and can they find out where the attack actually came from?
He sent a somewhat more technologically sophisticated version of that to Jarvis (with the cc to Leon) and got back a one line response from Jarvis. Isn't that supposed to be impossible?
Tim smiles, feeling pretty cocky, and writes back. Yes. It's supposed to be impossible.
Another brief email hit his inbox. I have three free hours in the morning of May 16th. Lt. James'll select a ship and we'll discuss putting the test into play. Let's get this set to go.
Tim sent back one line. Yes, sir.
Next
Chapter 364: Setting Things In Motion
There have been a few, rare, moments where Tim's wanted to rub his hands together, cackling like a mad scientist, shouting 'Eureka!'
And right now he's awfully tempted to start doing it.
Exactly one month ago he hit the key that set the Beta test of the paperwork software live. Over the course of that month his guys and Autopsy had managed to snag, break, stall out, and confuse the software six times. (He was expecting that to be the first day of reports, not the first month.)
And now, fixes in place, patches patched, he's once again getting ready to send the software live, this time for the gamma test, NCIS Navy Yard-wide.
He hits the enter button and, boom, it's up.
A fast email to everyone, (he'd already written it, just needed to hit send) explaining what was up, and how everyone would still need to do their paperwork by hand, but that the computers should be doing it, too, and how if something went wonky they needed to let Cybercrime know.
And then it was time to settle in and wait for the error reports.
He's feeling more and more at ease in this job. His guys are moving more smoothly. They're teaming properly now, and as of last week the job software went live for the whole of NCIS, so they're running twenty-four seven with full teams. (Granted the members of said team may be spread along three continents.) With his current talent pool, no case ever has to wait for more than a few hours to find someone who knows how to run it.
That makes him very happy.
Sure, getting hands on work can still be a bit rough. ID10T errors seem fairly common when, say, someone in Bogota needs a phone hacked, and the nearest hacker is in Eido, and Bogota is having a hard time figuring out how to get the phone hooked into the system so Eido can hack it. But, talking Bogota through how to do it is still faster than sticking the phone on a helio and moving it to the closest hacker (Mexico City) and then waiting for him to get into the office, get done with his other cases, and then hack the phone.
So, in that he doesn't have a mound of paperwork on his desk to fill out, and in that he's also (not yet) getting inundated with error reports, and in that his Minions who also do not have mounds of paperwork to fill out and are now on 24/7 are whipping through the job queue, something he hasn't thought about for a while springs to mind.
Namely, back when he tested Cybercrime the first time Jarvis mentioned that he'd like a copy of the report and a feasibility study for doing it Navy-wide.
Might as well start that up.
"Can I ask you for some advice?" Tim asks, walking into Gibbs' living room later that evening. (He cut out a little early, wanted to talk to Gibbs. Kind of hoping to just 'drop by' when Borin was there so he could report back to the crew that he had at least seen them both in the same place at the same time, but no dice.)
"Sure," Gibbs answers, looking up from his kindle. (Tim makes a mental note to get him a new one for Christmas, this one's two generations out of date.)
"I started writing that report on the feasibility of my Cybercrime test navy-wide."
"Yeah."
Tim sits next to him on the sofa. "Okay, I've hit a brick wall. I don't know precisely how their computers are set up, and I can't determine how feasible this is if I don't know that."
"Sounds like you know what's going on."
"Yeah, on that part. None of the tech is an issue. I mean, I can find out how they're set, on my own, but, that's about twenty grades above my clearance and really illegal. So, what… Do I tell Vance, and he tells Jarvis? Do I go straight to Jarvis? I mean, what's the chain of command here? He asked me to do it so, do I go straight to him?"
Gibbs thinks about that. How to do politics is something he's not good at. How the chain of command works, he's… still not good at. His plan was to always go to the guy who could get you what you want or need and screw the intermediaries. He tries to think about it like he was the kind of guy who wanted a career and that not pissing off the powers that be mattered. That didn't work, he's not that guy, never was, and really can't imagine him too well. So, he tries it from how he would have handled it.
"You wanna own this, or do you want NCIS to own it?"
"Not following."
"If it's your baby, then you call Jarvis' secretary and make the appointment. If it's NCIS being useful to the Navy, if it's Leon loaning you out, then you put it through Leon."
Tim thinks about that for a while. His first instinct is that this is his. He thought it up. He put it in motion. His second instinct is that Leon might not see it that way. "Do you think Leon will be upset if I take this?"
Gibbs shrugs. "Maybe. Probably depends on what you do with it and how the rest of your jobs go. Keep doing your job and doing it well, he likely won't mind."
"Will Jarvis?"
"He asked you for this?"
"He told me that if I had time I should write it up for him."
"Sounds like he asked for it."
"That's how I took it. So, call his secretary?"
"Unless you want to share the glory with the rest of NCIS."
"I'll think about it."
And Tim did. For a day. Then he called Leon's office, got his secretary, Karen, and asked for Jarvis' email. Which she gave him.
Then he carefully drafted an email with his current findings and explaining what he needed to know and why in order for him to take this to a Navy-wide level. He cced it to Leon, but did not address it to him.
A few hours later he got a quick note from Leon:
Looks good. Keep me in the loop.
Four days later he got this from Jarvis (also cced to Leon):
McGee,
I've read over your preliminary reports and your plan for how to roll this out wider. I like what I'm seeing.
If I remember correctly, you were involved in the hunt for Harper Deering. He used his knowledge of our system to find flaws and attack us with them.
Put your Deering hat on. Set up a test, find our flaws, break them open, and let's get them patched before someone on the outside can break into them. Once that's done, I'd like you to set a testing protocol for the Navy, so that we may continue running these tests, but doing so doesn't become your full-time job. I have a feeling you have other jobs that need doing just as much as this one.
Admr. Dean Finnegan runs all Cybersecurity for the US Navy. I've included his contact information and sent him a note to offer you any assistance you desire.
Clayt
For a long moment Tim just stares at that. Clayt. He swallows hard and gets to work. Jarvis is right, he's got jobs to do, lots of them. (Like right now he's the lead hacker breaking into a hyper-secure shell corporation's inter-web.)
But he also takes a moment to write an introductory email to Admr. Finnegan, requesting a meeting. Once he's got the access he needs, he can design one hell of a test, and he's really enjoying the idea of that.
Traditionally Admirals have flagships. They have battle groups and one specific ship that is their, for all practical purposes, home.
Admiral Finnegan does not have a flagship. That's sign one of how much naval warfare has changed over the years. He could have a flagship. He's an Admiral. He could have his very own pink aircraft carrier should he so desire. (Tim's father and grandfather have/had aircraft carriers. Not pink ones though.)
But he doesn't.
He's out of Norfolk for several reasons, but primarily because it's the Cyberhub of the Navy, and if it happens on a computer anywhere in the world under a US Navy command, he's hooked into it from there. And because he's on land, in a hardened base, he doesn't have to worry about his command getting knocked out by wonky satellites, storms, or anything that could mess with a ship.
So, if there is one Admiral in the Navy that Tim McGee wants to visit in his home base, it's Admiral Finnegan.
Tim would have to admit to feeling a little nervous about this as he's driving down to Norfolk. He knows it will clear once they get talking, because Finnegan seemed very enthusiastic about what he wanted to do in his emails, but he's still going to visit an Admiral, and even if it's not The Admiral, it's still got a lot of the same associations buried in the back of his mind.
At least it's on dry land.
Over the years, Tim has been pleased that McGee is a very common last name. Because there are lots of McGees out there, the number of people who have put together Admiral John McGee with Special Agent (and now Director of Cybercrime) Tim McGee have been very few and very far between.
For example, he's not sure if Jarvis has twigged to it. He knows the only reason Leon found out was they had that one case his dad was part of. Armstrong actually did some research on him when he showed up to recruit him for NCIS, which is how he found out. He'd worked for the MCRT for five years before they knew what Navy Brat actually meant in regards to Tim.
But, of course, there are only eleven Admirals in the US Navy, and they know each other, so…
Tim can hope it won't come up, but he's not thinking it's likely.
So much for hope. Admr. Finnegan's secretary walked Tim in, they shook hands and then Finnegan looked at him carefully, thought about it for a few seconds, and then said, "Are you John McGee's boy?"
Tim supposes he probably does look like his dad some. And even if he doesn't, last Sarah said, he still had a picture of him up in his office, so…
"Yes, sir."
"No need for that. Dean'll do. How's the old son-of-a-bitch doing?"
"I understand he's well." Which is true but doesn't require him to pretend they have any sort of relationship.
Finnegan seems to catch it though, thinks about that for a second, like he was about to either ask a follow-up question or say something else about John, but decides not to.
Instead he nods and says, "You've got Clayt all fired up about this, so what do you need from me?"
Finnegan shows him their central hub. He talks through how everything works, giving Tim some very good ideas.
"We do this for ourselves, of course. My guys run tests on our ships, on our bases, on anything with a computer on it."
"Good tests?"
"Yes. But they still come from the inside. And they've still got a… Navy feel to them."
Tim smiles at that. "I trained at MIT, and I can spot another Beaver from my era from a mile away. I know what you mean about having a certain feel to them. Trust me, nothing that comes from my office is going to feel like a Navy attack..." Tim thinks about that. "Unless I want it to."
Finnegan smiles at that. "Tit for tat? Want us to take a swing at you guys?"
"Certainly. So far all of my attacks have come from the inside, too. Part of how I could hack my own system. And you've got to keep watch for that, too. Especially with how spread out your organization is."
Finnegan nods. "Physical security of the system is just as important as keeping the internals safe."
"Exactly. We've had people break into the building because that's easier than hacking the system from the outside."
"So, you going to break in and 'compromise the physical layout'?"
Tim smiles. "Maybe. I'd have to talk to Jarvis about this, but… I think I'm going to make them think I broke in and launched from the inside, but actually strike from the outside."
Finnegan grins at that, really enjoying that idea. "That'll be fun."
"Oh yeah."
A week after talking to Finnegan, Tim had finished the first test protocol.
If he were to explain it to Finnegan, it would take three hours and involve a lot of words that most laymen don't know.
If he were to explain it to Gibbs, it would go something like this: My computer at work is going to slip a program into Norfolk. That program will hit the computers there that run everything. Those computers are hooked into every command center in the Navy. From there a program will hop to whatever ship we're testing. That ship will then get a message to do something bad. The ship will also get the message that it's being told to do something bad from one of the computers on the ship. The test is can the guys on the ship get it shut down in time, and can they find out where the attack actually came from?
He sent a somewhat more technologically sophisticated version of that to Jarvis (with the cc to Leon) and got back a one line response from Jarvis. Isn't that supposed to be impossible?
Tim smiles, feeling pretty cocky, and writes back. Yes. It's supposed to be impossible.
Another brief email hit his inbox. I have three free hours in the morning of May 16th. Lt. James'll select a ship and we'll discuss putting the test into play. Let's get this set to go.
Tim sent back one line. Yes, sir.
Next
August 12, 2014
Shards To A Whole: Dr. Palmer
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 363: Dr. Palmer
So far, a week into testing the new paperwork software, it's going, very, very well. Yes, they do have to do all the standard paperwork, on the off chance something in the software doesn't work properly, but for right now it does appear that all of the paperwork that was printing, all filled out, from their computers was coming out perfectly fine.
Or so Ducky thought.
He's looking at his case notes, filling in the form, when he notices a discrepancy. According to his notes there are fractures at both the C1 and C2 vertebrae, along with a complete severing of the spinal cord at C3 (the cause of death.)
According to the form the computer spit out there were fractures at C1 and C2, complete severing of the spinal cord at C3, and hairline fractures of the occipital crest.
"Dratted computer." Now he has to double check. Though, as he thinks about it, that seems to be a very unlikely sort of mistake for the computer to just pull out of thin air. He's suspicious as to how that information got into the computer.
Ducky sorts through the x-rays, finds the correct ones, and puts them up on the light board. He stares at them intensely for a moment, wipes off his glasses, stares longer, takes a step closer, and… "Buggeration. Mr. Palmer!"
"Excuse me, Dr. Mallard?" They are at work and working, so the formality that marks this as a space apart from home continues between him and Jimmy.
"Mr. Palmer, do you, perhaps recall what I have said to you in regards to maintaining correct and complete notes on all of our cases?"
"It's entirely likely, Dr. Mallard, but in that you've said many things, and I do not know why you're scowling at that x-ray, I'm at a loss for coming up with what specific thing you are looking for."
Ducky points to the x-ray. "That is a collection of hairline fractures along the occipital ridge."
Jimmy heads over, and looks, and knows exactly what is going on. "Yes, Dr. Mallard is it."
"And did I not tell you that if you see something and I do not, that you are to inform me of it?"
"Yes, Dr. Mallard, you did."
"I see you noted that collection of fractures in the case notes, so your lack of verbal explanation would be…"
Jimmy smiles, sad. He's caught and there's no getting out of this. "It's the third time in a month, and for the last year you've been saying that if you miss three in a month it's time to go."
Ducky sees the smile, knows what Jimmy's been doing, and nods, "Indeed it is, Dr. Palmer, indeed it is." Then he squeezes Jimmy's hand. "All things end, Jimmy, even good ones. We enjoy them while we have them, and then we lay them to rest and search for new good things."
Jimmy blinks a few times, and says, "Okay, Ducky."
Actually, it was the seventh thing. They're all little misses. Nothing big. Nothing that would affect cause of death or change their understanding of a case. (Example: broken wrist. Dr. Mallard would catch three of four fractured carpals. It doesn't change how anyone understands what happened, and even in an emergency room that sort of miss would be common.) And Jimmy does catch them, and he makes sure the notes are complete, but with doing them on the computer and by hand, he hasn't been able to hide them, as well.
The few ones that have been big, or big enough to matter, he had told Ducky about, and the look on his face after... It feels like he's stabbing his grandfather.
He knows it's time. By Ducky's three misses a month line it's been time for four months now, but…
The brain is active and strong and willing and knows more about everything than any brain has any right to know, but the eyes won't do the job anymore. Jimmy knows it isn't a matter of better glasses, Ducky would already have them if they could solve the problem. It's just a matter of old eyes.
He watches Ducky settle in at his computer and begin to write up his letter of resignation.
It's not a matter of Jimmy not feeling ready. He looks around Autopsy. This is his job, and he's ready to do it. He's spent almost fifteen years with a man who's taught him every trick from every book. He can, and will, do this.
But this space, this job, is also so Dr. Mallard's (and he's very much Dr. Mallard while he's doing this job.) This is his home and his life, and Jimmy feels almost like an imposter trying to take it over.
A mere mortal trying to stand in the
place of a giant.
But, Ducky's a mortal, too. They all are. And he's hit the print key, waiting for the letter to print out, intending to take it directly to Leon.
As of 10:38 on March 3rd 2016, Dr. Jimmy Palmer is now the Medical Examiner at NCIS.
They didn't celebrate Tony becoming Team Leader. Mostly because celebrating him moving up meant celebrating Gibbs moving out. The same is true for Jimmy moving up.
There's also the fact that Jimmy doesn't want to celebrate. Not this. He thinks that was true for Tony, too.
He knows it's time. He knows he's ready. He'll admit that being the guy in charge is a kick. And once he finally noticed that Ducky was doing it (probably the third time it happened) he appreciated and was deeply touched by the "Dr. Palmer" bit.
But it still feels like cheering for a funeral.
And so, at eighty-one years old, thirty-six years after joining NCIS, Dr. Donald Mallard handed in his resignation. Effective immediately he is no longer the Medical Examiner at NCIS. He also gave a month's notice, figuring that staying on for a month as Jimmy's Assistant (he's not precisely sure how that will work, but if Jimmy's the one catching the mistakes, he's the one doing the job, and all Ducky's doing is assisting) would allow enough time to transition smoothly to a new Assistant Medical Examiner.
Thus, April 4th, a month hence, would be his last day at NCIS.
Which means Jimmy's first job (beyond his usual daily work) as a Medical Examiner is hiring a new Assistant Medical Examiner.
And for this first job, Jimmy is happy to have the aid of an extremely talented Assistant.
Human Resources put the job up on the web. They narrowed down the applicants and sent him a stack of resumes. Jimmy had felt confident weeding that stack down to the three he wanted to interview.
The help he wants is in seeing who those three applicants really are.
Ducky and Gibbs might be able to read a man just by looking at him. Jimmy can't, and he knows he can't. Unlike the rest of the team, he hasn't spent the last decade honing any sort of 'gut' that's good at reading people. (Live ones anyway. He's got a great 'gut' for dead ones, and he can read a crime scene like nobody's business, now.) So he proposes one last job for Ducky… as they sit around the autopsy table looking at resumes.
"What I'd like to do is something of a ruse. I'd like them to interview with you, see how they respond to you, and see how they respond to me, thinking that I'm another applicant. I want to see how they'll treat me if they don't think I've got any say in them getting hired, and what they'll say about you behind your back."
Ducky smiles at that. "And should I appear to be an especially doddering old fool?"
Jimmy shakes his head. "Just be you. I want to see if they can tell you aren't a fool or if they'll be lulled by the accent and tendency to chatter."
"Tendency to chatter?"
Jimmy smirks at him. "You aren't my boss anymore, so I feel like I can say this. I worked with you for almost fifteen years and in that time you never shut up. It's honestly unnerving to work with a man who can talk for ten straight hours, day after day after day, and never go over the same thing. Don't get me wrong, the sheer amount of stuff you know is staggering, and I feel like I got three or four PhDs worth of education listening to you, but, hour after hour, sometimes you just have to tune it out."
Ducky smirks back at him. "When do we meet the first one, Dr. Palmer?"
"Tomorrow at ten."
Dr. Samuel Allan, MD from University of Chicago, specialty in infectious diseases, is Jimmy's first choice. He's curious about how a man goes from what is mostly lab work, studying pathogens and bacteria in petri dishes, to wanting to be an Assistant Medical Examiner.
Beyond that curious fact, it's a good resume. Top marks. Worked for the University of Chicago for two years, worked for CDC for another year, and now he's applying here.
Reference are good. Apparently Dr. Allan is quiet, conscientious, and everyone he's worked for would hire him again. In that Jimmy got this job while he was still in medical school, Dr. Allan is also vastly over qualified for this job.
Jimmy's waiting outside of Autopsy, in a nice suit (He'd wear it for an interview if he had one.) calmly reading on his phone, when the elevator opens and Dr. Allan (he presumes) heads in.
Allan stares around, sees him waiting, (not like he's hard to miss) and asks, "Dr. Mallard?"
"Nope. Jimmy Palmer. You interviewing with him today, too?"
"Yeah."
"Good luck then."
"Uh…" Allan turns red, disconcerted by this other, older, significantly calmer person here. "Thanks." He then shuts up. He's young. Twenty-six maybe. He's short, with kind of floppy blond hair, (Puts Jimmy in mind a bit of the pretty-boy character from House, whose name he doesn't remember. Breena'd know.) no wedding ring, his suit is conservative charcoal gray, but the tie is flashy, cobalt blue with some sort of pink thing on it. After another second he visibly jerks, blushes again, and says in a rush, "Good luck to you, too. Sorry, I'm a little bit nervous."
"Trust me, I understand." Jimmy smiles at him, tucking his phone into his pocket, offering his hand. Allan shakes, and yes, his palm is a bit sweaty, but the grip is good and he's making proper eye contact. "You fresh out of med school?"
"Not quite. Fresh out of the CDC."
"Cool! What were you doing there?"
"Tracing pandemics, working on figuring out where they'll hit next." Jimmy looks properly impressed. "How about you?"
"Assistant ME for Baltimore. Wife's family is down here. Decided we'd like to live somewhere a bit safer."
Allan nods.
"Bit of a smaller job here, too, but it'd be nice to see my kids every day."
Allan nods at that, too.
"So, why leave the CDC, this isn't… you know…"
"Even remotely the same field?"
"Yeah."
"A friend was murdered last year, I was there for the trial, and the ME cracked it. Found the cause of death, found what they needed to put the…" He's clearly editing himself.
"We called 'em assholes in Baltimore."
Allan inclines his head, but doesn't repeat the word. "To put him away. It was so real. And it made a difference. Made a difference to real people in a way those models I was building never would."
Jimmy nods, very pleased with that answer. "It does. It really does." His hands are in his pocket, along with his cell phone. He taps the button that lets Ducky know it's time to appear.
"Ah, gentlemen!" Ducky says as the elevator doors open. "So sorry we had to reschedule Mr. Palmer. Dr. Allan, I did not intend to run concurrent interviews, however, we had a lively day yesterday, and as I am on my own, I could not juggle fieldwork with interviewing. Please, come in. Let's start with a tour!"
Ducky shows them around, nattering away about the history of Medical Examination, periodically asking them questions about their own backgrounds. Thus they learned that Dr. Allan hadn't been near an actual human patient of any variety since his residency.
Jimmy can see that Allan's a bit flustered to have Jimmy here, which he supposes makes sense. He wants to look good, and like he can do the job, but there's this other guy who has been doing this for "ten years" answering the questions and looking really at ease and competent next to him.
"Mr. Palmer, Dr. Allan, time for the practical exam. There is a written section on my desk, Mr. Palmer, have at it. Dr. Allan, come with me to the light board, let us go over some x-rays."
Jimmy's "practical exam" is filling out more paperwork. They did have a lively day yesterday, and he's wrapping up his hand-written copy of the work. (One more week, and if no one manages to break the damn paperwork software, he'll be able to stop doing everything twice. Tim's not really hopeful about the not breaking thing. But so far, it's doing the job. Of course, so far the only people using it is Cybercrime and Autopsy. He's fairly certain that as soon as he takes it office wide it'll be crashing every nine seconds.)
Of course, in that he's done this ninety million times, Jimmy doesn't need to pay much attention to what he's doing, so he gets to listen to Drs. Allan and Mallard discussing the X-rays on the light board.
Allan has good skills. His anatomy is on point. He's catching the breaks and nicks and issues on the x-rays.
Acid test comes next.
"Mr. Palmer, have you finished the written exam?"
"Yes, Dr. Mallard." He flips his pages over, leaving the actual written exam, for Allan, on top.
"Ah, splendid, come around." Ducky motions to Allan as well, drawing them near, opening the second drawer. "Here we have Lt. James Kenneworth." Ducky gestures to the body and then looks to the table. "You've transferred bodies before, correct, Mr. Palmer?"
Jimmy smiles. "About four times a day. Usually not when I'm in my good interview suit, though."
"Ah. Quite, right. Could you walk us through the procedure then?"
"Of course, Dr. Mallard. Usually we begin with paperwork, note who is being removed and why, then over to the nearest gurney," Jimmy heads to the nearest gurney, "flip the breaks up on the wheels," he nudges the latches up on each wheel with his toes, "roll the gurney to the body." He does that as well, narrating each move as he does it. "Put the breaks down. I usually end up getting the feet." Jimmy heads to Lt. Kennworth's feet, but does not touch him. (Feet is the harder half of the lifting, because you have to lift from next to the body, instead of from in front of it.) "Someone else grabs the shoulders, count of three move body to the table." He pantomimes the grip and motion used to lift a body off the slab. "Slide the drawer back, lock it up. Unlock the wheels on the gurney, and move the body to the table, repeat locking everything down, repeat moving the body, unlock the wheels, put the gurney back, flip on the lights, and off we go."
"Very precise, Mr. Palmer."
The whole time Jimmy's been reciting, Allan's been staring at the Lt. "What happened to him, Dr. Mallard?"
Lt. Kennworth is covered by a drape, so the large gunshot wound to his chest is currently not visible. Ducky folds back the drape. "Would you care to venture a guess, Mr. Palmer?"
Jimmy looks the body over, of course he's seen this before. "Without flipping him over, I'd guess it's a gunshot wound, but without flipping him over, I couldn't be sure."
Allan swallows, hard, staring at the destroyed chest.
"A bullet does that?"
"Large caliber ones do. Mr. Palmer, is correct, this is the mark of a .45 from a short range. Can you glean any extra information from this body Dr. Allan?"
Allan blinks a few times. Jimmy can see him making himself be clinical. "Anterior discoloration and swelling means he fell forward."
"Indeed. Other observations?"
"No signs of decomposition, wherever he was lying was cool or he wasn't there long."
"Correct."
Allan looks even closer. "No signs of anything chewing on the Lt. Once again he either wasn't down long or he was inside or wrapped up or protected somehow."
"Good."
Allan looks up. "Do you know what happened to him?"
"Yes. This made for a lively day, but only one lively day. Our guest had something of an untenable gambling habit, and cheated, and got caught cheating, at the wrong game."
"Aces over eights, Dr. Mallard?"
Ducky smiles at that, as Allan stares at them blankly. "The Dead Man's Hand, Dr. Allan, supposedly held by notorious gunman Wild Bill Hickok when he was shot in the back at a poker game."
"Ah," says Allan.
"Come, Mr. Palmer, time for the X-ray. Dr. Allan, to the written exam."
He and Ducky confer quietly at the X-rays while Allan fills out a series of basic anatomy, physiology, and pathology questions. He should smoke the exam. If Jimmy could pull it off as a first year in medical school, this should be no problem for Allan.
"How's he doing?" Jimmy quietly asks Ducky as they 'confer' on the X-ray.
"I am pleased so far. He certainly has the skills for the job, though I'm less sure about him having the constitution for it."
Jimmy nods at that. "Want someone hard enough to do this, but not so jaded they stop seeing them as people."
Ducky nods along. "Precisely. Did you find out why he's hoping to do this job?"
"Yeah. Friend was killed. He was at the trial. One where the ME cracked it."
"Justice served. A powerful motivator."
"Yeah."
They glance over and see Allan staring at his exam, looking awfully finished.
Ducky shakes Jimmy's hand. "Thank you for coming in, Mr. Palmer."
"Thank you, Dr. Mallard. I hope to hear from you soon."
Ducky nods at that, and Jimmy heads off to Abby's lab. In that it's below Autopsy, there's no shot of Allan accidentally wandering into him on the way out. Plus he can tell Abby about how the first interview went.
"All done, Dr. Allan?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Any questions about the job?"
"One."
Ducky looks at him expectantly.
"How many don't get solved?"
Ducky likes that question.
"Not many, Dr. Allan. In thirty-one years, I've sent all but twenty-six of them to rest. We don't always get the conviction. And we don't always find who did whatever it was. That's just part of this job. We do what we can with what we have, and what we have is a collection of great minds who almost always figure out what happened."
Ducky smiles gently. "Anything else?"
"What happened to your last assistant? Anything I can take away from that?"
"He has moved onto bigger and better things. And yes, over the years to come, I hope you do learn from my experiences with him."
Allan nods at that, thinking it's a bit cryptic, but possibly a sign that he's done well on the interview. "Thank you for the interview."
"You're welcome. Do you know the way out?"
"I can find my way."
"Good. I hope you have a pleasant rest of your day."
"Thank you. You, too, Dr. Mallard."
The second candidate crashed and burned before he even got in the door. Amos Potter actually was the Assistant ME for the city of Baltimore. (Where Jimmy got the idea.)
Lots of experience. Neutral references (which worried Jimmy). No MD, but technically an MD isn't necessary for this job.
Like with Dr. Allan, Jimmy was waiting in the hallway when Mr. Potter came in.
He saw Jimmy, did a double take, and then checked his phone. "One of us is in the wrong place, and it's not me."
Jimmy tucks his phone into his pocket. "Hello to you, too. Neither of us is in the wrong place. My interview got moved to today. Apparently someone was killed yesterday, so Dr. Mallard was out of the building."
"Great." Potter says sarcastically, looking like he wants to sulk.
Jimmy hits his contact for Ducky; he wants to get this one done fast.
Ducky heads in a moment later, using the same spiel he did yesterday. As he's heading into Autopsy Potter says quietly to him, "God, he's a million years old. They told me he was old, but… Ancient. Upside, won't be waiting long to advance, old dude can't have more than a year left in him."
"We're done, Dr. Mallard," Jimmy says.
"All ready?" Even Ducky thought that was frighteningly fast.
Potter looks confused by this.
Jimmy turns to him. "Mr. Potter, politeness is a virtue. And when you spend hour after hour day after day working intimately with someone in a small space it is a good plan to at least try to not get on their nerves. You may go."
Potter's still staring at him, flummoxed. "Who are you telling me that I 'may go?'"
"I'm the guy who might have hired you if you had actually said hello to me and treated me like a human being."
"But…" he stares at Ducky.
"Goodbye, Mr. Potter," Jimmy says again. And Amos Potter left, in a very bad mood.
Candidate number three was the least qualified of the lot.
Bachelors of Arts from Penn State. One year of Medical School at the University of Pennsylvania, (three years ago), and two years as a Veterinary Assistant. Good references, though her previous employer (the Vet) had chuckled a bit about Sarah saying she was, 'One of a kind.'
Since that was a fairly close match to Jimmy's history prior to getting to NCIS (though he was in Medical School as opposed to dropped out) he's interested in giving her a go. It certainly worked out well for him and Ducky.
Like the previous two times, Jimmy is waiting in the hallway.
The doors open and this time he does the double take.
What Jimmy knows about Goth could be summed up in one tiny word: Abby. He knows he likes the aesthetic, even if it's not personally for him.
The woman standing before him is in head to toe black. Okay, not a problem. Black jeans, black and silver studded belt, black t-shirt, black trench coat, black lace gloves. (The concept of professional does not appear to have occurred to her. Though he does snap a discrete picture of her and one-handedly sends it to Abby with Would you go to an interview like this?) Three lip piercings, black lipstick under them, those spacer looking things in her ears, lots and lots of black eye makeup. He finds himself idly wondering about how you put lipstick on with pierced lips. Like, is a brush involved or do you just pull the rings out of the way, and how does that little lip rub thing Breena does after she puts on lipstick work?
She doesn't smile, but she does say, "Hey. You waiting to interview, too?" That pulls his focus away from the mystery of the black lipstick.
"Yeah."
"Cool. Really looking forward to this."
"Me too. I understand this is a great Morgue."
"Yeah. Couldn't get much info on Autopsy, but a friend of a friend of a friend works in Cybercrime here, and he says it's great."
Jimmy wonders who the friend of a friend of a friend is, but makes a note to let Tim know that. "Jimmy Palmer."
"Hey. Sarah Bast. So… aren't you kind of old for this?"
Jimmy snorts at that. It's the kind of thing that might have come out of his mouth, but she doesn't look embarrassed or chagrined.
"I was with the Baltimore ME for ten years. Moving south to be closer to my wife's family."
"Oh, cool. New to town, too. Girlfriend and I are getting hitched in two months, and it's legal here so we decided to settle here."
"Good reason to move. Does she have a job already?"
"Oh yeah. She's a tattoo artist down on Lexington." Sarah quickly pulls off her coat, and pulls the neck of her t-shirt wide showing off her shoulder. "That's her work."
Jimmy nods. It appears to be some sort of demon-looking thing chewing on a goat. "That's very… intricate."
"Yeah. Still got to add the color in. Covers my whole back."
"Ah." He whacks the button to let Ducky know to come in. "So, um… what is that? Design for an album cover or something?"
"Oh no. Personal demon."
His eyebrows shoot up.
"You have a personal demon?"
"Yeah. Some people have guardian angles, I have a personal demon. Or he has me. Whichever."
Jimmy's very rapidly trying to remember everything he read in the handbook about religious discrimination. He doesn't think he can not hire her just because she appears to be some form of Satanist, but he's also feeling distinctly uncomfortable about this.
"Good for you," he says with a very fake smile hoping Ducky gets here soon. "So, what makes you want to work down here?" He's staring at her shoulder.
"Always liked death. Just, you know, really feel at home with it."
"Tend to think of this job as being more about the living. Finding closure for the people left behind. Every person on one of those tables represents a string of lives, and it's our job to do what we can for them."
She thinks about that. "That's a good way to think about it."
The elevator doors open and Ducky sweeps in, "Mr. Palmer, Ms. Bast, so good to see you." He does a brief double take upon seeing Sarah as well, but his is not nearly as noticeable as Jimmy's was. "Let us begin out interviews…
While Jimmy's working on the 'written exam' he checks his phone and finds a note from Abby. No. For interviews I used to don my best career girl Barbie suit. Now, since I've got more than fifteen years in charge of my own lab and people headhunt me, I'd go edgier, but I'd still wear a suit. Just because you're Goth doesn't mean you aren't professional.
Thanks. She tells me she has her own personal demon.
I'll get the sage.
Why?
You're gonna have some bad juju in the morgue until it gets cleaned out.
Okay… What do you do with the sage?
Burn it. Few other bits and pieces, too.
I don't actually want to know, do I?
Probably better off that way.
Jimmy would have to admit to feeling relieved that Bast muffed the written exam. Why she only made it through one year of med school was readily apparent going through her answers. And while it is true that there were several classes that Jimmy made it through by the skin of his teeth he was also working a full time job while he did full time med school. (And one he had to take twice, but look, it's not like Psychological Pharmacology was anything that he was going to need for his job, which by that point he was sure was going to be with NCIS. Yes, he can prescribe meds because he is a doctor, but if anyone he runs into is looking for psych help of a chemical nature, he's getting them to a real psychiatrist, fast. He knows he's not the guy for that job, and if he's got to look a drug up when it pops up in Abby's tests, then he'll look the damn drug up.)
Plus the stuff he had a tricky time with was not basic anatomy. He helped put the damn meat puzzle together, including the toe that was attached to a hand, so anatomy was something he had down, pat.
But anatomy was not something Ms. Bast had down pat, which meant he had a good reason, as opposed to a bad one, for not calling her back. (Abby took one step into Autopsy, cringed, and started talking about how bad this was and setting fire to stuff and chanting. He's still got no idea what was up with that, and really doesn't want to. He's just relieved he can put something other than 'personal demon' down for why Ms. Bast didn't make the call back list.)
As soon as Jimmy got done going over Bast's test, he grabbed his phone and punched ten digits in.
A second later he heard. "Hello?"
"Is this Dr. Allan?"
"Yes." There's a brief pause while Allan thinks for a second. "Is this Jimmy Palmer?"
"Yes. You've got a good memory for voices."
"Uh. Thanks." Another pause. "Why are you calling me?"
"I'd like to offer you a job."
"What, in Baltimore?"
Jimmy laughs. Good memory for details, too. "At NCIS, as my assistant."
More quiet. Finally, "Uh… Did you get offered a job as the Medical Examiner?"
"Yes, a few weeks ago. I actually am the NCIS Medical Examiner. Hiring an Assistant was my first job as the guy in charge. I'd like that to be you if you're still interested."
"Yes! Quite interested. Just… Who is Dr. Mallard?"
"Dr. Mallard was the Medical Examiner. I was his Assistant ME for more than a decade. He's on staff until April 4th, and I was hoping you'd be coming into work on April 5th."
"Yes, Mr. Palmer. I'd like that."
"Dr. Palmer. Off hours and out of the office, I'm Jimmy, but in Autopsy we go formal."
"Okay. Um… Not that I've got a problem with it, but, why?"
Jimmy doesn't actually know the answer to that. He has ideas. He certainly has a way he understands it, but by flat out being asked he realizes he doesn't know what Ducky thought he was doing with that.
So he answers for himself, and for why he intends to keep that formality in place, and for why he and Ducky kept it up well past the point of using each other's first names whenever there wasn't a body in the morgue. "It's a hard job, Dr. Allan. Our guests are going to tell us things we must hear. And we will listen because someone has to. We speak for those who cannot speak any longer. It's a good job, and it's an important one, but it is not easy, and a wall that separates us from what happens inside autopsy from what happens outside of it is necessary if we are to have functional lives. We cannot live this job 24/7, and that formality helps keep the different spheres of our lives separate."
"Yes, Dr. Palmer."
"Good, then I'll see you on the 5th?"
"Eight AM, right?"
"Correct."
Next
Chapter 363: Dr. Palmer
So far, a week into testing the new paperwork software, it's going, very, very well. Yes, they do have to do all the standard paperwork, on the off chance something in the software doesn't work properly, but for right now it does appear that all of the paperwork that was printing, all filled out, from their computers was coming out perfectly fine.
Or so Ducky thought.
He's looking at his case notes, filling in the form, when he notices a discrepancy. According to his notes there are fractures at both the C1 and C2 vertebrae, along with a complete severing of the spinal cord at C3 (the cause of death.)
According to the form the computer spit out there were fractures at C1 and C2, complete severing of the spinal cord at C3, and hairline fractures of the occipital crest.
"Dratted computer." Now he has to double check. Though, as he thinks about it, that seems to be a very unlikely sort of mistake for the computer to just pull out of thin air. He's suspicious as to how that information got into the computer.
Ducky sorts through the x-rays, finds the correct ones, and puts them up on the light board. He stares at them intensely for a moment, wipes off his glasses, stares longer, takes a step closer, and… "Buggeration. Mr. Palmer!"
"Excuse me, Dr. Mallard?" They are at work and working, so the formality that marks this as a space apart from home continues between him and Jimmy.
"Mr. Palmer, do you, perhaps recall what I have said to you in regards to maintaining correct and complete notes on all of our cases?"
"It's entirely likely, Dr. Mallard, but in that you've said many things, and I do not know why you're scowling at that x-ray, I'm at a loss for coming up with what specific thing you are looking for."
Ducky points to the x-ray. "That is a collection of hairline fractures along the occipital ridge."
Jimmy heads over, and looks, and knows exactly what is going on. "Yes, Dr. Mallard is it."
"And did I not tell you that if you see something and I do not, that you are to inform me of it?"
"Yes, Dr. Mallard, you did."
"I see you noted that collection of fractures in the case notes, so your lack of verbal explanation would be…"
Jimmy smiles, sad. He's caught and there's no getting out of this. "It's the third time in a month, and for the last year you've been saying that if you miss three in a month it's time to go."
Ducky sees the smile, knows what Jimmy's been doing, and nods, "Indeed it is, Dr. Palmer, indeed it is." Then he squeezes Jimmy's hand. "All things end, Jimmy, even good ones. We enjoy them while we have them, and then we lay them to rest and search for new good things."
Jimmy blinks a few times, and says, "Okay, Ducky."
Actually, it was the seventh thing. They're all little misses. Nothing big. Nothing that would affect cause of death or change their understanding of a case. (Example: broken wrist. Dr. Mallard would catch three of four fractured carpals. It doesn't change how anyone understands what happened, and even in an emergency room that sort of miss would be common.) And Jimmy does catch them, and he makes sure the notes are complete, but with doing them on the computer and by hand, he hasn't been able to hide them, as well.
The few ones that have been big, or big enough to matter, he had told Ducky about, and the look on his face after... It feels like he's stabbing his grandfather.
He knows it's time. By Ducky's three misses a month line it's been time for four months now, but…
The brain is active and strong and willing and knows more about everything than any brain has any right to know, but the eyes won't do the job anymore. Jimmy knows it isn't a matter of better glasses, Ducky would already have them if they could solve the problem. It's just a matter of old eyes.
He watches Ducky settle in at his computer and begin to write up his letter of resignation.It's not a matter of Jimmy not feeling ready. He looks around Autopsy. This is his job, and he's ready to do it. He's spent almost fifteen years with a man who's taught him every trick from every book. He can, and will, do this.
But this space, this job, is also so Dr. Mallard's (and he's very much Dr. Mallard while he's doing this job.) This is his home and his life, and Jimmy feels almost like an imposter trying to take it over.
A mere mortal trying to stand in the
place of a giant.
But, Ducky's a mortal, too. They all are. And he's hit the print key, waiting for the letter to print out, intending to take it directly to Leon.
As of 10:38 on March 3rd 2016, Dr. Jimmy Palmer is now the Medical Examiner at NCIS.
They didn't celebrate Tony becoming Team Leader. Mostly because celebrating him moving up meant celebrating Gibbs moving out. The same is true for Jimmy moving up.
There's also the fact that Jimmy doesn't want to celebrate. Not this. He thinks that was true for Tony, too.
He knows it's time. He knows he's ready. He'll admit that being the guy in charge is a kick. And once he finally noticed that Ducky was doing it (probably the third time it happened) he appreciated and was deeply touched by the "Dr. Palmer" bit.
But it still feels like cheering for a funeral.
And so, at eighty-one years old, thirty-six years after joining NCIS, Dr. Donald Mallard handed in his resignation. Effective immediately he is no longer the Medical Examiner at NCIS. He also gave a month's notice, figuring that staying on for a month as Jimmy's Assistant (he's not precisely sure how that will work, but if Jimmy's the one catching the mistakes, he's the one doing the job, and all Ducky's doing is assisting) would allow enough time to transition smoothly to a new Assistant Medical Examiner.
Thus, April 4th, a month hence, would be his last day at NCIS.
Which means Jimmy's first job (beyond his usual daily work) as a Medical Examiner is hiring a new Assistant Medical Examiner.
And for this first job, Jimmy is happy to have the aid of an extremely talented Assistant.
Human Resources put the job up on the web. They narrowed down the applicants and sent him a stack of resumes. Jimmy had felt confident weeding that stack down to the three he wanted to interview.
The help he wants is in seeing who those three applicants really are.
Ducky and Gibbs might be able to read a man just by looking at him. Jimmy can't, and he knows he can't. Unlike the rest of the team, he hasn't spent the last decade honing any sort of 'gut' that's good at reading people. (Live ones anyway. He's got a great 'gut' for dead ones, and he can read a crime scene like nobody's business, now.) So he proposes one last job for Ducky… as they sit around the autopsy table looking at resumes.
"What I'd like to do is something of a ruse. I'd like them to interview with you, see how they respond to you, and see how they respond to me, thinking that I'm another applicant. I want to see how they'll treat me if they don't think I've got any say in them getting hired, and what they'll say about you behind your back."
Ducky smiles at that. "And should I appear to be an especially doddering old fool?"Jimmy shakes his head. "Just be you. I want to see if they can tell you aren't a fool or if they'll be lulled by the accent and tendency to chatter."
"Tendency to chatter?"
Jimmy smirks at him. "You aren't my boss anymore, so I feel like I can say this. I worked with you for almost fifteen years and in that time you never shut up. It's honestly unnerving to work with a man who can talk for ten straight hours, day after day after day, and never go over the same thing. Don't get me wrong, the sheer amount of stuff you know is staggering, and I feel like I got three or four PhDs worth of education listening to you, but, hour after hour, sometimes you just have to tune it out."
Ducky smirks back at him. "When do we meet the first one, Dr. Palmer?"
"Tomorrow at ten."
Dr. Samuel Allan, MD from University of Chicago, specialty in infectious diseases, is Jimmy's first choice. He's curious about how a man goes from what is mostly lab work, studying pathogens and bacteria in petri dishes, to wanting to be an Assistant Medical Examiner.
Beyond that curious fact, it's a good resume. Top marks. Worked for the University of Chicago for two years, worked for CDC for another year, and now he's applying here.
Reference are good. Apparently Dr. Allan is quiet, conscientious, and everyone he's worked for would hire him again. In that Jimmy got this job while he was still in medical school, Dr. Allan is also vastly over qualified for this job.
Jimmy's waiting outside of Autopsy, in a nice suit (He'd wear it for an interview if he had one.) calmly reading on his phone, when the elevator opens and Dr. Allan (he presumes) heads in.
Allan stares around, sees him waiting, (not like he's hard to miss) and asks, "Dr. Mallard?"
"Nope. Jimmy Palmer. You interviewing with him today, too?"
"Yeah."
"Good luck then."
"Uh…" Allan turns red, disconcerted by this other, older, significantly calmer person here. "Thanks." He then shuts up. He's young. Twenty-six maybe. He's short, with kind of floppy blond hair, (Puts Jimmy in mind a bit of the pretty-boy character from House, whose name he doesn't remember. Breena'd know.) no wedding ring, his suit is conservative charcoal gray, but the tie is flashy, cobalt blue with some sort of pink thing on it. After another second he visibly jerks, blushes again, and says in a rush, "Good luck to you, too. Sorry, I'm a little bit nervous."
"Trust me, I understand." Jimmy smiles at him, tucking his phone into his pocket, offering his hand. Allan shakes, and yes, his palm is a bit sweaty, but the grip is good and he's making proper eye contact. "You fresh out of med school?"
"Not quite. Fresh out of the CDC."
"Cool! What were you doing there?"
"Tracing pandemics, working on figuring out where they'll hit next." Jimmy looks properly impressed. "How about you?"
"Assistant ME for Baltimore. Wife's family is down here. Decided we'd like to live somewhere a bit safer."
Allan nods.
"Bit of a smaller job here, too, but it'd be nice to see my kids every day."
Allan nods at that, too.
"So, why leave the CDC, this isn't… you know…"
"Even remotely the same field?"
"Yeah."
"A friend was murdered last year, I was there for the trial, and the ME cracked it. Found the cause of death, found what they needed to put the…" He's clearly editing himself.
"We called 'em assholes in Baltimore."
Allan inclines his head, but doesn't repeat the word. "To put him away. It was so real. And it made a difference. Made a difference to real people in a way those models I was building never would."
Jimmy nods, very pleased with that answer. "It does. It really does." His hands are in his pocket, along with his cell phone. He taps the button that lets Ducky know it's time to appear.
"Ah, gentlemen!" Ducky says as the elevator doors open. "So sorry we had to reschedule Mr. Palmer. Dr. Allan, I did not intend to run concurrent interviews, however, we had a lively day yesterday, and as I am on my own, I could not juggle fieldwork with interviewing. Please, come in. Let's start with a tour!"
Ducky shows them around, nattering away about the history of Medical Examination, periodically asking them questions about their own backgrounds. Thus they learned that Dr. Allan hadn't been near an actual human patient of any variety since his residency.
Jimmy can see that Allan's a bit flustered to have Jimmy here, which he supposes makes sense. He wants to look good, and like he can do the job, but there's this other guy who has been doing this for "ten years" answering the questions and looking really at ease and competent next to him.
"Mr. Palmer, Dr. Allan, time for the practical exam. There is a written section on my desk, Mr. Palmer, have at it. Dr. Allan, come with me to the light board, let us go over some x-rays."
Jimmy's "practical exam" is filling out more paperwork. They did have a lively day yesterday, and he's wrapping up his hand-written copy of the work. (One more week, and if no one manages to break the damn paperwork software, he'll be able to stop doing everything twice. Tim's not really hopeful about the not breaking thing. But so far, it's doing the job. Of course, so far the only people using it is Cybercrime and Autopsy. He's fairly certain that as soon as he takes it office wide it'll be crashing every nine seconds.)
Of course, in that he's done this ninety million times, Jimmy doesn't need to pay much attention to what he's doing, so he gets to listen to Drs. Allan and Mallard discussing the X-rays on the light board.
Allan has good skills. His anatomy is on point. He's catching the breaks and nicks and issues on the x-rays.
Acid test comes next.
"Mr. Palmer, have you finished the written exam?"
"Yes, Dr. Mallard." He flips his pages over, leaving the actual written exam, for Allan, on top.
"Ah, splendid, come around." Ducky motions to Allan as well, drawing them near, opening the second drawer. "Here we have Lt. James Kenneworth." Ducky gestures to the body and then looks to the table. "You've transferred bodies before, correct, Mr. Palmer?"
Jimmy smiles. "About four times a day. Usually not when I'm in my good interview suit, though."
"Ah. Quite, right. Could you walk us through the procedure then?"
"Of course, Dr. Mallard. Usually we begin with paperwork, note who is being removed and why, then over to the nearest gurney," Jimmy heads to the nearest gurney, "flip the breaks up on the wheels," he nudges the latches up on each wheel with his toes, "roll the gurney to the body." He does that as well, narrating each move as he does it. "Put the breaks down. I usually end up getting the feet." Jimmy heads to Lt. Kennworth's feet, but does not touch him. (Feet is the harder half of the lifting, because you have to lift from next to the body, instead of from in front of it.) "Someone else grabs the shoulders, count of three move body to the table." He pantomimes the grip and motion used to lift a body off the slab. "Slide the drawer back, lock it up. Unlock the wheels on the gurney, and move the body to the table, repeat locking everything down, repeat moving the body, unlock the wheels, put the gurney back, flip on the lights, and off we go."
"Very precise, Mr. Palmer."
The whole time Jimmy's been reciting, Allan's been staring at the Lt. "What happened to him, Dr. Mallard?"
Lt. Kennworth is covered by a drape, so the large gunshot wound to his chest is currently not visible. Ducky folds back the drape. "Would you care to venture a guess, Mr. Palmer?"
Jimmy looks the body over, of course he's seen this before. "Without flipping him over, I'd guess it's a gunshot wound, but without flipping him over, I couldn't be sure."
Allan swallows, hard, staring at the destroyed chest.
"A bullet does that?"
"Large caliber ones do. Mr. Palmer, is correct, this is the mark of a .45 from a short range. Can you glean any extra information from this body Dr. Allan?"
Allan blinks a few times. Jimmy can see him making himself be clinical. "Anterior discoloration and swelling means he fell forward."
"Indeed. Other observations?"
"No signs of decomposition, wherever he was lying was cool or he wasn't there long."
"Correct."
Allan looks even closer. "No signs of anything chewing on the Lt. Once again he either wasn't down long or he was inside or wrapped up or protected somehow."
"Good."
Allan looks up. "Do you know what happened to him?"
"Yes. This made for a lively day, but only one lively day. Our guest had something of an untenable gambling habit, and cheated, and got caught cheating, at the wrong game."
"Aces over eights, Dr. Mallard?"
Ducky smiles at that, as Allan stares at them blankly. "The Dead Man's Hand, Dr. Allan, supposedly held by notorious gunman Wild Bill Hickok when he was shot in the back at a poker game."
"Ah," says Allan.
"Come, Mr. Palmer, time for the X-ray. Dr. Allan, to the written exam."
He and Ducky confer quietly at the X-rays while Allan fills out a series of basic anatomy, physiology, and pathology questions. He should smoke the exam. If Jimmy could pull it off as a first year in medical school, this should be no problem for Allan.
"How's he doing?" Jimmy quietly asks Ducky as they 'confer' on the X-ray.
"I am pleased so far. He certainly has the skills for the job, though I'm less sure about him having the constitution for it."
Jimmy nods at that. "Want someone hard enough to do this, but not so jaded they stop seeing them as people."
Ducky nods along. "Precisely. Did you find out why he's hoping to do this job?"
"Yeah. Friend was killed. He was at the trial. One where the ME cracked it."
"Justice served. A powerful motivator."
"Yeah."
They glance over and see Allan staring at his exam, looking awfully finished.
Ducky shakes Jimmy's hand. "Thank you for coming in, Mr. Palmer."
"Thank you, Dr. Mallard. I hope to hear from you soon."
Ducky nods at that, and Jimmy heads off to Abby's lab. In that it's below Autopsy, there's no shot of Allan accidentally wandering into him on the way out. Plus he can tell Abby about how the first interview went.
"All done, Dr. Allan?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Any questions about the job?"
"One."
Ducky looks at him expectantly.
"How many don't get solved?"
Ducky likes that question.
"Not many, Dr. Allan. In thirty-one years, I've sent all but twenty-six of them to rest. We don't always get the conviction. And we don't always find who did whatever it was. That's just part of this job. We do what we can with what we have, and what we have is a collection of great minds who almost always figure out what happened."
Ducky smiles gently. "Anything else?"
"What happened to your last assistant? Anything I can take away from that?"
"He has moved onto bigger and better things. And yes, over the years to come, I hope you do learn from my experiences with him."
Allan nods at that, thinking it's a bit cryptic, but possibly a sign that he's done well on the interview. "Thank you for the interview."
"You're welcome. Do you know the way out?"
"I can find my way."
"Good. I hope you have a pleasant rest of your day."
"Thank you. You, too, Dr. Mallard."
The second candidate crashed and burned before he even got in the door. Amos Potter actually was the Assistant ME for the city of Baltimore. (Where Jimmy got the idea.)
Lots of experience. Neutral references (which worried Jimmy). No MD, but technically an MD isn't necessary for this job.
Like with Dr. Allan, Jimmy was waiting in the hallway when Mr. Potter came in.
He saw Jimmy, did a double take, and then checked his phone. "One of us is in the wrong place, and it's not me."
Jimmy tucks his phone into his pocket. "Hello to you, too. Neither of us is in the wrong place. My interview got moved to today. Apparently someone was killed yesterday, so Dr. Mallard was out of the building."
"Great." Potter says sarcastically, looking like he wants to sulk.
Jimmy hits his contact for Ducky; he wants to get this one done fast.
Ducky heads in a moment later, using the same spiel he did yesterday. As he's heading into Autopsy Potter says quietly to him, "God, he's a million years old. They told me he was old, but… Ancient. Upside, won't be waiting long to advance, old dude can't have more than a year left in him."
"We're done, Dr. Mallard," Jimmy says.
"All ready?" Even Ducky thought that was frighteningly fast.
Potter looks confused by this.
Jimmy turns to him. "Mr. Potter, politeness is a virtue. And when you spend hour after hour day after day working intimately with someone in a small space it is a good plan to at least try to not get on their nerves. You may go."
Potter's still staring at him, flummoxed. "Who are you telling me that I 'may go?'"
"I'm the guy who might have hired you if you had actually said hello to me and treated me like a human being."
"But…" he stares at Ducky.
"Goodbye, Mr. Potter," Jimmy says again. And Amos Potter left, in a very bad mood.
Candidate number three was the least qualified of the lot.
Bachelors of Arts from Penn State. One year of Medical School at the University of Pennsylvania, (three years ago), and two years as a Veterinary Assistant. Good references, though her previous employer (the Vet) had chuckled a bit about Sarah saying she was, 'One of a kind.'
Since that was a fairly close match to Jimmy's history prior to getting to NCIS (though he was in Medical School as opposed to dropped out) he's interested in giving her a go. It certainly worked out well for him and Ducky.
Like the previous two times, Jimmy is waiting in the hallway.
The doors open and this time he does the double take.
What Jimmy knows about Goth could be summed up in one tiny word: Abby. He knows he likes the aesthetic, even if it's not personally for him.
The woman standing before him is in head to toe black. Okay, not a problem. Black jeans, black and silver studded belt, black t-shirt, black trench coat, black lace gloves. (The concept of professional does not appear to have occurred to her. Though he does snap a discrete picture of her and one-handedly sends it to Abby with Would you go to an interview like this?) Three lip piercings, black lipstick under them, those spacer looking things in her ears, lots and lots of black eye makeup. He finds himself idly wondering about how you put lipstick on with pierced lips. Like, is a brush involved or do you just pull the rings out of the way, and how does that little lip rub thing Breena does after she puts on lipstick work?
She doesn't smile, but she does say, "Hey. You waiting to interview, too?" That pulls his focus away from the mystery of the black lipstick.
"Yeah."
"Cool. Really looking forward to this."
"Me too. I understand this is a great Morgue."
"Yeah. Couldn't get much info on Autopsy, but a friend of a friend of a friend works in Cybercrime here, and he says it's great."
Jimmy wonders who the friend of a friend of a friend is, but makes a note to let Tim know that. "Jimmy Palmer."
"Hey. Sarah Bast. So… aren't you kind of old for this?"
Jimmy snorts at that. It's the kind of thing that might have come out of his mouth, but she doesn't look embarrassed or chagrined.
"I was with the Baltimore ME for ten years. Moving south to be closer to my wife's family."
"Oh, cool. New to town, too. Girlfriend and I are getting hitched in two months, and it's legal here so we decided to settle here."
"Good reason to move. Does she have a job already?"
"Oh yeah. She's a tattoo artist down on Lexington." Sarah quickly pulls off her coat, and pulls the neck of her t-shirt wide showing off her shoulder. "That's her work."
Jimmy nods. It appears to be some sort of demon-looking thing chewing on a goat. "That's very… intricate."
"Yeah. Still got to add the color in. Covers my whole back."
"Ah." He whacks the button to let Ducky know to come in. "So, um… what is that? Design for an album cover or something?"
"Oh no. Personal demon."
His eyebrows shoot up.
"You have a personal demon?"
"Yeah. Some people have guardian angles, I have a personal demon. Or he has me. Whichever."
Jimmy's very rapidly trying to remember everything he read in the handbook about religious discrimination. He doesn't think he can not hire her just because she appears to be some form of Satanist, but he's also feeling distinctly uncomfortable about this.
"Good for you," he says with a very fake smile hoping Ducky gets here soon. "So, what makes you want to work down here?" He's staring at her shoulder.
"Always liked death. Just, you know, really feel at home with it."
"Tend to think of this job as being more about the living. Finding closure for the people left behind. Every person on one of those tables represents a string of lives, and it's our job to do what we can for them."
She thinks about that. "That's a good way to think about it."
The elevator doors open and Ducky sweeps in, "Mr. Palmer, Ms. Bast, so good to see you." He does a brief double take upon seeing Sarah as well, but his is not nearly as noticeable as Jimmy's was. "Let us begin out interviews…
While Jimmy's working on the 'written exam' he checks his phone and finds a note from Abby. No. For interviews I used to don my best career girl Barbie suit. Now, since I've got more than fifteen years in charge of my own lab and people headhunt me, I'd go edgier, but I'd still wear a suit. Just because you're Goth doesn't mean you aren't professional.
Thanks. She tells me she has her own personal demon.
I'll get the sage.
Why?
You're gonna have some bad juju in the morgue until it gets cleaned out.
Okay… What do you do with the sage?
Burn it. Few other bits and pieces, too.
I don't actually want to know, do I?
Probably better off that way.
Jimmy would have to admit to feeling relieved that Bast muffed the written exam. Why she only made it through one year of med school was readily apparent going through her answers. And while it is true that there were several classes that Jimmy made it through by the skin of his teeth he was also working a full time job while he did full time med school. (And one he had to take twice, but look, it's not like Psychological Pharmacology was anything that he was going to need for his job, which by that point he was sure was going to be with NCIS. Yes, he can prescribe meds because he is a doctor, but if anyone he runs into is looking for psych help of a chemical nature, he's getting them to a real psychiatrist, fast. He knows he's not the guy for that job, and if he's got to look a drug up when it pops up in Abby's tests, then he'll look the damn drug up.)
Plus the stuff he had a tricky time with was not basic anatomy. He helped put the damn meat puzzle together, including the toe that was attached to a hand, so anatomy was something he had down, pat.
But anatomy was not something Ms. Bast had down pat, which meant he had a good reason, as opposed to a bad one, for not calling her back. (Abby took one step into Autopsy, cringed, and started talking about how bad this was and setting fire to stuff and chanting. He's still got no idea what was up with that, and really doesn't want to. He's just relieved he can put something other than 'personal demon' down for why Ms. Bast didn't make the call back list.)
As soon as Jimmy got done going over Bast's test, he grabbed his phone and punched ten digits in.
A second later he heard. "Hello?"
"Is this Dr. Allan?"
"Yes." There's a brief pause while Allan thinks for a second. "Is this Jimmy Palmer?"
"Yes. You've got a good memory for voices."
"Uh. Thanks." Another pause. "Why are you calling me?"
"I'd like to offer you a job."
"What, in Baltimore?"
Jimmy laughs. Good memory for details, too. "At NCIS, as my assistant."
More quiet. Finally, "Uh… Did you get offered a job as the Medical Examiner?"
"Yes, a few weeks ago. I actually am the NCIS Medical Examiner. Hiring an Assistant was my first job as the guy in charge. I'd like that to be you if you're still interested."
"Yes! Quite interested. Just… Who is Dr. Mallard?"
"Dr. Mallard was the Medical Examiner. I was his Assistant ME for more than a decade. He's on staff until April 4th, and I was hoping you'd be coming into work on April 5th."
"Yes, Mr. Palmer. I'd like that."
"Dr. Palmer. Off hours and out of the office, I'm Jimmy, but in Autopsy we go formal."
"Okay. Um… Not that I've got a problem with it, but, why?"
Jimmy doesn't actually know the answer to that. He has ideas. He certainly has a way he understands it, but by flat out being asked he realizes he doesn't know what Ducky thought he was doing with that.
So he answers for himself, and for why he intends to keep that formality in place, and for why he and Ducky kept it up well past the point of using each other's first names whenever there wasn't a body in the morgue. "It's a hard job, Dr. Allan. Our guests are going to tell us things we must hear. And we will listen because someone has to. We speak for those who cannot speak any longer. It's a good job, and it's an important one, but it is not easy, and a wall that separates us from what happens inside autopsy from what happens outside of it is necessary if we are to have functional lives. We cannot live this job 24/7, and that formality helps keep the different spheres of our lives separate."
"Yes, Dr. Palmer."
"Good, then I'll see you on the 5th?"
"Eight AM, right?"
"Correct."
Next
Shards To A Whole: Tenderness
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 360: Tenderness
Gibbs hears a car pull up, a door open and close, and Mona woof in greeting, so obviously someone was coming.
"In the driveway," he calls out. They're having some amazingly nice weather for the last week of February, so he's taking advantage of it by getting outside and finishing the outside of Shannon.
"What's her name?" Borin asks, walking up behind him as he's stroking another layer of waterproofing onto Shannon's hull.
Yeah, that expression, there. Gibbs looks over his shoulder at her, opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out.
"Gibbs…" She's looking at him curiously. The name of his ship shouldn't send him into what, on someone else, she'd call a panic. On Gibbs, she'll label it as disconcerted.
He shrugs and kisses her quickly. "Hi."
"Hi?" She's squinting at him and then looks at the sailboat. She's, whatever her name is, beautiful. Long sleek lines. She'll just ease through the water, skimming the waves, carried by wind.
Gibbs can see she's not perfectly thrilled with his lack of answer, but... Everything Jimmy said to him about not being able to name this boat Shannon if he wanted to move forward is crashing into him all at once, and he's stuck. He sighs and decides to try honesty. Hopefully it won't scare her too bad. (Granted he was hoping to get a bit further into this than three very successful dates before having this conversation, but… now's the time.) "I've… I started building her back in fall of '12 and… she had a name and there was a plan for what I was going to do with her, and… And everything changed."
"So, she doesn't have a name, or you still think of her by the old name, but you're not sure you're keeping it?"
He nods.
Borin looks her over, walking around her slowly. "What was the plan?"
"Wake up from the retirement party hangover, dry swallow enough aspirin so I could move, get in, and head off to sea. Just me and her for as long as it took to get the job out of my head. New beach every week. Send Abby the occasional post card so she wouldn't worry."
She nods. "And that's not the plan anymore?"
He shakes his head. "Got some girls to teach how to sail. New plan. New life, really, but I never thought of a new name for her."
She nods, gently touching a dry part of the hull. "So this is Shannon?"
He nods. "Yeah. Jimmy tells me I've got to rename her, and…" Gibbs shakes his head. "He's not wrong…"
"But you've been thinking of her as Shannon for four years and you've got nothing else?"
He nods again, looking at her, feeling like he's standing on the edge of a cliff. "I don't know what to do with this." He exhales long and slow. "I've been looking at the pictures of us on the mantle, too. Not sure what to do. We were married twelve years, had a beautiful daughter, and I loved both of them more than anything else. I… didn't use to talk about them. Just pretended it didn't happen. Never mentioned them at all to most of my wives or girlfriends. I don't want to pretend my life began in 1992. But I don't want you to feel unwelcome. I don't want you…" he rubs his face, trying to think of words for this. "I don't want a ghost constantly hovering in your peripheral view. Don't want you uncomfortable. And I don't know what to do."
She smiles gently at that, takes a few steps closer to him, and cups his cheek. "That's a start. I don't want you pretending that life began in 1992, either, and you don't have to take pictures of your family down."
"Okay. And…" He nods at the boat.
She shrugs. "I don't know. You see me on her one day?"
"I really hope so…" He stares at her, stares at Shannon. "I'm not… in love with her anymore. That was taking off the ring, I think. But, it doesn't go away, you know? It eases up, and you finally get what 'they would have wanted you to move on' means, but there's still…" he touches his chest, over his heart, because he'd be at this for years trying to find the right words. "But it's not all that's there." He feels like that's a pretty lame explanation, but he doesn't have better in him.
"Yeah, I know." She sounds wistful at that.
"Do you know? When I mentioned them the first time, you started to say 'I know,' but didn't. Do you know?"
She swallows and nods. "Yeah. That's a long story. Not for out here."
"Okay. Not gonna press. You tell me when or if you want to."
She nods, still looking at Shannon. "How about this. I'll get us some dinner. You wrap up out here, get cleaned up, and then we'll talk and eat."
"Sounds good. Got about half an hour left on this."
"Okay." She kisses him. Still willing to kiss him, real kiss, not just a peck on the cheek, so that's good. "Hungry?"
He nods.
"Craving fried chicken all day."
Gibbs doesn't have to think about that. "Sounds really good."
"Back in a bit."
She's walking into the house as he's stripping off in the laundry room. He doesn't mind the way the finish smells, but he doesn't necessarily want his whole house smelling like it. So whenever he does jobs like that, his clothing goes from his skin to the washing machine without taking any unnecessary detours.
She smiles at him, bags of insanely yummy smelling chicken in hand, looks him up and down (he's in his boxers and one sock) and says, "Thought we were eating first."
He smiles, eyes warm, takes the bag of chicken from her, putting it on top of the dryer, and pulls her to him for a long, hot kiss. "You want to eat first?" he asks against her lips.
"No," she says back, lips still touching his, and steps back from him. "But I should. Haven't eaten since breakfast. I'm going to start feeling light-headed soon."
"Then we eat. Let me head up and grab some pants. Little chilly for just my skivvies." Yes, it's been a very nice day, for February, but he doesn't keep his house warm enough for comfortable dinner in his underwear in the winter.
She chuckles at that. "Fire?"
He nods. Toasty fire sounds great right about now.
He comes down a few minutes later in sweats and NCIS t-shirt. She's in front of the fireplace, fire burning, chicken laid out on plates on the floor with thick slabs of corn bread, green beans, and cold, open beer.
"That a pizza stone?" she asks, looking at the eighteen inch by eighteen inch ceramic square leaning against his hearth. It had been there the last time she came over, too, but they hadn't spent any time in front of the fire that night.
He nods.
"You get it for me?"
He nods again. "I like pizza. I like fire. Never thought about trying the two together. But if you like them, too…"
She smiles at that. "I do, but it's not going to work on your fireplace. Your oven, sure. But heat's got to hit it from all sides, fast, or you end up with the underside burned to cinders and raw cheese on top."
"Hmmm… Doesn't sound good."
"It's not."
He sits next to her and kisses her shoulder. "Speaking from experience?"
"I might be," she says with a smile. "Let's put it this way, there's a reason why you have to light the fire, let it burn, for a while, then push the coals into the back of the oven, then put the pizza into the oven, and if you attempt to skip any of those steps you end up with some rather irate looking tourists who really wanted pizza."
He laughs at that. "How old were you?"
"Fourteen. We didn't usually have tourists in the summer, but they wanted to hike, and we had a place, so there they were. Been out all day, starving. Don't remember why my mom wasn't doing it. Probably some sort of cow emergency. She handled most of the veterinary stuff, unless it was really bad.
"Ended up feeding them ham sandwiches."
Gibbs chuckles, taking a bite of the chicken. Long day of working on the boat, it tastes damn good. She stands up and looks at the picture of Gibbs, Shannon, and Kelly on his mantle.
"You have more pictures?"
He nods.
"Show me your life before 1992; while we eat?"
He nods at that, too. Standing up, grabbing the photo albums that are just general family shots. He finds another one, taken from his father's house. There are some pretty big gaps in there, but it's a more complete picture than anyone's seen since Shannon.
He moves to the sofa, easier to juggle food and pictures and drinks if they can put everything down on the coffee table.
He opens the first one, while she's eating a chicken wing, and she looks down, swallows quickly and says, "Is that really you?"
He nods. "Probably three-ish."
"You were so cute!"
"Thanks."
The shot's black and white, so she asks, "Were you really blond?"
He shrugs. His hair looks light in the shot, but as long as he can remember it's been very dark brown or black.
He flips through shots, the majority of which were from when his mom was alive, so first day of kindergarten, birthday parties, little league, Fourth of July picnics. Not a lot of pictures, not by the standards of today when everyone takes shots of everything, but about ten or so a year. He's slowly growing up across the pages and then he hits thirteen and the pictures stop. The one after that is one he didn't know his Dad had until he went through this album when he took it home from his father's house.
His grandfather had taken the shot. It's him, in his Marine uniform, graduation from Lejeune.
She smiles warmly at that. "Oh, look at you. What'd you do, enlist at fourteen?" she jokes.
"Ha ha ha. I'm eighteen. And I bet there's a shot of you just like this."
She nods. "You ever get to my parents' house and you can see about fifty of them. And I look just as young, green, and proud."
"You think I'm going to be visiting your parents?" He's intrigued and kind of scared of that. Visiting a girlfriend's parents has been on the to-do list for a very long time.
"It's not impossible." She stares at him for a moment. "Are you scared?"
He shrugs.
She pokes him gently then she flips back a page. Gibbs, thirteen, playing first baseman. Next page, Gibbs, eighteen, Marine Graduation.
"Lose some pictures?"
He shakes his head. "Lost the photographer. My mom died when I was fourteen. Breast cancer went bad and spread all over."
"I'm sorry."
He shrugs, never sure what to say to that.
"Your dad…?"
"Be a year ago in April. He was lucky, a fast stroke and done. Ducky's mom, she died slowly, over the course of years, and that was torture for everyone. He went fast and it didn't hurt. Good, long life behind him. I miss him, but, I don't regret how he went."
"I get that." She also gets the parallel he's not saying, that his mom died slow, too, and it was torture for him and his dad, her, too probably.
He flips the page, smiles, those shots were taken by all three of them. He remembers that day, home on leave, decided to introduce Shannon to Jack. They went to Lake Conneaut to swim.
There's shots of him lounging with Shannon. Shots of him splashing with Jack. (The shots Shannon took were significantly better than the ones he or Jack took.)
One shot of Jack standing next to Shannon, arm around her, grinning at the camera.
That had been a really good day.
"That's Shannon?" Borin asks, looking at her intensely.
"'Bout a year after we met. Think we're nineteen in that shot." He shakes his head at the dopy grins in some of the shots. It had been a picnic. Sandwiches, cup-cakes, cold corn on the cob, beer. "We're all a bit drunk, too."
"Your dad let you both drink?"
"Now you're making me feel old. Drinking age was 18 then."
She laughs at that, looking at the shots of what would eventually be a family playing. "Never let it be said you don't have a type."
He smiles, sheepish, and then kisses her hair. "Always was a sucker for a pretty redhead."
She smiles, too, and ruffles his hair. "Like 'em high and tight. Not like you can't get a date with me if you aren't a Marine, but, it really helps."
He nods, getting that.
Her voice turns serious. "I was engaged once, long time ago." He can tell by the look in her eyes that it didn't end well. "He was KIA, and I was there when it happened. One second he was there, and the future was there, and life was there, everything that mattered was there, and then boom, it was gone."
He nods, squeezing her hand. "Know all about boom."
"Yeah." She looks at the picture in front of her, Gibbs and Shannon on the beach near a lake. One minute it was there, and the next it wasn't. "Once I healed up, I couldn't go back."
"When I healed up, they wouldn't let me go back. Don't think I would have wanted to if it had been an option," he shrugs, "but it wasn't."
She nods. "I lost him. I lost my whole team. Just dumb, stupid luck I got off the raft first. Without them… the job wasn't worth it anymore. And… " she shakes her head, seeing whatever her personal 'and' was.
He nods. "Know all about 'and,' too."
"That's how you ended up here?"
"Yeah. Spent a lot of years on 'and' as an NCIS agent. 'Back in… '05, might have been '06, while ago now, I got hurt again, and most of the years between '91 and waking up went missing. When I got them back, I had to deal with it, all over again. Been slowly getting a life together since, last couple years really getting it together."
"Are you back together?"
He shrugs. "About as close as I get, I think. I don't know. You back together?"
"Maybe." She shrugs, takes a bite of her cornbread. "If anyone is. Of course, in the middle of it, you can't really tell."
He nods. "I can see how the past didn't work, but I couldn't see it when I was in it."
"Yeah. So, sure. I'm back together. I'm not walking wounded, not anymore. More nights than not I sleep, and I don't even need to drink to do it anymore. More nights then not, if I'm not sleeping it's a case right now, not the past, keeping me up."
"We're cops. I think that's as close to together as we get can hope for."
She nods at that, taking a sip of her beer. "Show me more pictures?"
"Sure."
When Rachel asked him about what he missed about a relationship, what he wanted, Gibbs had had some fairly tame and specific ideas.
He hadn't realized, when he told her about having someone to just talk to, someone to share the quiet with, that what he was looking for was tenderness.
And it wasn't like past wives and girlfriend didn't want to offer it to him. It wasn't like they didn't try. Even Diane, who isn't exactly the poster child for soft and fluffy interactions, tried. But he couldn't take it from them.
He couldn't allow himself to have it. Couldn't let himself properly rest with another woman, because that wall had to always be there, keeping them away from things they couldn't possibly understand.
But he's talking with Borin, his stories interspersed with hers, and there's this moment, where she's talking about how she went from being home with her parents after the explosion that ripped her world apart to the Coast Guard, that he recognizes the difference here, feels it, feels why this time it works, why he can rest. It's like that moment where Tim went from McGee to Tim.
This is shared history for them. Borin gets it. She knows what he lost. For her, one day everything was fine, and before the sun set, her world stopped turning.
She's talking, and right now, he's finished dinner, and is sitting next to her on the sofa, arms wrapped around her. She's got her head resting against his shoulder, nursing a beer between bits of her story, and right this second he's just so content he doesn't know what to do with it. He doesn't know how to express it, but it's real.
So when the story wraps he takes the bottle from her (empty now), setting it on the floor, and kisses her soft and gentle, taking his time, savoring her skin, letting the heat ramp up between them slowly.
There's no rush here (Except for that moment where he more or less leapt up to grab her purse and find a condom; he was moving awfully fast then.) just slow, easy, gentle movements. Trying to feel this with more than just skin, trying to make love in addition to have sex.
And it doesn't feel like it did with Shannon. But he's also not the same man he was back then.
And different it might be, but it's still good. It feels right. More right than any sex has felt in a very long time.
It's not like he's new to sleeping on his sofa. Not like this is, by any stretch of the imagination, the first time he's spent a night there.
But it was the first time he did it with someone else.
Next
Chapter 360: Tenderness
Gibbs hears a car pull up, a door open and close, and Mona woof in greeting, so obviously someone was coming.
"In the driveway," he calls out. They're having some amazingly nice weather for the last week of February, so he's taking advantage of it by getting outside and finishing the outside of Shannon.
"What's her name?" Borin asks, walking up behind him as he's stroking another layer of waterproofing onto Shannon's hull.
Yeah, that expression, there. Gibbs looks over his shoulder at her, opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out."Gibbs…" She's looking at him curiously. The name of his ship shouldn't send him into what, on someone else, she'd call a panic. On Gibbs, she'll label it as disconcerted.
He shrugs and kisses her quickly. "Hi."
"Hi?" She's squinting at him and then looks at the sailboat. She's, whatever her name is, beautiful. Long sleek lines. She'll just ease through the water, skimming the waves, carried by wind.
Gibbs can see she's not perfectly thrilled with his lack of answer, but... Everything Jimmy said to him about not being able to name this boat Shannon if he wanted to move forward is crashing into him all at once, and he's stuck. He sighs and decides to try honesty. Hopefully it won't scare her too bad. (Granted he was hoping to get a bit further into this than three very successful dates before having this conversation, but… now's the time.) "I've… I started building her back in fall of '12 and… she had a name and there was a plan for what I was going to do with her, and… And everything changed."
"So, she doesn't have a name, or you still think of her by the old name, but you're not sure you're keeping it?"
He nods.
Borin looks her over, walking around her slowly. "What was the plan?"
"Wake up from the retirement party hangover, dry swallow enough aspirin so I could move, get in, and head off to sea. Just me and her for as long as it took to get the job out of my head. New beach every week. Send Abby the occasional post card so she wouldn't worry."
She nods. "And that's not the plan anymore?"
He shakes his head. "Got some girls to teach how to sail. New plan. New life, really, but I never thought of a new name for her."
She nods, gently touching a dry part of the hull. "So this is Shannon?"
He nods. "Yeah. Jimmy tells me I've got to rename her, and…" Gibbs shakes his head. "He's not wrong…"
"But you've been thinking of her as Shannon for four years and you've got nothing else?"
He nods again, looking at her, feeling like he's standing on the edge of a cliff. "I don't know what to do with this." He exhales long and slow. "I've been looking at the pictures of us on the mantle, too. Not sure what to do. We were married twelve years, had a beautiful daughter, and I loved both of them more than anything else. I… didn't use to talk about them. Just pretended it didn't happen. Never mentioned them at all to most of my wives or girlfriends. I don't want to pretend my life began in 1992. But I don't want you to feel unwelcome. I don't want you…" he rubs his face, trying to think of words for this. "I don't want a ghost constantly hovering in your peripheral view. Don't want you uncomfortable. And I don't know what to do."
She smiles gently at that, takes a few steps closer to him, and cups his cheek. "That's a start. I don't want you pretending that life began in 1992, either, and you don't have to take pictures of your family down."
"Okay. And…" He nods at the boat.
She shrugs. "I don't know. You see me on her one day?"
"I really hope so…" He stares at her, stares at Shannon. "I'm not… in love with her anymore. That was taking off the ring, I think. But, it doesn't go away, you know? It eases up, and you finally get what 'they would have wanted you to move on' means, but there's still…" he touches his chest, over his heart, because he'd be at this for years trying to find the right words. "But it's not all that's there." He feels like that's a pretty lame explanation, but he doesn't have better in him.
"Yeah, I know." She sounds wistful at that.
"Do you know? When I mentioned them the first time, you started to say 'I know,' but didn't. Do you know?"
She swallows and nods. "Yeah. That's a long story. Not for out here."
"Okay. Not gonna press. You tell me when or if you want to."
She nods, still looking at Shannon. "How about this. I'll get us some dinner. You wrap up out here, get cleaned up, and then we'll talk and eat."
"Sounds good. Got about half an hour left on this."
"Okay." She kisses him. Still willing to kiss him, real kiss, not just a peck on the cheek, so that's good. "Hungry?"
He nods.
"Craving fried chicken all day."
Gibbs doesn't have to think about that. "Sounds really good."
"Back in a bit."
She's walking into the house as he's stripping off in the laundry room. He doesn't mind the way the finish smells, but he doesn't necessarily want his whole house smelling like it. So whenever he does jobs like that, his clothing goes from his skin to the washing machine without taking any unnecessary detours.
She smiles at him, bags of insanely yummy smelling chicken in hand, looks him up and down (he's in his boxers and one sock) and says, "Thought we were eating first."
He smiles, eyes warm, takes the bag of chicken from her, putting it on top of the dryer, and pulls her to him for a long, hot kiss. "You want to eat first?" he asks against her lips.
"No," she says back, lips still touching his, and steps back from him. "But I should. Haven't eaten since breakfast. I'm going to start feeling light-headed soon."
"Then we eat. Let me head up and grab some pants. Little chilly for just my skivvies." Yes, it's been a very nice day, for February, but he doesn't keep his house warm enough for comfortable dinner in his underwear in the winter.
She chuckles at that. "Fire?"
He nods. Toasty fire sounds great right about now.
He comes down a few minutes later in sweats and NCIS t-shirt. She's in front of the fireplace, fire burning, chicken laid out on plates on the floor with thick slabs of corn bread, green beans, and cold, open beer.
"That a pizza stone?" she asks, looking at the eighteen inch by eighteen inch ceramic square leaning against his hearth. It had been there the last time she came over, too, but they hadn't spent any time in front of the fire that night.
He nods.
"You get it for me?"
He nods again. "I like pizza. I like fire. Never thought about trying the two together. But if you like them, too…"
She smiles at that. "I do, but it's not going to work on your fireplace. Your oven, sure. But heat's got to hit it from all sides, fast, or you end up with the underside burned to cinders and raw cheese on top."
"Hmmm… Doesn't sound good."
"It's not."
He sits next to her and kisses her shoulder. "Speaking from experience?"
"I might be," she says with a smile. "Let's put it this way, there's a reason why you have to light the fire, let it burn, for a while, then push the coals into the back of the oven, then put the pizza into the oven, and if you attempt to skip any of those steps you end up with some rather irate looking tourists who really wanted pizza."
He laughs at that. "How old were you?"
"Fourteen. We didn't usually have tourists in the summer, but they wanted to hike, and we had a place, so there they were. Been out all day, starving. Don't remember why my mom wasn't doing it. Probably some sort of cow emergency. She handled most of the veterinary stuff, unless it was really bad.
"Ended up feeding them ham sandwiches."
Gibbs chuckles, taking a bite of the chicken. Long day of working on the boat, it tastes damn good. She stands up and looks at the picture of Gibbs, Shannon, and Kelly on his mantle.
"You have more pictures?"
He nods.
"Show me your life before 1992; while we eat?"
He nods at that, too. Standing up, grabbing the photo albums that are just general family shots. He finds another one, taken from his father's house. There are some pretty big gaps in there, but it's a more complete picture than anyone's seen since Shannon.
He moves to the sofa, easier to juggle food and pictures and drinks if they can put everything down on the coffee table.
He opens the first one, while she's eating a chicken wing, and she looks down, swallows quickly and says, "Is that really you?"
He nods. "Probably three-ish."
"You were so cute!"
"Thanks."
The shot's black and white, so she asks, "Were you really blond?"
He shrugs. His hair looks light in the shot, but as long as he can remember it's been very dark brown or black.
He flips through shots, the majority of which were from when his mom was alive, so first day of kindergarten, birthday parties, little league, Fourth of July picnics. Not a lot of pictures, not by the standards of today when everyone takes shots of everything, but about ten or so a year. He's slowly growing up across the pages and then he hits thirteen and the pictures stop. The one after that is one he didn't know his Dad had until he went through this album when he took it home from his father's house.
His grandfather had taken the shot. It's him, in his Marine uniform, graduation from Lejeune.
She smiles warmly at that. "Oh, look at you. What'd you do, enlist at fourteen?" she jokes.
"Ha ha ha. I'm eighteen. And I bet there's a shot of you just like this."
She nods. "You ever get to my parents' house and you can see about fifty of them. And I look just as young, green, and proud."
"You think I'm going to be visiting your parents?" He's intrigued and kind of scared of that. Visiting a girlfriend's parents has been on the to-do list for a very long time.
"It's not impossible." She stares at him for a moment. "Are you scared?"
He shrugs.
She pokes him gently then she flips back a page. Gibbs, thirteen, playing first baseman. Next page, Gibbs, eighteen, Marine Graduation.
"Lose some pictures?"
He shakes his head. "Lost the photographer. My mom died when I was fourteen. Breast cancer went bad and spread all over."
"I'm sorry."
He shrugs, never sure what to say to that.
"Your dad…?"
"Be a year ago in April. He was lucky, a fast stroke and done. Ducky's mom, she died slowly, over the course of years, and that was torture for everyone. He went fast and it didn't hurt. Good, long life behind him. I miss him, but, I don't regret how he went."
"I get that." She also gets the parallel he's not saying, that his mom died slow, too, and it was torture for him and his dad, her, too probably.
He flips the page, smiles, those shots were taken by all three of them. He remembers that day, home on leave, decided to introduce Shannon to Jack. They went to Lake Conneaut to swim.
There's shots of him lounging with Shannon. Shots of him splashing with Jack. (The shots Shannon took were significantly better than the ones he or Jack took.)
One shot of Jack standing next to Shannon, arm around her, grinning at the camera.
That had been a really good day.
"That's Shannon?" Borin asks, looking at her intensely.
"'Bout a year after we met. Think we're nineteen in that shot." He shakes his head at the dopy grins in some of the shots. It had been a picnic. Sandwiches, cup-cakes, cold corn on the cob, beer. "We're all a bit drunk, too."
"Your dad let you both drink?"
"Now you're making me feel old. Drinking age was 18 then."
She laughs at that, looking at the shots of what would eventually be a family playing. "Never let it be said you don't have a type."
He smiles, sheepish, and then kisses her hair. "Always was a sucker for a pretty redhead."
She smiles, too, and ruffles his hair. "Like 'em high and tight. Not like you can't get a date with me if you aren't a Marine, but, it really helps."
He nods, getting that.
Her voice turns serious. "I was engaged once, long time ago." He can tell by the look in her eyes that it didn't end well. "He was KIA, and I was there when it happened. One second he was there, and the future was there, and life was there, everything that mattered was there, and then boom, it was gone."
He nods, squeezing her hand. "Know all about boom."
"Yeah." She looks at the picture in front of her, Gibbs and Shannon on the beach near a lake. One minute it was there, and the next it wasn't. "Once I healed up, I couldn't go back."
"When I healed up, they wouldn't let me go back. Don't think I would have wanted to if it had been an option," he shrugs, "but it wasn't."
She nods. "I lost him. I lost my whole team. Just dumb, stupid luck I got off the raft first. Without them… the job wasn't worth it anymore. And… " she shakes her head, seeing whatever her personal 'and' was.
He nods. "Know all about 'and,' too."
"That's how you ended up here?"
"Yeah. Spent a lot of years on 'and' as an NCIS agent. 'Back in… '05, might have been '06, while ago now, I got hurt again, and most of the years between '91 and waking up went missing. When I got them back, I had to deal with it, all over again. Been slowly getting a life together since, last couple years really getting it together."
"Are you back together?"
He shrugs. "About as close as I get, I think. I don't know. You back together?"
"Maybe." She shrugs, takes a bite of her cornbread. "If anyone is. Of course, in the middle of it, you can't really tell."
He nods. "I can see how the past didn't work, but I couldn't see it when I was in it."
"Yeah. So, sure. I'm back together. I'm not walking wounded, not anymore. More nights than not I sleep, and I don't even need to drink to do it anymore. More nights then not, if I'm not sleeping it's a case right now, not the past, keeping me up."
"We're cops. I think that's as close to together as we get can hope for."
She nods at that, taking a sip of her beer. "Show me more pictures?"
"Sure."
When Rachel asked him about what he missed about a relationship, what he wanted, Gibbs had had some fairly tame and specific ideas.
He hadn't realized, when he told her about having someone to just talk to, someone to share the quiet with, that what he was looking for was tenderness.
And it wasn't like past wives and girlfriend didn't want to offer it to him. It wasn't like they didn't try. Even Diane, who isn't exactly the poster child for soft and fluffy interactions, tried. But he couldn't take it from them.
He couldn't allow himself to have it. Couldn't let himself properly rest with another woman, because that wall had to always be there, keeping them away from things they couldn't possibly understand.
But he's talking with Borin, his stories interspersed with hers, and there's this moment, where she's talking about how she went from being home with her parents after the explosion that ripped her world apart to the Coast Guard, that he recognizes the difference here, feels it, feels why this time it works, why he can rest. It's like that moment where Tim went from McGee to Tim.
This is shared history for them. Borin gets it. She knows what he lost. For her, one day everything was fine, and before the sun set, her world stopped turning.
She's talking, and right now, he's finished dinner, and is sitting next to her on the sofa, arms wrapped around her. She's got her head resting against his shoulder, nursing a beer between bits of her story, and right this second he's just so content he doesn't know what to do with it. He doesn't know how to express it, but it's real.
So when the story wraps he takes the bottle from her (empty now), setting it on the floor, and kisses her soft and gentle, taking his time, savoring her skin, letting the heat ramp up between them slowly.
There's no rush here (Except for that moment where he more or less leapt up to grab her purse and find a condom; he was moving awfully fast then.) just slow, easy, gentle movements. Trying to feel this with more than just skin, trying to make love in addition to have sex.
And it doesn't feel like it did with Shannon. But he's also not the same man he was back then.
And different it might be, but it's still good. It feels right. More right than any sex has felt in a very long time.
It's not like he's new to sleeping on his sofa. Not like this is, by any stretch of the imagination, the first time he's spent a night there.
But it was the first time he did it with someone else.
Next
Shards To A Whole: Big Brother
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 359: Big Brother
The McGees"McGee," Tim's not really paying attention as he answers his phone. He's staring at his computer, scanning the code in front of him, hoping to get everything done in time so he can snag lunch with Jimmy and Abby.
"Tim?" That's not a Minion. His attention shifts away from the screen to the voice in his ear.
"Hey Sarah, what's up?"
"Glen asked me to marry him!"
He feels the smile spread across his face. "Congratulations. Date picked?"
"It's been two days."
"No, then. Sounds like you had an extra-special Valentine's?"
"Yep!" She sounds really excited. His email beeps, and he brings it up on his computer, seeing a shot of her left hand and the diamond solitaire sitting on her ring finger. Kind of plain by his tastes, but it's very simple and elegant, so he can see Sarah loving it.
"Looks like Glenn did good."
"Oh yeah."
He knows that tone of voice. The ultra-satisfied timbre of someone who's gotten exactly what she wanted. "You sound happy, are you?"
"Yeah, I am."
"Good." He nods, pleased. Then a thought hits. He is a big brother. A big brother who is soon to also be a brother-in-law, and he's feeling like he may have some duty toward his sister and her soon-to-be husband, so he says, "Come to Sunday breakfast with us?"
Not like Sarah just met him, she feels the change in how he's thinking about this, so she sounds a little wary when she says, "Why?"
Tim grins, but she can't see it. "Show of clan strength. I'm not doing my job as a big brother if I don't scare the snot out of him at least once."
"Really?" He can feel the eye roll aimed in his direction.
"Yep. It's in the big brother handbook. I'm required by law to take him out and make sure he knows that I and all of my friends will beat him within an inch of his life if he hurts you."
He hears an exasperated sigh. "Isn't that Dad's job?"
Tim snorts. "Like he'd do it."
He can feel her roll her eyes, again. "Fine." Sigh, palpable I'm humoring your vibes radiate off of Sarah. "When's Sunday breakfast?"
"Same as with the christening. Eight."
"You and all your friends?"
"Just me and the guys."
"How progressive of you," she says dryly.
He shakes his head. "No… You don't want us bringing the girls in! We want to scare him into behaving well. We bring in Abby and Ziva, and he'll wet his pants and run for the hills. He'll change his name, and you'll never see him again. We're just going to make sure he knows the rules."
"You're going to have way too much fun with this, aren't you?"
He's grinning. "That's entirely likely. So, you'll come?"
"Sure. Penny'll be there, right? I've called three times, but haven't been able to get a hold of her."
"Uh…" He doesn't actually know if she'll be there. "They're… somewhere. I'll ask Jimmy how long he's got Autopsy on his own."
"What do you mean somewhere?"
"Errr…" The flaw in Ducky's brilliant whirlwind romance wedding was suddenly staring him in the face, well, talking in his ear.
"Tim?"
"They um…" he says the next bit very fast, "kind of got married on Sunday, and are on their honeymoon."
"What?!"
"It was a surprise."
"How do you have a surprise wedding? It's a wedding, the one thing you can't do as a surprise. You've got forms to fill out and paperwork and…"
"I don't think they bothered with that. It was Molly's birthday party. She was down for her nap. Party was breaking up. He kissed her, said some really romantic things, whipped out the rings, asked to be her husband, asked her to be his wife, gave us just enough time to hug everyone and drink a toast, and then they were off on their honeymoon. Fifteen minutes, tops."
"If they didn't bother with the paperwork, it's not a wedding."
Tim shrugs. You ask him, they're married. The paperwork strikes him as extraneous. But that's a moot point right now. "I just… don't know when they'll be back. Don't know where they went. Jimmy thinks it's somewhere warm, but… For all we know they could be touring the fjords. But I can find out when they'll be back. Jimmy'll know."
"Fine. Let me know."
"Okay. So… Sunday? Putting the fear of big brother into Glenn?"
She sighs. "Sure."
"Good!"
He feels her roll her eyes one last time, and then she says, "Bye, " and hangs up.
He did get lunch with Jimmy and Abby (though it's takeout. They're in Autopsy, which isn't Tim's favorite place to eat, but Jimmy's on solo, so he has to be around if anyone needs him.)
"This is really clean?" Tim asks. They're sitting around one of the stainless steel autopsy tables, food still in its containers, but Tim's still a bit squeamish.
"Hosed off, washed down with alcohol, hosed off again, and tested three times a week for bacteria content, but if you'd like I can grab one of the sterile drapes we use for the bodies," Jimmy says as he opens his chicken curry.
Tim sighs, opening his carton of beef and green beans, making sure his chopsticks don't touch the table. Abby gently pokes him but he feels he's within his rights to have irrational hang-ups about eating on the autopsy tables.
Jimmy shakes his head. "Your desk is a bubbling cauldron of raging bacterial sex compared to this table."
"I know." Tim holds up his hands. "I don't want to think about it."
Jimmy smirks. Then takes a bite of his curry. "So, anything interesting today?"
"Oh." Tim looks to Abby, who's digging into her organic tofu-veggie stir fry. "You were right. I got the call today. Glenn proposed on Valentine's. They're coming for Sunday breakfast, so we're on put the fear of Big Brother into Glenn duty."
Abby's grinning at that. "Ohhh… That'll be fun."
Jimmy looks at her with wide eyes, and Tim shakes his head. "No. Me, Jimmy, Gibbs, Tony if he shows. If I let you put the fear of Abby into him, he'll run screaming for the hills." She's somewhere between pouting and pleased at that. She wants in on the fun, but enjoys having her superiority at this recognized.
"Breena told me Amy's bummed. No ring for her," Jimmy says.
"She and Collin have only been together for what… a year?" Abby asks. She and Breena (and over the course of a few Sundays, Amy, too) have talked about this.
Jimmy nods. "Something like that. Apparently he moved in last week, but Ed doesn't know, yet."
Tim cringes. "Oh, that's going to be a mess."
"Yeah, Breena's thinking she was hoping to present it as, 'We're getting married! Oh, and Colin's all moved in.'"
"He gonna flip out about them living together?" Tim asks.
"Well, he almost bit my head off for having sex with his daughter after we got married, so I can't imagine he'll be cool with Colin doing it before."
Tim shakes his head. "You know, I'm going to enjoy not being in the middle of that."
Jimmy and Abby both nod in agreement.
Abby takes a sip of her water, eating another bite of her lunch. Jimmy watches her. She's been eating really healthy lately. She even skipped birthday cake at Molly's party. (Hell, even he had a bite of that cake, because like her mama, Breena can really bake when she puts her mind to it.)
"Okay, what's with the ultra-healthy food. Are you trying to lose weight?"
"What?" She looks up at him, really startled and unhappy. "Do you think I need to lose weight?"
(Tim is very glad to not be in the middle of this, either. He pulls a few inches further back from the table and gets ready to duck if need be.)
"No! You look great. That's why I'm worried you might be trying to. You're drinking water, haven't seen a Pepsi, let alone a Caf-Pow in weeks, or any other sugar for that matter, and you've got, what, whole grain rice in your vegetarian stir-fry? What's going on?"
She looks at Tim, eyes slightly narrowed.
"I didn't say anything. We eat together all the time; he was bound to notice."
She sighs. "Since… the miscarriage… I've been trying to eat better. Don't want it to happen again." Her eyes narrow at Tim again. "He thinks it's silly."
"It's not silly, but… I don't think it'll do much, that's all. It can't hurt, but…" He shrugs. "It feels like a placebo to me, so if it tricks your body into doing what you want it to do, that's great, but I don't think it's science."
He looks at Jimmy who's got the I shouldn't have opened this can of worms look on his face. "You're the doctor, how much does it matter if the tofu's organic or not?"
"Uh…" He's frantically thinking of a way to get out of this. "Do I look like your OB? 'Cause that's who you need to talk to."
They both give him their That's a bullshit answer look.
"Fine. I don't know. I don't think it matters much, but if this job teaches you anything it's the everyone is different and just because something works, or doesn't, for 99% of the population doesn't mean it'll work, or not, for you. And the placebo thing is real, and it works. They've got cases of people who didn't get their chemo drugs, they were given sterile solution by accident, and still got better. No one's suggesting that's a good plan for Joe Average, but if you can swing it… And like Tim says, it can't hurt."
"But you don't think it really helps, do you?" Abby asks.
"I'm not an OB. I'm not a nutritionist. I know I've got a very delicately balanced system and all organic or not didn't make any difference I could tell. Upping veggies, that made me feel better. Saying goodbye to most carbs, same result. More good fats, more meat, and more eggs to replace those carbs, my body seemed to like that a lot. But one of the steps I tried, back when I was first diagnosed, was to do natural sugars instead of processed one, and I never saw any difference by subbing out white sugar for honey or maple syrup. Getting rid of high fructose corn syrup didn't help. So, sure eat the veggies, get lots of them. And protein is your friend, enjoy it," he points to his own curry, "real meat, nuts, and there's cream in the sauce, higher fat content means I won't get hungry again as soon as I do when I do all veg. I'd recommend that for anyone trying to eat better. No one ever ended up in worse health because they stopped sucking down piles of caffeinated sugar, so saying goodbye to the Caf-Pows and sleeping more isn't a bad plan. But I've got no idea if it'll affect your fertility at all."
Then he looks at Tim and back to Abby. "Neither of you drink much, but cold turkey, for both of you, is something that's got actual science behind it, proving that it helps… Sort of. For guys it helps with sperm count."
"Likely not a problem," Abby says.
Tim shrugs, unless they've been insanely lucky, she's right.
"For women not drinking while you're trying to get pregnant and the first few months helps avoid miscarriage, but… the information on that's kind of sketchy. In this country at least, the kind of woman who admits to drinking while pregnant isn't the kind of woman who's just having a glass of wine with dinner once a week. They know binge drinking causes problems. They know alcoholism causes problems. They know not drinking at all avoids them. They know that women who have fewer than two drinks a day are fine, but that's an average, and your mileage may vary, and you can't really prove something is safe, so the rule of thumb is no alcohol at all."
"So what you're saying is that best anyone knows we're already drinking less than the amount that would make a difference?" Tim asks.
"Probably. Not drinking won't hurt. None of this will hurt. But since you aren't binge drinking, it may not help, either. Just, I wouldn't stress out about it. Oh, speaking of things you can do that there's some science behind, stressing out about it does make fertility rates drop."
"You wouldn't stress out about it because you're not in spitting distance of the end of your fertility," Abby says to Jimmy. "Forty-two is next month. I'm getting to the end of my store of eggs and I don't want to waste any of them, so anything that may help just got added to the to-do list."
Jimmy nods. "Want me to do some research? Or give you my Physician's log in for PubMed? That'll get you full access to any of the articles you want."
Tim thinks that's a good way to diffuse the situation. And Abby nods. "Yes. Thanks."
Tim's been back at his desk for a few minutes when Jimmy texts him.
Come back down?
Okay.
He tells Soth he'll be in Autopsy, and if anyone needs him to head over and grab him, and then goes.
"Jimmy?"
"Here." He backs out of the storage closet. "Just getting more forms. When's that paperwork software going live?"
Tim crosses his fingers. "Week from tomorrow beta testing starts. You know you'll have to fill your stuff out by hand and do it with the computer while testing, right?"
"Yeah, if it doesn't work, yada yada yada. I got it the first time."
"Good. What's up?"
"How's she doing, really?"
Tim sighs. "Okay. Really. You know how much she loves not being in control, and she can't control this, but she can control what she eats, so the food's gotten really healthy. And you know we do morning yoga, or at least as much as we can."
Jimmy nods; he's familiar with how small people put a crimp in any sort of morning plans you might have.
"She's added some fertility poses and is centering the meditation that way. And like with the food, it doesn't hurt, but I don't think it actually helps, either. So, she's kind of frustrated with me because I'm not all gung ho on this."
"Frustrated?" Tim can tell Jimmy's asking if he's 'editing' the situation.
Tim shakes his head, frustrated isn't code for angry. "Yeah. Not angry. I'm not being a jerk about it. But she'd like me to be a better cheerleader on it, and I'm trying. I'm buying the organic veggies and making the food she likes when I'm on dinner duty, but my enthusiasm levels are leaving something to be desired."
"You're charting, right?"
"Of course, but… no egg to even shoot for, yet. Hoping we'd have gotten another chance by now, but…"
"But she's nursing and almost forty-two and every month isn't realistic right now."
"Right. From what we can tell, if there's an egg around we've gotten pregnant. Just... And that's only happened once so…"
"You okay, Tim?"
Tim shrugs. "Yeah. I'd love more kids but, right now at least, I could be happy with just Kelly."
Jimmy doesn't ask out loud, but Tim can see the look, the way he's watching to see if that's real or not.
Tim shrugs again, it's real enough. "I don't need it the way she does." Jimmy nods, that's definitely real. "So we're both trying to stay cool, because we both do know that massive, stressed-out, hissy fit isn't going to help. I'm working on being supportive. I mean, I'm eating the veggies, too, and doing the yoga, and I can not drink. Not like that's a problem, at all. But there's really only so much I can do for this and none of it seems really useful, you know?"
"See your OB?"
"If we get to six months post-nursing without her getting pregnant, that's the plan."
"Stop nursing sooner?"
"Maybe. We talked about it when Kelly was new, planned to nurse for a year, but if she wants to cut out earlier and buy more time, I'll support that."
"It sounds-"
"Really reasonable?"
"Yeah."
"It is. Apparently 'reasonable' is cold comfort when you're jonesing for another baby."
Jimmy nods, he knows all about that. "Yeah."
Tim's phone beeps and he looks at it. "Gotta run."
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah. You know how the job system works?"
"Sure."
"I'm the available tech with the highest specialty rating for the case that just came in. I gotta move."
"Go move!"
Glenn Holland actually is a good guy. He's warm, funny, smart, and Tim understands why his sister loves him. As potential husbands go, he approves.
This does not, however, get him a pass from being dragged to the side by the various males of clan Gibbs as Sunday breakfast comes to a close.
Glenn half-smiles at him as he notices he's being pulled further and further back from the rest of the crowd, who are getting in cars and heading toward church. He holds his hands up, "Look, your Dad already did the hurt my little girl and I'll kill you in ways that hurt so bad just imagining them will make you break out in a cold sweat."
Tim nods at that. Bit surprised that the Admiral would make the effort, but he was always good at scaring the shit out of people by threatening them.
"This isn't the hurt my sister and die speech. Unlike my Dad, I actually know something about being a good husband." He points to Jimmy, Ducky, and Gibbs who are all surrounding Glenn. "They do, too. Any husband who's been around for more than a year will do something that hurts his wife sooner or later. Even if you're trying, it'll happen. That's just being alive and being a human being in close proximity to another human being every day for the rest of your life."
He can feel Jimmy thinking toothpaste even though he doesn't say it.
"This isn't even the marry her and you will stay married for the rest of your life, speech. We all know that can be a recipe for misery, and I don't want that for her, or you for that matter."
"So what is this?" Glenn looks legitimately curious. This is very much not the conversation he had with Admiral McGee.
"The rules. They're simple, and there aren't a lot of them. One: as long as you are a firefighter, you will have life insurance. You will have about five times more life insurance than you think you need. You stop being a firefighter, you can go back to the basic just get the job done level, but as long as you're out there risking your life running into burning buildings, you are going to make sure that she and your kids are covered.
"Two: If it doesn't work out, and you guys decide to split, you will pay child support and you will be a dad. I want it in your mind that there are men who will literally hunt you to the end of the earth and will fuck you over so badly on so many different levels you'll wish your parents had never met if you try to skip out on your kids."
Glenn nods with that, seems to agree, but he's looking a little disturbed at the language. He's never seen Tim be anything other than mild-mannered computer guy, the cursing is unsettling.
Tim takes that nod as his due, and also as a sign of Glenn being a basically decent guy. Then he doubles down. "If you think my Dad was scary, I want you to remember something, I learned everything he ever had to offer and then I spent the next fifteen years of my life putting away killers. I've got a library of twisted shit so vast and so varied that it'd make him blanch if he ever had to come face to face with it."
Glenn starts to look very disturbed. Tim finds that deeply satisfying.
"Three: If you ever find yourself contemplating something stupid, something where the words, 'I never meant to hurt you' translate into 'I never meant for you to find out,' don't do it." Glenn quickly nods along to that. "Honestly, you ever get in trouble, any kind, where you really are thinking, 'I never meant for you to find out,' come to us, we're amazingly resourceful at solving problems and helping each other cope with wanting things that are bad for you."
Jimmy's nodding along with that. "Anytime. Really. We're good at this, and our wedding present to you is that if you need it, help is always on offer."
Tim hadn't expect this to go that far, but he figures Jimmy's doing well, so he rolls with it.
"Look, you hurt her accidentally, that's just being alive. You hurt her intentionally. You do something where you know that if she finds out about it, it will make her cry, then I will make you cry. Make her cry badly enough, and next thing you know every FBI agent on Earth will be in your home pulling more kiddie porn than you ever knew could exist off of your hard drive. And then you'll get transferred to whatever holding cell has the guys who were the victims of pedophiles in it." Tim smiles blandly. "That's assuming they," he looks at Jimmy, Ducky, and Gibbs, "don't get you first." Glenn's eyes are very wide right now. He's thinking having the Admiral beat the shit out of him is vastly preferable to what McGee the younger will do.
Tim clasps a hand over Glenn's shoulder. "There is exactly one acceptable reason for my sister to be crying on me about something you did intentionally, and that's because you got hurt or died saving someone else. We good?"
Glenn nods slowly. "We're good."
"Wonderful."
Tim watches Glenn head back Sarah's car, he sees the somewhat stunned look on his face and enjoys it. Glenn says something to Sarah, but he can't lip read well enough to know what.
But Gibbs laughs and says, "He just told your sister, 'Your family is fucking terrifying.'" Gibbs put his arm around Tim's shoulder and nods slowly. "Good job."
Tim grins at him. "Thanks, I was well-trained."
He gets out of church and turns his phone back on. (He may be a heathen atheist, but he's a heathen atheist with manners; he turns his phone off in church. The Minions know that's a black out time for him, and where he is so if it's urgent enough they can go and get him.) There's a very irate text from his sister on there that says, KIDDIE PORN?
He laughs.
To any sane man, that's the scariest threat in my arsenal.
TIM! What the fuck?
Love you, too, Sis. And it looks like he does, too, so this'll never be any sort of issue.
You don't do that to people, don't say that… Just… Tim!
Honestly, is he bothered? Did he think I was out of line?
There's a pause. Abby's getting Kelly buckled into her car seat. "Trouble?"
"I don't think so. She's less than perfectly happy with my Fear of Big Brother technique."
Abby nods.
No. He's taking notes for when his little sister gets engaged.
Good man!
Ugh. Men!
:)
It's after Sunday dinner, after Bootcamp, and just like Glenn didn't have any trouble figuring out he was being weeded out of the herd for a private conversation, Tim's not having any issues with figuring it out, either.
Jimmy and Gibbs look... concerned.
"What?" he finally asks.
Jimmy looks to Gibbs. Gibbs looks back. They both look at Tim. Tim gets the sense they didn't plan this out, just came to the conclusion, at the same time, that it had to happen.
"Wedding coming up," Gibbs says.
"And your mom and dad'll probably be there, right?"
Tim had indeed already come to that conclusion, talked with Abby about it a bit. "Yeah. Probably."
"You going to go?" Jimmy asks.
Tim shrugs. "I don't know. I want to see her get married. I want to be there for her, and support her, and celebrate with her, but I could easily go the rest of my life without ever seeing either of them again." He shrugs again. "How about this, I'll burn that bridge when I come to it? When she gets a date and everything set, when we know for a fact The Admiral is actually attending, because if she picks a time when he's on duty, he won't. He didn't get out of a shift for her birth, I can't imagine he'll take time off for her wedding. When we know that… We'll figure it out from there."
Gibbs nods at that, and Jimmy seems to think that's an okay place to be.
Next
Chapter 359: Big Brother
The McGees"McGee," Tim's not really paying attention as he answers his phone. He's staring at his computer, scanning the code in front of him, hoping to get everything done in time so he can snag lunch with Jimmy and Abby."Tim?" That's not a Minion. His attention shifts away from the screen to the voice in his ear.
"Hey Sarah, what's up?"
"Glen asked me to marry him!"
He feels the smile spread across his face. "Congratulations. Date picked?"
"It's been two days."
"No, then. Sounds like you had an extra-special Valentine's?"
"Yep!" She sounds really excited. His email beeps, and he brings it up on his computer, seeing a shot of her left hand and the diamond solitaire sitting on her ring finger. Kind of plain by his tastes, but it's very simple and elegant, so he can see Sarah loving it.
"Looks like Glenn did good."
"Oh yeah."
He knows that tone of voice. The ultra-satisfied timbre of someone who's gotten exactly what she wanted. "You sound happy, are you?"
"Yeah, I am."
"Good." He nods, pleased. Then a thought hits. He is a big brother. A big brother who is soon to also be a brother-in-law, and he's feeling like he may have some duty toward his sister and her soon-to-be husband, so he says, "Come to Sunday breakfast with us?"
Not like Sarah just met him, she feels the change in how he's thinking about this, so she sounds a little wary when she says, "Why?"
Tim grins, but she can't see it. "Show of clan strength. I'm not doing my job as a big brother if I don't scare the snot out of him at least once."
"Really?" He can feel the eye roll aimed in his direction.
"Yep. It's in the big brother handbook. I'm required by law to take him out and make sure he knows that I and all of my friends will beat him within an inch of his life if he hurts you."
He hears an exasperated sigh. "Isn't that Dad's job?"
Tim snorts. "Like he'd do it."
He can feel her roll her eyes, again. "Fine." Sigh, palpable I'm humoring your vibes radiate off of Sarah. "When's Sunday breakfast?"
"Same as with the christening. Eight."
"You and all your friends?"
"Just me and the guys."
"How progressive of you," she says dryly.
He shakes his head. "No… You don't want us bringing the girls in! We want to scare him into behaving well. We bring in Abby and Ziva, and he'll wet his pants and run for the hills. He'll change his name, and you'll never see him again. We're just going to make sure he knows the rules."
"You're going to have way too much fun with this, aren't you?"
He's grinning. "That's entirely likely. So, you'll come?"
"Sure. Penny'll be there, right? I've called three times, but haven't been able to get a hold of her."
"Uh…" He doesn't actually know if she'll be there. "They're… somewhere. I'll ask Jimmy how long he's got Autopsy on his own."
"What do you mean somewhere?"
"Errr…" The flaw in Ducky's brilliant whirlwind romance wedding was suddenly staring him in the face, well, talking in his ear.
"Tim?"
"They um…" he says the next bit very fast, "kind of got married on Sunday, and are on their honeymoon."
"What?!"
"It was a surprise."
"How do you have a surprise wedding? It's a wedding, the one thing you can't do as a surprise. You've got forms to fill out and paperwork and…"
"I don't think they bothered with that. It was Molly's birthday party. She was down for her nap. Party was breaking up. He kissed her, said some really romantic things, whipped out the rings, asked to be her husband, asked her to be his wife, gave us just enough time to hug everyone and drink a toast, and then they were off on their honeymoon. Fifteen minutes, tops."
"If they didn't bother with the paperwork, it's not a wedding."
Tim shrugs. You ask him, they're married. The paperwork strikes him as extraneous. But that's a moot point right now. "I just… don't know when they'll be back. Don't know where they went. Jimmy thinks it's somewhere warm, but… For all we know they could be touring the fjords. But I can find out when they'll be back. Jimmy'll know."
"Fine. Let me know."
"Okay. So… Sunday? Putting the fear of big brother into Glenn?"
She sighs. "Sure."
"Good!"
He feels her roll her eyes one last time, and then she says, "Bye, " and hangs up.
He did get lunch with Jimmy and Abby (though it's takeout. They're in Autopsy, which isn't Tim's favorite place to eat, but Jimmy's on solo, so he has to be around if anyone needs him.)
"This is really clean?" Tim asks. They're sitting around one of the stainless steel autopsy tables, food still in its containers, but Tim's still a bit squeamish.
"Hosed off, washed down with alcohol, hosed off again, and tested three times a week for bacteria content, but if you'd like I can grab one of the sterile drapes we use for the bodies," Jimmy says as he opens his chicken curry.
Tim sighs, opening his carton of beef and green beans, making sure his chopsticks don't touch the table. Abby gently pokes him but he feels he's within his rights to have irrational hang-ups about eating on the autopsy tables.
Jimmy shakes his head. "Your desk is a bubbling cauldron of raging bacterial sex compared to this table."
"I know." Tim holds up his hands. "I don't want to think about it."
Jimmy smirks. Then takes a bite of his curry. "So, anything interesting today?"
"Oh." Tim looks to Abby, who's digging into her organic tofu-veggie stir fry. "You were right. I got the call today. Glenn proposed on Valentine's. They're coming for Sunday breakfast, so we're on put the fear of Big Brother into Glenn duty."
Abby's grinning at that. "Ohhh… That'll be fun."
Jimmy looks at her with wide eyes, and Tim shakes his head. "No. Me, Jimmy, Gibbs, Tony if he shows. If I let you put the fear of Abby into him, he'll run screaming for the hills." She's somewhere between pouting and pleased at that. She wants in on the fun, but enjoys having her superiority at this recognized.
"Breena told me Amy's bummed. No ring for her," Jimmy says.
"She and Collin have only been together for what… a year?" Abby asks. She and Breena (and over the course of a few Sundays, Amy, too) have talked about this.
Jimmy nods. "Something like that. Apparently he moved in last week, but Ed doesn't know, yet."
Tim cringes. "Oh, that's going to be a mess."
"Yeah, Breena's thinking she was hoping to present it as, 'We're getting married! Oh, and Colin's all moved in.'"
"He gonna flip out about them living together?" Tim asks.
"Well, he almost bit my head off for having sex with his daughter after we got married, so I can't imagine he'll be cool with Colin doing it before."
Tim shakes his head. "You know, I'm going to enjoy not being in the middle of that."
Jimmy and Abby both nod in agreement.
Abby takes a sip of her water, eating another bite of her lunch. Jimmy watches her. She's been eating really healthy lately. She even skipped birthday cake at Molly's party. (Hell, even he had a bite of that cake, because like her mama, Breena can really bake when she puts her mind to it.)
"Okay, what's with the ultra-healthy food. Are you trying to lose weight?"
"What?" She looks up at him, really startled and unhappy. "Do you think I need to lose weight?"
(Tim is very glad to not be in the middle of this, either. He pulls a few inches further back from the table and gets ready to duck if need be.)
"No! You look great. That's why I'm worried you might be trying to. You're drinking water, haven't seen a Pepsi, let alone a Caf-Pow in weeks, or any other sugar for that matter, and you've got, what, whole grain rice in your vegetarian stir-fry? What's going on?"
She looks at Tim, eyes slightly narrowed.
"I didn't say anything. We eat together all the time; he was bound to notice."
She sighs. "Since… the miscarriage… I've been trying to eat better. Don't want it to happen again." Her eyes narrow at Tim again. "He thinks it's silly."
"It's not silly, but… I don't think it'll do much, that's all. It can't hurt, but…" He shrugs. "It feels like a placebo to me, so if it tricks your body into doing what you want it to do, that's great, but I don't think it's science."
He looks at Jimmy who's got the I shouldn't have opened this can of worms look on his face. "You're the doctor, how much does it matter if the tofu's organic or not?"
"Uh…" He's frantically thinking of a way to get out of this. "Do I look like your OB? 'Cause that's who you need to talk to."
They both give him their That's a bullshit answer look.
"Fine. I don't know. I don't think it matters much, but if this job teaches you anything it's the everyone is different and just because something works, or doesn't, for 99% of the population doesn't mean it'll work, or not, for you. And the placebo thing is real, and it works. They've got cases of people who didn't get their chemo drugs, they were given sterile solution by accident, and still got better. No one's suggesting that's a good plan for Joe Average, but if you can swing it… And like Tim says, it can't hurt."
"But you don't think it really helps, do you?" Abby asks.
"I'm not an OB. I'm not a nutritionist. I know I've got a very delicately balanced system and all organic or not didn't make any difference I could tell. Upping veggies, that made me feel better. Saying goodbye to most carbs, same result. More good fats, more meat, and more eggs to replace those carbs, my body seemed to like that a lot. But one of the steps I tried, back when I was first diagnosed, was to do natural sugars instead of processed one, and I never saw any difference by subbing out white sugar for honey or maple syrup. Getting rid of high fructose corn syrup didn't help. So, sure eat the veggies, get lots of them. And protein is your friend, enjoy it," he points to his own curry, "real meat, nuts, and there's cream in the sauce, higher fat content means I won't get hungry again as soon as I do when I do all veg. I'd recommend that for anyone trying to eat better. No one ever ended up in worse health because they stopped sucking down piles of caffeinated sugar, so saying goodbye to the Caf-Pows and sleeping more isn't a bad plan. But I've got no idea if it'll affect your fertility at all."
Then he looks at Tim and back to Abby. "Neither of you drink much, but cold turkey, for both of you, is something that's got actual science behind it, proving that it helps… Sort of. For guys it helps with sperm count."
"Likely not a problem," Abby says.
Tim shrugs, unless they've been insanely lucky, she's right.
"For women not drinking while you're trying to get pregnant and the first few months helps avoid miscarriage, but… the information on that's kind of sketchy. In this country at least, the kind of woman who admits to drinking while pregnant isn't the kind of woman who's just having a glass of wine with dinner once a week. They know binge drinking causes problems. They know alcoholism causes problems. They know not drinking at all avoids them. They know that women who have fewer than two drinks a day are fine, but that's an average, and your mileage may vary, and you can't really prove something is safe, so the rule of thumb is no alcohol at all."
"So what you're saying is that best anyone knows we're already drinking less than the amount that would make a difference?" Tim asks.
"Probably. Not drinking won't hurt. None of this will hurt. But since you aren't binge drinking, it may not help, either. Just, I wouldn't stress out about it. Oh, speaking of things you can do that there's some science behind, stressing out about it does make fertility rates drop."
"You wouldn't stress out about it because you're not in spitting distance of the end of your fertility," Abby says to Jimmy. "Forty-two is next month. I'm getting to the end of my store of eggs and I don't want to waste any of them, so anything that may help just got added to the to-do list."
Jimmy nods. "Want me to do some research? Or give you my Physician's log in for PubMed? That'll get you full access to any of the articles you want."
Tim thinks that's a good way to diffuse the situation. And Abby nods. "Yes. Thanks."
Tim's been back at his desk for a few minutes when Jimmy texts him.
Come back down?
Okay.
He tells Soth he'll be in Autopsy, and if anyone needs him to head over and grab him, and then goes.
"Jimmy?"
"Here." He backs out of the storage closet. "Just getting more forms. When's that paperwork software going live?"
Tim crosses his fingers. "Week from tomorrow beta testing starts. You know you'll have to fill your stuff out by hand and do it with the computer while testing, right?"
"Yeah, if it doesn't work, yada yada yada. I got it the first time."
"Good. What's up?"
"How's she doing, really?"
Tim sighs. "Okay. Really. You know how much she loves not being in control, and she can't control this, but she can control what she eats, so the food's gotten really healthy. And you know we do morning yoga, or at least as much as we can."
Jimmy nods; he's familiar with how small people put a crimp in any sort of morning plans you might have.
"She's added some fertility poses and is centering the meditation that way. And like with the food, it doesn't hurt, but I don't think it actually helps, either. So, she's kind of frustrated with me because I'm not all gung ho on this."
"Frustrated?" Tim can tell Jimmy's asking if he's 'editing' the situation.
Tim shakes his head, frustrated isn't code for angry. "Yeah. Not angry. I'm not being a jerk about it. But she'd like me to be a better cheerleader on it, and I'm trying. I'm buying the organic veggies and making the food she likes when I'm on dinner duty, but my enthusiasm levels are leaving something to be desired."
"You're charting, right?"
"Of course, but… no egg to even shoot for, yet. Hoping we'd have gotten another chance by now, but…"
"But she's nursing and almost forty-two and every month isn't realistic right now."
"Right. From what we can tell, if there's an egg around we've gotten pregnant. Just... And that's only happened once so…"
"You okay, Tim?"
Tim shrugs. "Yeah. I'd love more kids but, right now at least, I could be happy with just Kelly."
Jimmy doesn't ask out loud, but Tim can see the look, the way he's watching to see if that's real or not.
Tim shrugs again, it's real enough. "I don't need it the way she does." Jimmy nods, that's definitely real. "So we're both trying to stay cool, because we both do know that massive, stressed-out, hissy fit isn't going to help. I'm working on being supportive. I mean, I'm eating the veggies, too, and doing the yoga, and I can not drink. Not like that's a problem, at all. But there's really only so much I can do for this and none of it seems really useful, you know?"
"See your OB?"
"If we get to six months post-nursing without her getting pregnant, that's the plan."
"Stop nursing sooner?"
"Maybe. We talked about it when Kelly was new, planned to nurse for a year, but if she wants to cut out earlier and buy more time, I'll support that."
"It sounds-"
"Really reasonable?"
"Yeah."
"It is. Apparently 'reasonable' is cold comfort when you're jonesing for another baby."
Jimmy nods, he knows all about that. "Yeah."
Tim's phone beeps and he looks at it. "Gotta run."
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah. You know how the job system works?"
"Sure."
"I'm the available tech with the highest specialty rating for the case that just came in. I gotta move."
"Go move!"
Glenn Holland actually is a good guy. He's warm, funny, smart, and Tim understands why his sister loves him. As potential husbands go, he approves.
This does not, however, get him a pass from being dragged to the side by the various males of clan Gibbs as Sunday breakfast comes to a close.
Glenn half-smiles at him as he notices he's being pulled further and further back from the rest of the crowd, who are getting in cars and heading toward church. He holds his hands up, "Look, your Dad already did the hurt my little girl and I'll kill you in ways that hurt so bad just imagining them will make you break out in a cold sweat."
Tim nods at that. Bit surprised that the Admiral would make the effort, but he was always good at scaring the shit out of people by threatening them.
"This isn't the hurt my sister and die speech. Unlike my Dad, I actually know something about being a good husband." He points to Jimmy, Ducky, and Gibbs who are all surrounding Glenn. "They do, too. Any husband who's been around for more than a year will do something that hurts his wife sooner or later. Even if you're trying, it'll happen. That's just being alive and being a human being in close proximity to another human being every day for the rest of your life."
He can feel Jimmy thinking toothpaste even though he doesn't say it.
"This isn't even the marry her and you will stay married for the rest of your life, speech. We all know that can be a recipe for misery, and I don't want that for her, or you for that matter."
"So what is this?" Glenn looks legitimately curious. This is very much not the conversation he had with Admiral McGee.
"The rules. They're simple, and there aren't a lot of them. One: as long as you are a firefighter, you will have life insurance. You will have about five times more life insurance than you think you need. You stop being a firefighter, you can go back to the basic just get the job done level, but as long as you're out there risking your life running into burning buildings, you are going to make sure that she and your kids are covered.
"Two: If it doesn't work out, and you guys decide to split, you will pay child support and you will be a dad. I want it in your mind that there are men who will literally hunt you to the end of the earth and will fuck you over so badly on so many different levels you'll wish your parents had never met if you try to skip out on your kids."
Glenn nods with that, seems to agree, but he's looking a little disturbed at the language. He's never seen Tim be anything other than mild-mannered computer guy, the cursing is unsettling.
Tim takes that nod as his due, and also as a sign of Glenn being a basically decent guy. Then he doubles down. "If you think my Dad was scary, I want you to remember something, I learned everything he ever had to offer and then I spent the next fifteen years of my life putting away killers. I've got a library of twisted shit so vast and so varied that it'd make him blanch if he ever had to come face to face with it."
Glenn starts to look very disturbed. Tim finds that deeply satisfying.
"Three: If you ever find yourself contemplating something stupid, something where the words, 'I never meant to hurt you' translate into 'I never meant for you to find out,' don't do it." Glenn quickly nods along to that. "Honestly, you ever get in trouble, any kind, where you really are thinking, 'I never meant for you to find out,' come to us, we're amazingly resourceful at solving problems and helping each other cope with wanting things that are bad for you."
Jimmy's nodding along with that. "Anytime. Really. We're good at this, and our wedding present to you is that if you need it, help is always on offer."
Tim hadn't expect this to go that far, but he figures Jimmy's doing well, so he rolls with it.
"Look, you hurt her accidentally, that's just being alive. You hurt her intentionally. You do something where you know that if she finds out about it, it will make her cry, then I will make you cry. Make her cry badly enough, and next thing you know every FBI agent on Earth will be in your home pulling more kiddie porn than you ever knew could exist off of your hard drive. And then you'll get transferred to whatever holding cell has the guys who were the victims of pedophiles in it." Tim smiles blandly. "That's assuming they," he looks at Jimmy, Ducky, and Gibbs, "don't get you first." Glenn's eyes are very wide right now. He's thinking having the Admiral beat the shit out of him is vastly preferable to what McGee the younger will do.
Tim clasps a hand over Glenn's shoulder. "There is exactly one acceptable reason for my sister to be crying on me about something you did intentionally, and that's because you got hurt or died saving someone else. We good?"
Glenn nods slowly. "We're good."
"Wonderful."
Tim watches Glenn head back Sarah's car, he sees the somewhat stunned look on his face and enjoys it. Glenn says something to Sarah, but he can't lip read well enough to know what.
But Gibbs laughs and says, "He just told your sister, 'Your family is fucking terrifying.'" Gibbs put his arm around Tim's shoulder and nods slowly. "Good job."
Tim grins at him. "Thanks, I was well-trained."
He gets out of church and turns his phone back on. (He may be a heathen atheist, but he's a heathen atheist with manners; he turns his phone off in church. The Minions know that's a black out time for him, and where he is so if it's urgent enough they can go and get him.) There's a very irate text from his sister on there that says, KIDDIE PORN?
He laughs.
To any sane man, that's the scariest threat in my arsenal.
TIM! What the fuck?
Love you, too, Sis. And it looks like he does, too, so this'll never be any sort of issue.
You don't do that to people, don't say that… Just… Tim!
Honestly, is he bothered? Did he think I was out of line?
There's a pause. Abby's getting Kelly buckled into her car seat. "Trouble?"
"I don't think so. She's less than perfectly happy with my Fear of Big Brother technique."
Abby nods.
No. He's taking notes for when his little sister gets engaged.
Good man!
Ugh. Men!
:)
It's after Sunday dinner, after Bootcamp, and just like Glenn didn't have any trouble figuring out he was being weeded out of the herd for a private conversation, Tim's not having any issues with figuring it out, either.
Jimmy and Gibbs look... concerned.
"What?" he finally asks.
Jimmy looks to Gibbs. Gibbs looks back. They both look at Tim. Tim gets the sense they didn't plan this out, just came to the conclusion, at the same time, that it had to happen.
"Wedding coming up," Gibbs says.
"And your mom and dad'll probably be there, right?"
Tim had indeed already come to that conclusion, talked with Abby about it a bit. "Yeah. Probably."
"You going to go?" Jimmy asks.
Tim shrugs. "I don't know. I want to see her get married. I want to be there for her, and support her, and celebrate with her, but I could easily go the rest of my life without ever seeing either of them again." He shrugs again. "How about this, I'll burn that bridge when I come to it? When she gets a date and everything set, when we know for a fact The Admiral is actually attending, because if she picks a time when he's on duty, he won't. He didn't get out of a shift for her birth, I can't imagine he'll take time off for her wedding. When we know that… We'll figure it out from there."
Gibbs nods at that, and Jimmy seems to think that's an okay place to be.
Next
August 1, 2014
Shards To A Whole: Senior
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 358: Senior
To call or not to call.
Sigh.
Gibbs stares at his computer. Telling it to go find him run-of-the-mill family vacation homes on the water had been more difficult than he'd wanted. But, still, a whole lot of options popped up, he found some he liked, and he didn't have to talk to a Realtor.
But he's not just looking for a home now, he's looking for an estate. And judging by what he's coming up with… This isn't going to work.
He can find properties, top of the line, in spiffy shape, all shiny and pretty and in move in condition. And it's not like that's a bad thing, but… either they're smaller than he wants, or they're further away from the water. He wants land, space, and water access. Granite counter tops, Jacuzzi tubs, and stainless steel appliances don't matter all that much to him.
And beat up places… He's not seeing them at all.
Which he supposes makes a certain amount of sense. If you've got a place that big, you're probably keeping it up.
He feels like there's some sort of rich person club. They've got people to do stuff like this for them, but he's not hooked into the club.
So, keep scouring the internet hoping to just trip into something, or call Senior (who is hooked into the club) and see if he knows someone?
It's not like he loathes Senior or anything. It's just… he knows a fuck-up when he sees one, and Senior's a fuck-up. Granted, he's a fuck-up who's getting to be less of one, but it shouldn't take a man seventy-five years to decide to be a better person. Let alone an additional seven years to go from fuck-up to okay. (At the rate he's going, Senior's going to have to make it to ninety before he gets to Gibbs' idea of a stand up guy.)
And, it's probably a lot of his own background coming into play, because on the cosmic scale of fuck-ups Gibbs has seen vastly worse. And, hell when it comes to marriages, he may even be a worse fuck-up. To hear Tony tell it Senior gets all caught up in the romance and ends up with a new wife every few years because he's just in the moment, not using them as human anti-depressants… But…
But if Kelly had lived… He doesn't know what he would have done. Active-duty Marine isn't a good match for a man who's the sole support for a child. Maybe moved back up north and helped his dad with the store. That would have been a good, stable life, for both of them. He does know boarding school and pretending she didn't exist would have been nowhere on the plan. He would have been there for her every single day.
But Senior didn't do that for Tony. He fucked-up. He raised a decent boy into a fuck-up and left Gibbs with twelve years of trying to get that decent man out from under the fuck-up.
Gibbs feels a dull sadness with that. He assumes that it's a combination of the traditional sadness he always feels when he tries to imagine any sort of life with Kelly, mixed with the sorrow that hits him when he thinks of the chance Senior wasted.
He starts to do his usual pushing it away, moving onto the next challenge, (calling Senior) but it won't fade into the background, so he lets himself feel it, lets himself figure out what this is.
It takes a minute, spent thinking about family patterns, before it hits him. His father was a widower with a teen. Senior, a widower with a child. Himself, lost both of them.
Something about that pattern jumps up, wanting him to pay attention.
And when he gets it, it feels like a punch. He closes his eyes, exhales, and says, "Oh, Dad."
Senior ran away. Jack stayed. Gibbs was fourteen, and he was angry, and he hated his Dad and everyone else, and he didn't know what to do with that angry, so he pissed Jack off every day, every way he could.
And Jack stayed. And he took it. And he kept him close and looked out for him and protected him, and he was just as lost as Senior was, probably just as lost as Jethro, but he stayed. And more nights passed with Jack halfway in the bottle than Gibbs could count, but every morning he got back up, ran the store, took Leroy's shit (He was still Leroy then. Didn't start introducing himself as Jethro for another two years, because his dad called him Leroy, so he needed to be different. And his mom called him Leroy, and he couldn't take that constant reminder of the family he didn't have anymore.) and muddled on through, keeping them together because that was his job.
Jack was a dad, and it was his job to raise his son, not palm him off on strangers because it was convenient. Not banish the living reminder of the home he no longer had away from his sight so he could pretend it never happened.
Sorry Dad"You'll understand when you're older." How many times did Jack say that to him? More than he could count. He looks up, wishing he could give his dad a call and say, 'I'm sorry. I get it now.' But he can't. Ten months too late for that.
He says it out-loud anyway. "I'm sorry, Dad." And it helps, a little. Unlike Mike, he's never really felt the presence of Jack, and he doesn't, not now. "I miss you." That helps a bit, too, but it doesn't bring him back.
He sighs, pets Mona, who's staring at him, trying to figure out why he's talking, and goes back to googling, not really feeling like talking to Senior right now.
In the end though, he just doesn't know. He's not finding what he wants because he's not hooked into the people who do this sort of thing, and he can either hire a stranger or give Senior a call.
So he calls.
"Jethro?"
"Hey, you got some time?"
For a second Senior doesn't breathe, then he says, "Whatever it is, you can tell me right now, I can take it." Senior's voice is quavering, and Gibbs can feel the wave of fear coming from him. He probably should have expected that. The only reason he would call, normally, would be to say something very bad had happened to Tony or Ziva.
"Nothing bad. They're both fine. I wanted to talk real estate."
A palpable wave of relief washes over the phone lines. Senior swallows hard, and says, "Okay. That I can do. What do you want to know?"
"I need help finding a place. Feel like getting some coffee with me?"
"Sure, Jethro."
It's just… coincidence, really, that he set their meeting at Java Jane's. The cookies and coffee were, good, really, that's it.
She's probably still working, hard. Because that's how cases, even easy cases, tend to go. They're almost never done in one day.
But, he really wouldn't mind if she ran into him.
He checks his phone. Been less than twenty-four hours since the last text. That's not the end of the world. Just… feels like a long time when you're not running around like crazy between texts.
Senior comes in, waves, and sits in front of Gibbs, pulling his mind away from Borin.
"Little out of your way?" Senior asks as he sits down.
"Coffee's good." Gibbs pushes a cup of coffee toward him, and Senior nods, accepting it, taking a sip.
"It is. So, what can I help with? You looking to scale down?"
Gibbs shakes his head. "Not looking for me. This is… It's a surprise, for the kids, so they can't hear about this from you."
Senior looks shocked that Gibbs might take him into his confidence, and then very proud. Gibbs isn't exactly laying odds on Senior keeping quiet about this, but it's also not the end of the world if he tells Tony and Ziva, he's sure they'll keep quiet about it if Senior leaks.
"Ducky and Penny are looking to get a place for us. Mallard Manor or something like that. Family estate. We're not all at the Navy Yard all the time, so they want to make a home for us."
Senior's eyes light up. "Big place, on the water. It's got to have room for your boat, and room for all the kids and…"
Gibbs nods, kind of surprised at how rapidly Senior's getting this. Of course, for all he knows his family may have had one of these once upon a time. "Exactly. At least seven bedrooms. On the Potomac or Chesapeake. It can't be so far away that getting there on the weekends is an issue. I'm retired, so I'm on finding it duty, and I'm not seeing it."
Senior nods. "What's your price ceiling?"
"Two point seven million. It can be, and probably should be, beat all to hell up. If you can find me ten bedrooms with roof damage and broken windows, that'd be perfect."
Senior thinks about that for a moment. At that price range, you can afford not beat up. "Why beat up?"
"Get more house for the money? Better location for fewer dollars? Kids can put in labor so it doesn't feel entirely like a gift. So it's as much their home as Ducky and Penny's."
Senior pulls out his phone and starts flipping through names. "This isn't the kind of deal I normally work… But…" He flips some more. "Yeah." He's nodding, taps the phone a few times, and then Gibbs' phone beeps. "Just sent you the name of a friend of a friend. She specializes in settling estates. Might not be fast, but when someone dies with a lot of money and land, she comes in and takes care of everything so the kids don't have to. If anyone will have a line on the kind of place you're looking for, Jenny will."
"Thank you."
He taps his phone a few more times, and Gibbs phone beeps again. "Name of a lawyer who's good at structuring wills and trusts. Buying property with a woman you're not married to is a pain in the ass for everyone down stream of you. Among other things, at your price range, you're looking to get hit hard by the inheritance taxes, so you want this protected so you don't have to sell it in five years to pay the taxes on it. Bob's good at what he does. Knows his way around a will inside and out, never met an estate he couldn't tame."
Gibbs nods at that, then smiles.
Senior sees that smile and his eyes narrow. "Or is Ducky not buying property with a woman he's not married to?"
"Surprise wedding at Jimmy and Breena's yesterday. Off honeymooning now. Not even sure where they are."
"Good for him! You love a woman, you should marry her, none of this just living together fooling around."
Gibbs raises an eyebrow.
Senior shrugs. "Just because I'm not good at the follow through doesn't mean I don't get the basic idea."
Gibbs shrugs at that, too. "How's wedding planning going?"
"Great. Delphine's having a blast. She's only done this once before, and last time her mom was in charge. So she's really enjoying getting to plan the wedding that she wants. Nothing makes a woman happy the way planning a wedding does, and… I love that. Love how excited they get. Love how the details make them happy. Love that I can say, make it the way you want it, however you want it, and then they go do it."
"Thought you eloped six times."
Senior thinks about that. "Four. Junior never quite remembers how many times I've been married. And he boycotted two of the weddings when he was a teen/early twenties."
"How many times have you been married?"
"Lucky nine is coming up."
"Lucky?"
"Hope so. Maybe this time I've learned enough to make one work."
"Here's hoping." They both drink their coffees. "How's looking for a place for Tony and Ziva going?"
Senior shrugs. "Haven't found anything I love yet, and if I'm not loving it, I'm not passing it on to them."
Gibbs squints at that.
"Not, love in the sense of 'this is a perfect neighborhood' or 'ohhh granite counter tops' none of the deals have been good enough yet. Too beat up, for the price. I'm not touching anything we'd have to bulldoze and build anew from the ground up. Some of the one's I'm watching haven't been on the market long enough. We're not touching anything that hasn't been on the market for a year, and eighteen months is even better. And if it's had a bid placed on it in the last six months, we're not going for it. I'm going to lowball the first offer, hard, at least thirty percent under the list price. They're going to come back with a higher number, but if they've been trying to sell for a long time, that higher number will be lower than the list price. I'll give them 10% below that price, but offer to settle fast. Cash in hand in two weeks or so. They'll bite. But that deal doesn't work with the wrong place or the wrong buyer. Do this right, you'll get more house, and a better location, for a better price, than you can from a foreclosure sale."
That makes a certain amount of sense to Jethro, though it's not the way he'd ever look at buying a house.
Senior stares at his cup for a moment, serious. "Take a piece of advice from me, Jethro? Something I have learned. Pass it on to Ducky and Penny."
Gibbs inclines his head, somewhat curious as to what sort of advice Senior has to offer.
"I know you don't think of me as a font of good advice, but I've been down this block, a lot. The kids are adults, so they'll be fine. They're all set as themselves and a big gift like this isn't going to change that, but keep an eye out for the little ones. Tony's the only one of our kids, my family's kids, that's worth a damn. He's also the only one we cut off. The only one we made sink or swim. Lots of money is not a blessing, especially for children. You've got some very sweet girls, and, just… keep an eye on it.
"I was talking to Ed… I know he hopes his girls do better than he did, that they hit real wealth, but…" Senior shakes his head. "Ed's as rich as you can be and still safely raise kids. Much past that, and… it's just too easy to buy everything. You work hard, you save up, you invest well, and then you want to play when you're not working. You buy the toys you always wanted, the toys you worked hard for. And your kids see you do that, and they don't get the work that went into it, because they're not seeing you working, or don't understand it if they did, they just see the toys. To them it looks like you get to have whatever you want whenever you want it.
"They end up with expensive taste, because they're being raised in an expensive home, but they're kids and the paper route isn't ever going to buy them one of the Ferraris you just got yourself. It makes them envious if you try to stick with the you've got to work for your money line, makes them feel like work is useless because there's nothing they can do to get the kind of toys they want to play with. It makes them resent you, because you've got the toys, and they don't, and they don't have any context for why you do and they don't. It makes you feel like an ass, so you buy the toys for them. Why not? You've got the money. What's the point of money if you can't make people happy with it?
"But money doesn't make people happy. You end up breeding monsters and constantly feeding them. You can have money, have piles of it, but if you use it for all the things, they end up unhappy, wasted adults." Senior shakes his head. "Make it a home, fill it with people and memories, use that money to buy time together, but besides big and well-located, keep it simple."
Gibbs nods at that. "That's the plan."
"Good. It's good plan."
They both drink again. Senior's here. And Gibbs doesn't know. Tony's mentioned that it happened, and Gibbs filled in his own blanks, teasing him about it, poking him around Kate, but…
But he doesn't actually know why Tony got cut off. And Senior's here, and has mentioned it…
"Why'd you cut Tony off?"
Senior sighs. "He hated books, didn't like to study, didn't want to be a doctor or lawyer or anything like that, which wasn't a problem. I'm not a lawyer, neither was his granddad, we all made our money without a college degree. Except he also didn't like to work, either. He wasn't interested in making deals. He didn't want to build things. He just wanted to play sports. And he was good at them, but not pro-good. He was seventeen, best center at his school, best of any of the schools they played, but his boarding school wasn't exactly swarming with college scouts, let alone NBA scouts. So I said, no. We'd pay for school if he wanted to learn something. Phys-ed major wasn't going to cut it. If he wanted to work one of the crews, learn a trade, that was fine, we'd support him through that. If he wanted to start shadowing me, learning how to find deals and work them, he was welcome to join in.
"He wanted to shoot hoops. I told him we wouldn't support him through that.
"He got the basketball scholarship to Ohio State. Which was great, but it wasn't a first rung school. He did well, but being the league scorer in a second rate league in a second rate school didn't get the NBA calling. And by the time he was ready to graduate he'd decided on being a cop, and was too damn proud to ask to come back.
"By that point I'd noticed he was the only one doing anything useful with his life. His cousins are professional dilettantes, useless, and trust me, I know useless. His cousins are the kind of guys I charm into paying for me when money's scarce. People who are so lonely they're willing to pay for entertaining company." Senior waves dismissively. "When Junior graduated, I didn't offer to start bankrolling him again. Might be the only good decision I ever made for him."
Gibbs nods at that. Agreeing.
They sit there quietly, not having a whole lot else to say to each other, and Gibbs isn't exactly the poster boy for meaningless chit-chat. It's not precisely awkward, but not comfortable either.
Finally he finishes his coffee and says, "Thanks."
Senior nods. "Glad to be of help."
Gibbs is gathering up his stuff, getting ready to go when Senior says, "Just about had a heart attack when I saw your name come up on my caller ID. I do a pretty good job of not thinking about how dangerous Junior's job is, but every now and again I can't ignore it."
Gibbs nods. "Didn't think about that until you picked up." He shakes his head. "If… If a call like that ever needs to be made, it'll be in person. As long as you're anywhere even close to nearby, one of us will come in person. We don't drop that kind of news over the phone."
"Okay." Senior nods. "That's… comforting. I guess. Just, don't ever show up at my door without calling first. Don't want to feel that again."
Gibbs smiles. "Not a problem."
"Thanks." He finishes off his coffee as well. "Okay, got to get moving."
Gibbs nods again. "Enjoy!"
"Thanks. Got an angle on a drug company that I want some more information about."
One last nod from Gibbs, and Senior heads off.
Gibbs lingers, sitting at his table. He calls Jenny, getting her machine and leaves a message, explaining who had referred her and what he was looking for. After twenty more minutes, he gets up and leaves. Borin wandering in was a long shot, anyway.
Next
Chapter 358: Senior
To call or not to call.
Sigh.
Gibbs stares at his computer. Telling it to go find him run-of-the-mill family vacation homes on the water had been more difficult than he'd wanted. But, still, a whole lot of options popped up, he found some he liked, and he didn't have to talk to a Realtor.
But he's not just looking for a home now, he's looking for an estate. And judging by what he's coming up with… This isn't going to work.
He can find properties, top of the line, in spiffy shape, all shiny and pretty and in move in condition. And it's not like that's a bad thing, but… either they're smaller than he wants, or they're further away from the water. He wants land, space, and water access. Granite counter tops, Jacuzzi tubs, and stainless steel appliances don't matter all that much to him.
And beat up places… He's not seeing them at all.
Which he supposes makes a certain amount of sense. If you've got a place that big, you're probably keeping it up.
He feels like there's some sort of rich person club. They've got people to do stuff like this for them, but he's not hooked into the club.
So, keep scouring the internet hoping to just trip into something, or call Senior (who is hooked into the club) and see if he knows someone?
It's not like he loathes Senior or anything. It's just… he knows a fuck-up when he sees one, and Senior's a fuck-up. Granted, he's a fuck-up who's getting to be less of one, but it shouldn't take a man seventy-five years to decide to be a better person. Let alone an additional seven years to go from fuck-up to okay. (At the rate he's going, Senior's going to have to make it to ninety before he gets to Gibbs' idea of a stand up guy.)
And, it's probably a lot of his own background coming into play, because on the cosmic scale of fuck-ups Gibbs has seen vastly worse. And, hell when it comes to marriages, he may even be a worse fuck-up. To hear Tony tell it Senior gets all caught up in the romance and ends up with a new wife every few years because he's just in the moment, not using them as human anti-depressants… But…
But if Kelly had lived… He doesn't know what he would have done. Active-duty Marine isn't a good match for a man who's the sole support for a child. Maybe moved back up north and helped his dad with the store. That would have been a good, stable life, for both of them. He does know boarding school and pretending she didn't exist would have been nowhere on the plan. He would have been there for her every single day.
But Senior didn't do that for Tony. He fucked-up. He raised a decent boy into a fuck-up and left Gibbs with twelve years of trying to get that decent man out from under the fuck-up.
Gibbs feels a dull sadness with that. He assumes that it's a combination of the traditional sadness he always feels when he tries to imagine any sort of life with Kelly, mixed with the sorrow that hits him when he thinks of the chance Senior wasted.
He starts to do his usual pushing it away, moving onto the next challenge, (calling Senior) but it won't fade into the background, so he lets himself feel it, lets himself figure out what this is.
It takes a minute, spent thinking about family patterns, before it hits him. His father was a widower with a teen. Senior, a widower with a child. Himself, lost both of them.
Something about that pattern jumps up, wanting him to pay attention.
And when he gets it, it feels like a punch. He closes his eyes, exhales, and says, "Oh, Dad."
Senior ran away. Jack stayed. Gibbs was fourteen, and he was angry, and he hated his Dad and everyone else, and he didn't know what to do with that angry, so he pissed Jack off every day, every way he could.
And Jack stayed. And he took it. And he kept him close and looked out for him and protected him, and he was just as lost as Senior was, probably just as lost as Jethro, but he stayed. And more nights passed with Jack halfway in the bottle than Gibbs could count, but every morning he got back up, ran the store, took Leroy's shit (He was still Leroy then. Didn't start introducing himself as Jethro for another two years, because his dad called him Leroy, so he needed to be different. And his mom called him Leroy, and he couldn't take that constant reminder of the family he didn't have anymore.) and muddled on through, keeping them together because that was his job.
Jack was a dad, and it was his job to raise his son, not palm him off on strangers because it was convenient. Not banish the living reminder of the home he no longer had away from his sight so he could pretend it never happened.
Sorry Dad"You'll understand when you're older." How many times did Jack say that to him? More than he could count. He looks up, wishing he could give his dad a call and say, 'I'm sorry. I get it now.' But he can't. Ten months too late for that.He says it out-loud anyway. "I'm sorry, Dad." And it helps, a little. Unlike Mike, he's never really felt the presence of Jack, and he doesn't, not now. "I miss you." That helps a bit, too, but it doesn't bring him back.
He sighs, pets Mona, who's staring at him, trying to figure out why he's talking, and goes back to googling, not really feeling like talking to Senior right now.
In the end though, he just doesn't know. He's not finding what he wants because he's not hooked into the people who do this sort of thing, and he can either hire a stranger or give Senior a call.
So he calls.
"Jethro?"
"Hey, you got some time?"
For a second Senior doesn't breathe, then he says, "Whatever it is, you can tell me right now, I can take it." Senior's voice is quavering, and Gibbs can feel the wave of fear coming from him. He probably should have expected that. The only reason he would call, normally, would be to say something very bad had happened to Tony or Ziva.
"Nothing bad. They're both fine. I wanted to talk real estate."
A palpable wave of relief washes over the phone lines. Senior swallows hard, and says, "Okay. That I can do. What do you want to know?"
"I need help finding a place. Feel like getting some coffee with me?"
"Sure, Jethro."
It's just… coincidence, really, that he set their meeting at Java Jane's. The cookies and coffee were, good, really, that's it.
She's probably still working, hard. Because that's how cases, even easy cases, tend to go. They're almost never done in one day.
But, he really wouldn't mind if she ran into him.
He checks his phone. Been less than twenty-four hours since the last text. That's not the end of the world. Just… feels like a long time when you're not running around like crazy between texts.
Senior comes in, waves, and sits in front of Gibbs, pulling his mind away from Borin.
"Little out of your way?" Senior asks as he sits down.
"Coffee's good." Gibbs pushes a cup of coffee toward him, and Senior nods, accepting it, taking a sip.
"It is. So, what can I help with? You looking to scale down?"
Gibbs shakes his head. "Not looking for me. This is… It's a surprise, for the kids, so they can't hear about this from you."
Senior looks shocked that Gibbs might take him into his confidence, and then very proud. Gibbs isn't exactly laying odds on Senior keeping quiet about this, but it's also not the end of the world if he tells Tony and Ziva, he's sure they'll keep quiet about it if Senior leaks.
"Ducky and Penny are looking to get a place for us. Mallard Manor or something like that. Family estate. We're not all at the Navy Yard all the time, so they want to make a home for us."
Senior's eyes light up. "Big place, on the water. It's got to have room for your boat, and room for all the kids and…"
Gibbs nods, kind of surprised at how rapidly Senior's getting this. Of course, for all he knows his family may have had one of these once upon a time. "Exactly. At least seven bedrooms. On the Potomac or Chesapeake. It can't be so far away that getting there on the weekends is an issue. I'm retired, so I'm on finding it duty, and I'm not seeing it."
Senior nods. "What's your price ceiling?"
"Two point seven million. It can be, and probably should be, beat all to hell up. If you can find me ten bedrooms with roof damage and broken windows, that'd be perfect."
Senior thinks about that for a moment. At that price range, you can afford not beat up. "Why beat up?"
"Get more house for the money? Better location for fewer dollars? Kids can put in labor so it doesn't feel entirely like a gift. So it's as much their home as Ducky and Penny's."
Senior pulls out his phone and starts flipping through names. "This isn't the kind of deal I normally work… But…" He flips some more. "Yeah." He's nodding, taps the phone a few times, and then Gibbs' phone beeps. "Just sent you the name of a friend of a friend. She specializes in settling estates. Might not be fast, but when someone dies with a lot of money and land, she comes in and takes care of everything so the kids don't have to. If anyone will have a line on the kind of place you're looking for, Jenny will."
"Thank you."
He taps his phone a few more times, and Gibbs phone beeps again. "Name of a lawyer who's good at structuring wills and trusts. Buying property with a woman you're not married to is a pain in the ass for everyone down stream of you. Among other things, at your price range, you're looking to get hit hard by the inheritance taxes, so you want this protected so you don't have to sell it in five years to pay the taxes on it. Bob's good at what he does. Knows his way around a will inside and out, never met an estate he couldn't tame."
Gibbs nods at that, then smiles.
Senior sees that smile and his eyes narrow. "Or is Ducky not buying property with a woman he's not married to?"
"Surprise wedding at Jimmy and Breena's yesterday. Off honeymooning now. Not even sure where they are."
"Good for him! You love a woman, you should marry her, none of this just living together fooling around."
Gibbs raises an eyebrow.
Senior shrugs. "Just because I'm not good at the follow through doesn't mean I don't get the basic idea."
Gibbs shrugs at that, too. "How's wedding planning going?"
"Great. Delphine's having a blast. She's only done this once before, and last time her mom was in charge. So she's really enjoying getting to plan the wedding that she wants. Nothing makes a woman happy the way planning a wedding does, and… I love that. Love how excited they get. Love how the details make them happy. Love that I can say, make it the way you want it, however you want it, and then they go do it."
"Thought you eloped six times."
Senior thinks about that. "Four. Junior never quite remembers how many times I've been married. And he boycotted two of the weddings when he was a teen/early twenties."
"How many times have you been married?"
"Lucky nine is coming up."
"Lucky?"
"Hope so. Maybe this time I've learned enough to make one work."
"Here's hoping." They both drink their coffees. "How's looking for a place for Tony and Ziva going?"
Senior shrugs. "Haven't found anything I love yet, and if I'm not loving it, I'm not passing it on to them."
Gibbs squints at that.
"Not, love in the sense of 'this is a perfect neighborhood' or 'ohhh granite counter tops' none of the deals have been good enough yet. Too beat up, for the price. I'm not touching anything we'd have to bulldoze and build anew from the ground up. Some of the one's I'm watching haven't been on the market long enough. We're not touching anything that hasn't been on the market for a year, and eighteen months is even better. And if it's had a bid placed on it in the last six months, we're not going for it. I'm going to lowball the first offer, hard, at least thirty percent under the list price. They're going to come back with a higher number, but if they've been trying to sell for a long time, that higher number will be lower than the list price. I'll give them 10% below that price, but offer to settle fast. Cash in hand in two weeks or so. They'll bite. But that deal doesn't work with the wrong place or the wrong buyer. Do this right, you'll get more house, and a better location, for a better price, than you can from a foreclosure sale."
That makes a certain amount of sense to Jethro, though it's not the way he'd ever look at buying a house.
Senior stares at his cup for a moment, serious. "Take a piece of advice from me, Jethro? Something I have learned. Pass it on to Ducky and Penny."
Gibbs inclines his head, somewhat curious as to what sort of advice Senior has to offer.
"I know you don't think of me as a font of good advice, but I've been down this block, a lot. The kids are adults, so they'll be fine. They're all set as themselves and a big gift like this isn't going to change that, but keep an eye out for the little ones. Tony's the only one of our kids, my family's kids, that's worth a damn. He's also the only one we cut off. The only one we made sink or swim. Lots of money is not a blessing, especially for children. You've got some very sweet girls, and, just… keep an eye on it.
"I was talking to Ed… I know he hopes his girls do better than he did, that they hit real wealth, but…" Senior shakes his head. "Ed's as rich as you can be and still safely raise kids. Much past that, and… it's just too easy to buy everything. You work hard, you save up, you invest well, and then you want to play when you're not working. You buy the toys you always wanted, the toys you worked hard for. And your kids see you do that, and they don't get the work that went into it, because they're not seeing you working, or don't understand it if they did, they just see the toys. To them it looks like you get to have whatever you want whenever you want it.
"They end up with expensive taste, because they're being raised in an expensive home, but they're kids and the paper route isn't ever going to buy them one of the Ferraris you just got yourself. It makes them envious if you try to stick with the you've got to work for your money line, makes them feel like work is useless because there's nothing they can do to get the kind of toys they want to play with. It makes them resent you, because you've got the toys, and they don't, and they don't have any context for why you do and they don't. It makes you feel like an ass, so you buy the toys for them. Why not? You've got the money. What's the point of money if you can't make people happy with it?
"But money doesn't make people happy. You end up breeding monsters and constantly feeding them. You can have money, have piles of it, but if you use it for all the things, they end up unhappy, wasted adults." Senior shakes his head. "Make it a home, fill it with people and memories, use that money to buy time together, but besides big and well-located, keep it simple."
Gibbs nods at that. "That's the plan."
"Good. It's good plan."
They both drink again. Senior's here. And Gibbs doesn't know. Tony's mentioned that it happened, and Gibbs filled in his own blanks, teasing him about it, poking him around Kate, but…
But he doesn't actually know why Tony got cut off. And Senior's here, and has mentioned it…
"Why'd you cut Tony off?"
Senior sighs. "He hated books, didn't like to study, didn't want to be a doctor or lawyer or anything like that, which wasn't a problem. I'm not a lawyer, neither was his granddad, we all made our money without a college degree. Except he also didn't like to work, either. He wasn't interested in making deals. He didn't want to build things. He just wanted to play sports. And he was good at them, but not pro-good. He was seventeen, best center at his school, best of any of the schools they played, but his boarding school wasn't exactly swarming with college scouts, let alone NBA scouts. So I said, no. We'd pay for school if he wanted to learn something. Phys-ed major wasn't going to cut it. If he wanted to work one of the crews, learn a trade, that was fine, we'd support him through that. If he wanted to start shadowing me, learning how to find deals and work them, he was welcome to join in.
"He wanted to shoot hoops. I told him we wouldn't support him through that.
"He got the basketball scholarship to Ohio State. Which was great, but it wasn't a first rung school. He did well, but being the league scorer in a second rate league in a second rate school didn't get the NBA calling. And by the time he was ready to graduate he'd decided on being a cop, and was too damn proud to ask to come back.
"By that point I'd noticed he was the only one doing anything useful with his life. His cousins are professional dilettantes, useless, and trust me, I know useless. His cousins are the kind of guys I charm into paying for me when money's scarce. People who are so lonely they're willing to pay for entertaining company." Senior waves dismissively. "When Junior graduated, I didn't offer to start bankrolling him again. Might be the only good decision I ever made for him."
Gibbs nods at that. Agreeing.
They sit there quietly, not having a whole lot else to say to each other, and Gibbs isn't exactly the poster boy for meaningless chit-chat. It's not precisely awkward, but not comfortable either.
Finally he finishes his coffee and says, "Thanks."
Senior nods. "Glad to be of help."
Gibbs is gathering up his stuff, getting ready to go when Senior says, "Just about had a heart attack when I saw your name come up on my caller ID. I do a pretty good job of not thinking about how dangerous Junior's job is, but every now and again I can't ignore it."
Gibbs nods. "Didn't think about that until you picked up." He shakes his head. "If… If a call like that ever needs to be made, it'll be in person. As long as you're anywhere even close to nearby, one of us will come in person. We don't drop that kind of news over the phone."
"Okay." Senior nods. "That's… comforting. I guess. Just, don't ever show up at my door without calling first. Don't want to feel that again."
Gibbs smiles. "Not a problem."
"Thanks." He finishes off his coffee as well. "Okay, got to get moving."
Gibbs nods again. "Enjoy!"
"Thanks. Got an angle on a drug company that I want some more information about."
One last nod from Gibbs, and Senior heads off.
Gibbs lingers, sitting at his table. He calls Jenny, getting her machine and leaves a message, explaining who had referred her and what he was looking for. After twenty more minutes, he gets up and leaves. Borin wandering in was a long shot, anyway.
Next
Shards To A Whole: Valentine's Tim
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 357: Valentine's: Tim
"God, Borin must be so hot! I mean, I knew she had to be, but… Damn!" They're back at Tim's house, lurking in the kitchen as Tim gets dinner ready, and Tony's been… talking is probably a stretch, musing might be better, as to exactly how those bite marks got on Gibbs.
Tim and Jimmy have gotten to the eye-rolling stage, because, while it's true that all three of them just stared at Gibbs as he headed into the showers, more less all thinking the same, God damn, good for you, Gibbs! and it's also true that both of them are interested in gossiping about this, they don't want to gossip with Tony about it, they want to tell their wives.
And it may be that Tony wants to talk to Ziva, but she's not here, and they are, so he's chattering away, sitting on the floor, stacking blocks for Kelly, while Jimmy finishes feeding Anna her bottle, and Molly plays with her new birthday toys.
"It's a good thing you muffed asking her out, McGee. She would have killed you."
"That was her!" Jimmy says, eyes wide. Tony more or less sprinted down to Autopsy to produce a verbatim re-do of Tim asking out Borin as soon as he got a shot, and Jimmy laughed so hard he almost wet his pants. (Ducky had to take his glasses off to wipe the tears of laughter from his eyes.)
Tim gives both of them the stink-eye. "I needed a way to get tickets for something fun to take Abby, my Abby, to without it looking like a date. So, I had you buy tickets, did the worst job I possibly could asking Borin out, oh, and by the way, later that night, when you and Ziva were playing darts, she still said 'Yes,' which meant I had to explain how I hadn't actually intended for her to be even remotely interested in saying yes, so she wished me luck, which is why Borin knew about Abby and I before you did, Tony.
"So, while you full-on chickened out, I asked Borin and Abby out in one day and both of them said yes. And, Tony, just because I haven't had any the last two weeks, so you haven't seen them, it's not like Jimmy
and Gibbs have never seen me in the locker room sporting hickies." He taps his wrist cuff. "I started wearing this to cover some bruises I really enjoyed getting."
"Why would you have a hickie on your wrist?" Jimmy asks. Yes, he's seen the occasional love bite on Tim, but never one there. Wrist sucking doesn't strike him as particularly erotic, but Tim's into some weird stuff, sooo...
Tim smirks. "Wasn't a hickie."
"What was it?" Jimmy asks, curious. Tim gives him a long look and after a second the light goes on and Jimmy says, "Oh."
Tim nods.
Tony squints a bit at that, then shrugs and comes back with, "I didn't chicken out!"
"Sure," Tim says, sarcasm high. "You were going to 'let me have her.'" He rolls his eyes.
Tony glares at him. Jimmy flashes a curious look to Tony. "You left that part out."
"When you know you're in love with someone else, you don't ask out a woman who might expect more than a quick fu—good time." Molly's looking up at him with very big eyes, listening intently. This conversation probably doesn't make much sense to her, but he's fairly sure that she'll pick up on that word and start repeating it if she hears it. And he does not want to have a conversation with Breena about how her two-year-old learned that word. No, he's more than happy to have that be on Dad or Uncle Tim. "Those days all I was doing was picking girls up at bars. Wasn't looking for anyone who might expect me to spend the night. And someone I'd work with…" Tony shakes his head vigorously. "No… Let alone the female version of Gibbs. That'd be a disaster all around. Still, don't think I've ever seen him that relaxed."
Jimmy nods, and Tim has to agree with that. "When we lived on base housing, there was this one guy, three houses over, old, been in the Navy forever, he'd call it 'gettin' your ashes hauled.'" Tim's also aware of the two-year-old listening to this conversation while she plays with her birthday toys. "Yeah, those were some hauled ashes."
"Bet she's pretty damn relaxed, too," Tony says with a smirk.
"Think she's on a case? Maybe… I don't know, being nice, and smiling, and driving her co-workers crazy because they can't figure out what the hell happened to the Borin they know?" Tim asks with a chuckle.
"No!" Tony shakes his head definitively. "You remember Gibbs on a case with Hollis? She's biting everyone's heads off trying to get the job done faster so she can go bite on Gibbs some more."
Jimmy and Tim laugh at that.
Molly pipes up. "No biting!"
"You're right, Molly, no biting." Jimmy stares at Tony did you have to mention biting on his face. Tony looks back at him you were laughing, too on his. "You don't bite the people at day care or your sister. Uncle Jethro's friend was being very naughty."
"Very naughty," Tony says with a smirk. Tim and Jimmy try not to laugh.
She nods, pleased that she's correctly remembering the rules, and then returns to whacking the little dolls that pop up on her game.
"Wouldn't have pegged her for a… kisser," Tony says, watching Molly play.
Jimmy shrugs. "Basic anatomy Tony, orgasm causes muscle spasms. More intense the orgasm the more muscles spasm. Jaw's a muscle. There's a reason why simultaneous orgasms and sixty-nining isn't a great plan."
Tim and Tony just stare at him, and Jimmy looks back at them, smug, and says to Tim, "What, you think you're the only one who's ever made a girl black out? Gibbs was just lucky she had his thigh in her mouth. 'Course, that tension/release response works both ways, bet she's got some interesting marks, too."
"Palmer, that was one sentence further than you needed to go. I don't need images of Gibbs getting off in my head," Tony says.
Jimmy shrugs. Good for the goose, good for the gander, right? Not like he edits Gibbs out of the mental pictures that go along with this conversation. Apparently, Tony does. "Okay, here's a better image. What do you think our girls are doing?" He's patting Anna's back, trying to get a burp out of her as he asks.
"What makes you think we know any more than you do?" Tim asks, as the timer on the oven bings. He pulls dinner for the four of them that eat solid food out of the oven. (Baked salmon, roasted onions, zucchini, and eggplant.)
Jimmy flashes Tim his I can't believe you just asked me that look. "Gosh, I don't know? Somehow I got this weird idea that you two were like, cops, and that Tony never met a mystery he could leave be, and you peek at you presents ahead of time, so, like, maybe you two would have snooped or something?"
Tony opens his mouth to say something along the lines of how, as a now veteran husband, he's learned that if Ziva says leave it alone, he's going to leave it alone. But he's cut short when all three of their cells buzz in quick succession.
Tim's had a text from Abby. Check your email.
He flashes back. Checking.
It takes his security program a few seconds to burn through the encryption on her email, but finally it does, and he sees there are ten photos and a video linked to it.
As soon as he opens the first photo, memories of Afghanistan and the day he got home from Afghanistan flood through him. Same cobalt blue teddy with white lace trim, same matching panties, but this one isn't a selfie, Breena or Ziva must have snapped it.
She's kneeling on the bed, Jimmy and Breena's bed, nibbling her bottom lip, nipples hard, hands clasped behind her back, sweet, innocent, but not really expression on her face, her makeup soft and natural looking. The sheets and pillows are mussed, her hair is wild, and she looks like she's just hopped up from bed to greet him and invite him to join her.
He closes his eyes and bites his lip. Fuck!
He can hear Tony chuckling, and Jimmy's not making any noise at all.
He knows not to look at the other nine pictures. They're all going to be variations on this theme and he can see from the thumbnails they're going to get sexier and sexier.
"Killing us, Jimmy, that's what they're doing," he says as he sees the little icon for a movie.
Jimmy nods slowly, not looking away from whatever's on his phone.
Tim can't make himself not click on the video. His brain is reminding him he's standing in the kitchen, Jimmy and Tony four feet away, Molly and Kelly on the floor, and there's absolutely no shot at all that he can watch anything that'll be on there and not get hard, but his finger still taps the screen and it starts to play.
He hears a quick giggle and hits mute, fast. He does not want Tony or Jimmy to hear whatever it is that's coming up.
Apparently Ziva had to be filming this one because he could see Breena and Abby. He feels his heart start to speed up. They're both in little teddies. Abby's in the blue and white one. Breena's in light pink with a little pink thong. They're on what has to be Breena and Jimmy's bed, sitting next to each other, Abby half kneeling, feet tucked under her butt, facing Breena. Breena's cross-legged, facing the camera. They both wave at the camera; Abby blows it a little kiss, and Breena winks, mouthing 'Happy Valentine's Day!', then Abby turns toward Breena, cups her face in her hands, while Breena's hands slip up her arms to lightly rest on her shoulder, for a second Abby's eyes flicked to the camera, and Breena grins, and then they kiss.
Tim whimpers. He can't make that sound not rip from his mouth.
Soft, slow, and wet kissing. Full, luscious red and pink lips rubbing all over each other, little, tiny glimpses of wet, pink tongues stroking each other, and Abby runs her hand through Breena's hair, her long, tumbling along her back in soft curls, hair, and Breena reaches up, pressing her body into Abby's, and every single ounce of blood in Tim's body is racing toward his dick as fast as it can possibly go.
He hears Jimmy choke next to him and realizes he must be seeing the same thing.
"What?" Tony asks. He's starting to circle around to see, and Tim rapidly tucks his phone into his pocket. Tony takes a step toward Jimmy, and Tim has enough presence of mind to grab him and stop him, because from the look on Jimmy's face he's completely unaware of the fact that he's in Tim's kitchen with two other guys.
Finally, Tim pulls enough brain cells together to say, "You just get an email from Ziva?"
"Yeah." Tony grins.
"Good stuff in there?"
"Promise of good stuff later."
Tim takes a deep breath. Abby knows how to encrypt an email. So what he got was encrypted. He doubts Ziva does, and she'd be aware enough of the risk, so she wouldn't send something like that without encryption, and Breena just wouldn't care.
"It's really good stuff. Jimmy and I just got ours."
"How good?" Tony glances at Jimmy, seeing him completely absorbed by whatever he's watching, absently patting Anna.
Jimmy's still staring at his phone. Tim watches him, sees the tension in his face and shoulders, realizes that kiss must still be going on and that it's possible there was more than kissing happening and oh fucking god he needs to be seeing that right this second, but Tony's still next to him, waiting for him to say more.
"It's really, really good." He says, eyes closed and nodding.
"Like, dirty pictures?" Tony says with a wide grin on his face.
"Yeah, like that."
And Tony, understanding the guy code of you don't look at another man's wife, especially if she might be naked, takes a step back, so there's no shot of seeing the screen on Jimmy's phone, and says, "So, you two got emails of really, really good stuff, and I got an email telling me there would be good stuff later."
"Apparently."
Jimmy finally blinks, puts his phone into his pocket, hand shaking, carefully gives Anna to Tim, and walks out of the kitchen without saying anything.
Tony watches him do it. "I really don't want to know what he's about to do, do I?"
"Probably not." Tim shakes his head. "Let's put it this way, Breena, Abby, and Ziva don't seem to get that there's a point where teasing stops being fun and crosses the line into torture. And in that Anna's a little over two months old, my guess is that tonight is supposed to be their first night back at it…"
"Oh!" Tony suddenly gets exactly (okay, not exactly, but he's got a much better idea of why Jimmy's acting like a fourteen-year-old) what's going on with Jimmy.
"Yeah. Can I have your cell?"
Tony looks confused. "Why do you want mine?"
"Because if I take mine out of my pocket, I'll see the end of what Jimmy was just watching, and… now's not the time."
"Wait, why did you guys get the same… watching… video?"
Tim swallows. "Because Abby and Breena are evil and enlisted Ziva to help them be evil."
Tony's eyes go really wide and his expression seems to be somewhere between blind with lust and homicidal rage. "Abby and Breena and Ziva?"
"From what I saw, Ziva was the camerawoman."
Tony looks much more relieved, and then a really dirty smirk spread across his face. "Breena and Abby?"
"Yeah, and I need to send her a text and if I pull my phone out, I'll just watch them, and end up in pretty close to the same state Jimmy is."
Tony laughs and hands over his phone. Tim sends a quick text to Abby and Breena.
Tim here. You are EVIL! Jimmy's brain melted. That was not nice!
A minute later he feels his phone buzz, so he takes it out, sees the video has ended and finds Yours didn't? from Abby.
I stopped watching! I'm in the kitchen with two other guys and three babies. That was not cool at all.
He can feel her grin from here. It was kind of cool. ;)
No! Got babies to watch, Tony to entertain, and dinner to eat, and all I can think about is what's on this email.
That's the idea.
EVIL
Come on, you know you like it. :)
Not saying I don't. (Really, not saying that at all!) But your timing sucks . You do not send something like that to three guys when we're together . Seriously, Jimmy's either icing himself down or jerking off in our bathroom, and I'm sure as hell not getting close enough to figure out which.
LOL
Breena here: He's what?
He's got his phone on him, go text him.
Okay
Abby again: What's Tony doing?
Grinning like a smug moron. Ziva just told him good stuff would be coming later. He didn't end up seeing anything too revealing because she seems to get how this works.
Okay, sorry. Next time Breena and I decide to make some smut for you guys, we'll make sure you're alone before sending it off.
Thank you. That's all I'm asking for. Wait… Again?
Well, we had fun doing it. Sounds like timing aside, you're enjoying it.
Oh fucking God YES! (sound of me whimpering for mercy and begging for more)
He can imagine how satisfied she's looking when she reads that. A second later he gets. J So, yeah, there'll be a next time.
When are you coming home?
Breena's wrapping up Ziva's pics, and I'm wrapping up the Photoshopping on them, so… call it another hour and a half?
Okay, see you then.
Good.
You're getting fucked through the wall when you get here. Putting Kelly to bed early, waiting for you naked and eager, and as soon as you're in the door I'm wrapping your legs around my waist, backing you into a wall and showing you exactly how hard you and Breena kissing makes me.
Good. Wanna feel you in me as soon as I get home.
He groans when he reads that, sees Tony staring at him, curious, and says, "Gibbs isn't the only one getting his ashes hauled."
Tony laughs at that.
An hour later, as he's feeding Kelly, after the guys left, Tim decides to look at the pictures and watch the video.
It's not like he's unfamiliar with sexual arousal or desire.
And it's not like he and Abby never play games or she never dresses up for him.
But it has been a while.
And this…
They're pin ups. No full nudity. Nothing that'd get more than a PG-13. But each costume has been picked to hit his buttons and her hair and makeup is carefully done for each of them. He can tell that in some of them she has to be wearing Breena or Ziva's stuff, because it's nothing like what she owns and it's a little too small on her, but that's oh so good, too.
Some of them are a little translucent so he gets glimpses of shadows of tattoos and nipples. And there's one where she's lying on the bed, on her stomach, propped on her elbows, wearing a red satin slip, reading one of his books, and her legs are spread almost far enough apart for him to get a glimpse of pussy, but just not quite far enough apart for it, and the slip is just tight enough and sheer enough that he can see the line between her buttocks, and fuck these shots are just killing him.
Kelly's complaining because he's not being properly attentive to getting the food into her mouth. So he shuts down the phone and tries to focus on baby wrangling.
Dinner for Kelly, bath time, because at seven months old she needs to be hosed down after all non-nursing meal, and then Goodnight Moon, lullabies, and sleep time.
Which puts him at twenty minutes until Abby's due home.
So he opens the video, and God, it hits him just as hard, if not harder, because he's not in the kitchen with two other guys, and this time there's sound.
They're kissing, petting each other gently, and Abby keeps playing with Breena's hair, and Breena's slowly stroking her hand up Abby's arm, and all that soft, wet, open-mouthed kissing, and both of them are breathing fast, with hard nipples that just barely graze over each other, and then Breena lightly strokes the backs of her knuckles over Abby's breast, and he knows that has to be what made Jimmy choke because an awfully similar sound rips out of him. And Abby pulls her closer, bodies pressed tight together, Breena sitting in her lap, and they just tongue fucked, there's no other term for it, Breena grinding on Abby's leg, as Abby sucks her tongue, and then after a few more seconds of that, they pull back, breathing hard, looking a little glazed, and Abby turns to the camera, winks and blows a kiss at him.
It takes a minute before he has enough control over his hands to turn the video off and hit the text screen.
On your way home?
A minute later he gets back. Yeah, at the stoplight at Tuner.
Just watched the video. Play a game with me tonight?
Always. What kind of game?
Gonna ravish you. His hands are shaking as he texts that, so he has to back up and delete a few times to get it right.
Ooooo!
Oh yeah. You wearing panties?
No.
Skirt?
Of course.
Find a place, stop, put some on. Gonna cut them off you.
I like the sound of this.
I really hope so. You wet?
I thought you said you saw the video. Of course I'm wet!
He groans at that. It wasn't just a show, she liked it, really liked it. Even better. Park so your door is next to the Highlander, say three feet away.
Okay. Mysterious.
This is what the step past gonna fuck you through the wall looks like.
Light's green. Home in 15.
Fifteen minutes. Either this is a really good plan, or it's a really bad one, but Janice did say that it helped if you were already leaning in that direction, and right now, he really is.
He heads up to his room, and finds the little tester bottle of... somehow he hadn't managed to notice the name before, but he does now, Satyr.
Why not?
He opens it up, and God, it reeks. Dirty goats. Dirty goats cats have peed on. Blech. And it's black. The color of old tar. He's hoping, as he puts the tiniest little drop of it he can manage on just one wrist (it leaves a mucky brown stain) that this works out.
He heads to his closet, looking for a belt. He wants everything about tonight to broadcast exactly how turned on he is, wants her to feel the power of it, and slowly stripping off a belt will help with that.
If he had button fly jeans, he'd put them on, too. The image of popping each button, hand moving slowly down the fly, the feel of his dick hard, pressing against the denim, straining to get free, strong in his mind.
He slips his belt through the loops on his jeans, feeling very turned on, very... cocky. And not so much in a can take on any challenge that comes his way sort of way, but in a literal, balls in charge, much more focused on his dick than he usually is, feeling like he's a walking hard-on sort of way.
He's also not smelling like dirty goats or cat pee. No, not those, just very male. Very, very male. He's feeling urgent, and insistent, forceful. He heads back to the vial and adds a bit more, upping the amount to what he usually puts on.
Yeah, very much not dirty goats. Horny as a goat. Randy goats looking to fuck anything that will let him. Wild-goat man with a huge, raging, throbbing erection, grabbing a barely dressed woman, dancing around a bonfire, wearing translucent wisps of fabric that flutter around her as she moves, carrying her off to ravish her under the full moon in some sort of ancient fertility ritual as she screams and begs in ecstasy, ripping her nails down his back as her legs wrap tight around his hips and her pussy quivers and clenches around him in shuddering orgasm after shuddering orgasm, as he plunges into her over and over and over… Yeah, that's definitely going on.
His pants are way too damn tight as he tucks his knife into his pocket, very much looking forward to cutting Abby's panties off and burying himself in her over and over and over as he squeezes his dick through his jeans… and if he doesn't stop that this is going to be done before she shows up.
So he stops, grabs the baby monitor, (Kelly usually sleeps right through, but he'll plug it into the wall socket, so they can hear if she wakes.) and heads outside to wait.
Abby does as directed. There's a gas station on the corner of Patterson and Grove, so she stops there, grabs the bag she had taken to Breena's, and changes into some panties. The idea of having them cut off again, because it's been a long time since they played that game, sending some very happy tingles all through her.
Getting home, she sees the porch light is off, and so are all the house lights. Which means once she turns her headlights off, their front yard, and more importantly the place she parks as per Tim's directions, is awfully dark. Moon's out, so it's not pitch black, but it's not well-lit, either. Probably a good plan, the neighbors don't need to see what's about to happen out here.
Perfect.
If it wasn't staged, it would set her danger sense off. As it is, there's this sense of heightened anticipation. She knows he's going to jump out from somewhere, but not when, not where, and not what (exactly) he's going to do when he does.
She doesn't see him as she pulls in. But it's dark, so she doesn't expect to. She knows that she won't see him until he wants her to.
She's expecting it, or something like it, yet it still takes her by surprise when less than a heartbeat after closing the door to her car he's materialized from somewhere, twists her to face him, and pushes her back against the door of the SUV.
His hands pin hers to the car, holding her wrists flush against cold metal. His legs are between hers, grinding his pelvis, cock, into her.
"Feel it? Feel how hard that video made me?" he says, voice low, hard, almost dangerous, each word feeling like a slow, wet lick over her clit.
"Yes."
He arches into her, grinding what feels like a just on the verge of coming hard-on against her, and she moans.
He lifts her hands over her head, pinning both of them in his right hand, just above her head, and reaches with his left into his pocket.
"Watch." She does, eyes wide, nodding, as he flicks open the blade, puts the knife on the hood of the car, yanks her skirt up, picks the knife up again, and very carefully slips the blade between her hip and the waistband once, twice, slitting it fast on both sides, tossing the knife aside, and pulling what was left of her panties off of her.
She watches him do it and breathes, "Fuck, Tim."
He's staring at her, eyes scalding hot. "Exactly. Keep watching."
He doesn't usually wear belts on the weekend, but he is now. He's taken just enough of a step back so she can watch him undo it.
Her hands pinned, cold winter air on her naked skin, his voice, and the sight of his left hand deliberately yanking off his belt, working the button on his fly, her eyes start to close as another moan slips through her lips.
"Keep your fucking eyes open! I want you to see it." He shoves his pants down around his thighs, pulling his cock out. She can feel it hot and hard against her hip for a second before he guides it into her in one fast, hard, balls-deep thrust that has both of them moaning.
"Fuck, Abby, feel that? Feel how hard it is?" He's grinding into her, rubbing his pelvis into her clit.
"God, yes!" He lets go of her wrists and pulls her up a few inches, wrapping her legs around his hips, thrusting into her relentlessly and making the car shake. "Tim, fuck!"
"Yes. Gonna fuck you so hard you tremble for a week." She's back against the car. He's using it and his weight to keep her up, as his hand settles into her hair, tightening into a fist at the base of her skull, keeping her looking into his eyes. "Gonna pump into you over and over, fill you up with me, and lick it off your quivering thighs when we get in the house." His other hand clenches on her hip, and she's straining against him, trying to get just a little more friction on her clit because she's so close and this is almost enough but not quite there.
"We get in there, you're going upstairs, and I'm going to tie you up, lick you all over, fuck you with the vibrator while I eat you out, and then more… Oh, God… fucking." His thrusting is getting erratic, losing its rhythm and she knows he's almost ready to come. "Gonna do it all night… Over and over… Long, slow fuck, do it until you're flushed and begging, until your legs won't hold you up anymore…" his words slur into a long groan as his body tightens and spasms, finishing off the first round in hard, wet pulses.
After a minute, he's still breathing fast, but let her put her legs down, and pulls back. Then he kisses her, soft and gentle, smiles, and says, "Good start?"
"Fuck yes!"
"Good." He quickly pulls up his pants, buttons them, not caring to redo the belt or zipper, and hoists her over his shoulder, fireman's carry style.
She squeaks in response. "Tim!"
His hand trace over her rear, slipping under her skirt, fingers brushing very lightly against her lips, getting wet with his cum, and slipping a little further back to circle her anus.
"Wasn't kidding, baby. All damn night!"
He planned it out, and left the front door a centimeter open, but none the less, it looks really impressive when he kicks the door open and carries her into their home.
He literally tosses her onto their bed. "Stay put."
She nods, very much enjoying being 'ravished.'
"Get naked." He's rummaging through their toy box looking for the ropes he wants as well as the right vibrator.
Abby quickly strips out of her clothing, tossing it away from the bed.
"Do you want anything to eat or drink? Go to the bathroom?"
She shakes her head.
"Good." He sets the vibrator on his nightstand and then kneels on the bed next to her. "You made me wait an hour and twenty seven minutes between seeing the first picture and slipping into you." He loops the first rope over her wrist, securely knotting it, and pressing gently on her chest to let her know to lie down on her back.
"That's a very long time to want something and not have it." He secures the knot to the bedpost.
She tries to look chagrined at that, but isn't doing a very good job of it. "Were you hard the whole time?"
"Yes. Saw you in those tiny blue panties and teddy and my dick got hard, all I could think about was how you'd feel wrapped around me." He loops the second rope around her left wrist, securing it to the bedpost as well.
"Seventeen minutes between watching that video all the way through and you getting home." He grabs her right ankle, pulling her toward the footboard, just enough force that it feels dangerous, not so much he might risk hurting her, and ties her leg down.
"Seventeen minutes where all I could think about was you and Breena making out. All I could see was your sweet mouth on hers." He grabs the left ankle, forcefully, too, spreading her wide, and tying her down.
He climbs onto their bed, reminding her very strongly of a big predator cat stalking its prey, about to leap. He leans over her, weight on his hands and knees, and gently sniffs along her throat, breasts, and pussy.
He licks her inner thigh. "I can smell me here. And you." He nuzzles his way back up her torso, licking and kissing her belly and breasts. He lays open mouth kisses across her collarbones and up her throat to her ear. "I can smell her, here." He licks her lips. "Taste her on you." Though he can't, not really, but he likes saying it. Likes imaging that he can. Wants to taste Breena on Abby.
She'd been grinding on Abby's leg, so he slides down again, licking and nibbling his way to her left leg, and begins to slowly kiss each inch of her thigh, sucking and ghosting his teeth along her white skin.
He catches a hint of a scent, flavor that isn't Abby and isn't him. He's not entirely sure if it's real or if he's imagining it, but either way, he thinks it's Breena's musk on Abby's skin, and it makes him growl, look up, make sure Abby's watching his eyes and then he gently bites her hip, followed by a long, sucking lick up her thigh, making sure to get every hint of Breena off of her.
He slides back up so he's face to face with Abby, kisses her, hard, tongue thrusting between her lips, reveling in fast, rough friction.
"Makes me feel crazy, tasting her on you, seeing you touch her. Makes me want to fuck you, so bad."
She moans at that, and he kisses her lips, taking her moan, echoing it back to her.
He pulls back a hair, kissing "Makes me so hard knowing her lips were here," to Abby. "Didn't just get off two minutes ago, smelling her on you, tasting her on you, I'd be rutting on your leg and leaking."
"Good." She smiles brightly at him.
He sits back on his heels and begins to slowly undress. He carefully pulls off his jacket, hanging it on the corner of the footboard.
"Tell me how it felt," he says as he slowly unbuttons his shirt. "All of it."
"She's so soft, Tim. Her skin and lips and hair, everything about her is soft or smooth as silk. And she's nursing, so her breasts are so full and ripe. Heavy in my hands, and warm, all of her is so warm."
He groans at those mental images/sensations.
"She was wearing that perfume Jimmy got her, smelling like rich, spicy peaches and vanilla dipped in honey. And she tastes sweet. Not food sweet, but… just sweet. I wanted to push her back on the bed and lick every inch of her."
Tim's jaw clenches and he groans at that, tossing his shirt toward the hamper. He stands up next to bed, popping the button his jeans, as she says, "She's a really good kisser, Tim."
That makes him groan, too, and a second later he's naked, on his hands and knees, leaning over her.
"Show me. Kiss me like she kissed you."
Abby lifts her head up some, so he lays down, so she doesn't have to strain her neck. Her lips find his, stroking gently over him. She doesn't open her mouth as quickly as usual, this is more lips and a bit less tongue than they usually do. She's keeping her touch light, resulting in very sharp, focused, almost but not quite ticklish strokes over his lips.
Eventually she does coax his tongue out, sucking it, soft, plump sucks that flood his mind with images of both Abby and Breena sucking his cock, just the tip, then she sucked a little harder while flicking the tip of her tongue along the tip of his, and he groans again.
"God, baby."
"Yeah! She's gold and pink all over."
He buries his face in Abby's neck, kissing her throat and collar bone.
"Kissing her feels like gold and pink. So femme and so soft and smooth and everything about her is so GIRL."
He shifts his weight to one arm, leaning on his side, kissing her chest, hovering over her breast for a moment, catching her eyes this okay? on his face. She nods.
He begins gently, slowly kissing her breast. He doesn't want to start her milk letdown, so no sucking, but he makes sure to cover every inch with kisses and gentle nibbles. She arches her back, looking for a bit more pressure. Been a long time since they've done this, and they've both missed it.
He takes his time, getting to know her breasts again, noticing that she does need a firmer touch than she did before, but he's a quick study so it doesn't take long to get his technique adjusted.
He reaches for the vibrator, feeling around for it for a few seconds before his hand gets it, then he starts with it on her nipple. He's licking the one, firm, focused touch, lightly buzzing the other.
That gets a pleased squeak out of Abby. And then a somewhat less pleased note as milk rushes out of her nipples. He leans back, smiles, licks her clean, and says, "So, not yet, huh?"
She shakes her head. "Not yet."
"Just have to find something else to lick." And he did. He kisses his way down her chest and abdomen, settling himself between her legs and kissing her properly.
He's not a huge fan of oral with a vibrator. He finds having his tongue buzzing distracting and doesn't much like the noise. So, it doesn't happen a lot. But Abby really likes it, so it does happen.
And he has to admit, he loves the visual of it. Loves watching himself play with her and the vibrator, loves seeing her flush and writhe as he gently strokes it over her skin, starting at her inner thighs and gently working his way closer and closer to where she wants it. He loves the way she arches up as he starts to ease it into her, loves the look of her body taking it in, soft, wet, glistening pink lips spreading wide around the expanse of bright blue plastic.
And more than that, more than all the visuals on earth, he loves bending his head, tasting her, hearing her gasp as he starts to suck her clit (mimicking the sucking and tongue flicking combo she'd kissed him with earlier) while rocking the vibrator in and out in firm, deliberate strokes.
Then there's the way she tries to grind into him. The strain of movement hampered by ties. She wants more, faster, but he's not doing it. He had to wait more than an hour to get off, and she's going to wait, too.
He turns the vibrator off, just using it as a dildo, and licks harder, slower. Barely any friction, just pressing and releasing as she arches against him, trying to get off.
He pulls back, each palm on her inner thighs, and looks up at her. "Frustrating, huh?"
She whimpers. "Please."
"Close your eyes," he says, "I want you to imagine something."
Her eyes close.
"Good girl." He delicately licks over her clit, making sure to keep his tongue pointed so that just his tongue touches her. He's shaved recently, but it's been a few hours, so he's also sure his mouth doesn't feel as soft or smooth as it should for this. "That's Breena, tasting you."
Abby sighs. He licks again, light, just wet tongue on wet clit.
"And she's seeing how sweet and yummy you are. How you're all ivory and pink and ebony." Another slow, dragging lick, and this time he draws the vibrator out before thrusting it back in hard, fast, and sliding it out slow again. "She'll be telling Jimmy about how soft you are, and how everything about you is so amazingly hot. How every curve and angle and flat made her feel all sexy and fluttery." More licking, in time with the vibrator. "She's going to tell him how wet you were, and how slick, and how everything about you just begged to be licked and how she just couldn't help it, she had to tie you down and lick you all over." Firm, hard, fast licks, just a few, just enough to make her tense, thighs quivering looking for release, and then he stops again. "She's going to tell him how she made you come. How you called out her name and screamed from the pleasure of her mouth." Back to slow, easy licks, forcing her back from the edge of getting off. Abby groans at that, she wants to come, now. "Then she's going to climb up you, straddle your face, and you're going to get her off." He stops licking all together and spends a few seconds just sucking her clit, drawing his lips over it, making sure the suction is firm but not bruising. Abby's hips thrash at that, trying to get some more friction to go with suction, but he holds firm, just sucking, and then turns the vibrator on low. "You're going to show her how to lick pussy. Show her every trick your brilliant tongue knows. And she'll be flushed and arching against you, so wet, so sweet, everything about her flushed pink, beautiful gold hair, golden skin, and you'll be burying yourself in her wet, pink pussy." Abby groans at that and what he's doing to her. Licking again, still soft, still slow, but he's angling the vibrator up with each stroke, rubbing it over her g-spot.
Her thighs are growing tight again, stomach pulled in, he doesn't look up, but he can imagine her hands are clenched and arms tight, so he stops breaking the action to talk and keeps licking, gradually increasing his speed and the speed on the vibrator.
She's moaning, no words, just low, deep, sounds of pure need.
He moves faster, keeping his touch firm, but speeding his tongue again, speeding the vibrator again, stroking it all the way in and all the way out as his tongue circles fast and hard. Her hips are jerking, fast, hard, looking for more, so he gives it to her, matching his speed to her, fucking her hard with the vibrator, licking as fast and hard as he can, and she tightens further, not moving for a heartbeat, and then her whole body jerks as she yells, orgasm racing through her.
His face is wet, slick, smells and tastes like sex and Abby, and his dick has certainly woken all the way back up.
Which means it's time for phase three. Or it will be. Giving her some time to catch her breath and relax is a good plan, so he scoots back up, cuddling her, and Abby turns into him, kissing him, soft, gentle, lazy.
She nibbles his lips, sighing lightly, eyes closed, and he very lightly strokes her nipples.
When she opens her eyes, grinning at him, he grins back. She licks his cheek. "I got you all wet."
He wipes his face and grins. "I like to think of it as I got you all wet."
She tries to reach for him, and notices her hands are still tied.
He grins at that, too. "Abigail, you up for more?"
She nods. "You're not trying to get out of your promise are you?"
"Just checking in, making sure we're good."
"I'm good. Hoping I'll be better in a bit."
That gets an evil smile out of him. "Oh, god, baby, trust me, you're going to be so much better."
"Good."
He unties her hands and legs, rubbing her wrists, letting her curl into a little ball and pull everything tight, then stretch herself back out.
"All good?"
"Yeah."
He's on his side, facing her, and pulls her to him. Side by side. Slow sex. Talking sex. Relaxed, easy, kissing, nibbling, her neck pillowed by his arm, her thigh over his hip. Gentle, rocking against one another, slow burn sex.
But eventually slow burn sparks hot, igniting everything around it. Eventually she's on her back and he's on top, moving hard, fast.
His time sense blurs, fades into wet, slick friction, hyper-awareness of the tension in her muscles, her heart-rate, and breathing, he kept easing both to the edge of orgasm, and then pulling back, just to take them higher after the pause.
There's a point where everything starts to unravel. Where the world falls away. Where sex becomes a sort of hypnotic meditation, slick, gliding sensation that shuts everything else out. That's where he loses his intentions, his plans, where his body takes over and brain shuts down, and there's just soaring through quivering pleasure and striving for faster, harder, more sensation. She's moaning, and begging, and maybe crying, and he might have been too, no idea, there's just the need for more, pushing himself and her as far as they can go before tipping over and edge that felt like it ate them alive, leaving both of them collapsed, breathing hard, buzzing all over with sparking nerves and sated bodies.
It takes a long time before either of them wants to move, but eventually Tim pulls away, and both of them get cleaned up and crash back into bed, elated and exhausted.
"Happy Valentines," he murmurs, her hair under his lips.
"Love you."
"Love you, too."
Next
Chapter 357: Valentine's: Tim
"God, Borin must be so hot! I mean, I knew she had to be, but… Damn!" They're back at Tim's house, lurking in the kitchen as Tim gets dinner ready, and Tony's been… talking is probably a stretch, musing might be better, as to exactly how those bite marks got on Gibbs.
Tim and Jimmy have gotten to the eye-rolling stage, because, while it's true that all three of them just stared at Gibbs as he headed into the showers, more less all thinking the same, God damn, good for you, Gibbs! and it's also true that both of them are interested in gossiping about this, they don't want to gossip with Tony about it, they want to tell their wives.
And it may be that Tony wants to talk to Ziva, but she's not here, and they are, so he's chattering away, sitting on the floor, stacking blocks for Kelly, while Jimmy finishes feeding Anna her bottle, and Molly plays with her new birthday toys.
"It's a good thing you muffed asking her out, McGee. She would have killed you."
"That was her!" Jimmy says, eyes wide. Tony more or less sprinted down to Autopsy to produce a verbatim re-do of Tim asking out Borin as soon as he got a shot, and Jimmy laughed so hard he almost wet his pants. (Ducky had to take his glasses off to wipe the tears of laughter from his eyes.)
Tim gives both of them the stink-eye. "I needed a way to get tickets for something fun to take Abby, my Abby, to without it looking like a date. So, I had you buy tickets, did the worst job I possibly could asking Borin out, oh, and by the way, later that night, when you and Ziva were playing darts, she still said 'Yes,' which meant I had to explain how I hadn't actually intended for her to be even remotely interested in saying yes, so she wished me luck, which is why Borin knew about Abby and I before you did, Tony.
"So, while you full-on chickened out, I asked Borin and Abby out in one day and both of them said yes. And, Tony, just because I haven't had any the last two weeks, so you haven't seen them, it's not like Jimmy
and Gibbs have never seen me in the locker room sporting hickies." He taps his wrist cuff. "I started wearing this to cover some bruises I really enjoyed getting."
"Why would you have a hickie on your wrist?" Jimmy asks. Yes, he's seen the occasional love bite on Tim, but never one there. Wrist sucking doesn't strike him as particularly erotic, but Tim's into some weird stuff, sooo...
Tim smirks. "Wasn't a hickie."
"What was it?" Jimmy asks, curious. Tim gives him a long look and after a second the light goes on and Jimmy says, "Oh."
Tim nods.
Tony squints a bit at that, then shrugs and comes back with, "I didn't chicken out!"
"Sure," Tim says, sarcasm high. "You were going to 'let me have her.'" He rolls his eyes.
Tony glares at him. Jimmy flashes a curious look to Tony. "You left that part out."
"When you know you're in love with someone else, you don't ask out a woman who might expect more than a quick fu—good time." Molly's looking up at him with very big eyes, listening intently. This conversation probably doesn't make much sense to her, but he's fairly sure that she'll pick up on that word and start repeating it if she hears it. And he does not want to have a conversation with Breena about how her two-year-old learned that word. No, he's more than happy to have that be on Dad or Uncle Tim. "Those days all I was doing was picking girls up at bars. Wasn't looking for anyone who might expect me to spend the night. And someone I'd work with…" Tony shakes his head vigorously. "No… Let alone the female version of Gibbs. That'd be a disaster all around. Still, don't think I've ever seen him that relaxed."
Jimmy nods, and Tim has to agree with that. "When we lived on base housing, there was this one guy, three houses over, old, been in the Navy forever, he'd call it 'gettin' your ashes hauled.'" Tim's also aware of the two-year-old listening to this conversation while she plays with her birthday toys. "Yeah, those were some hauled ashes."
"Bet she's pretty damn relaxed, too," Tony says with a smirk.
"Think she's on a case? Maybe… I don't know, being nice, and smiling, and driving her co-workers crazy because they can't figure out what the hell happened to the Borin they know?" Tim asks with a chuckle.
"No!" Tony shakes his head definitively. "You remember Gibbs on a case with Hollis? She's biting everyone's heads off trying to get the job done faster so she can go bite on Gibbs some more."
Jimmy and Tim laugh at that.
Molly pipes up. "No biting!"
"You're right, Molly, no biting." Jimmy stares at Tony did you have to mention biting on his face. Tony looks back at him you were laughing, too on his. "You don't bite the people at day care or your sister. Uncle Jethro's friend was being very naughty."
"Very naughty," Tony says with a smirk. Tim and Jimmy try not to laugh.
She nods, pleased that she's correctly remembering the rules, and then returns to whacking the little dolls that pop up on her game.
"Wouldn't have pegged her for a… kisser," Tony says, watching Molly play.
Jimmy shrugs. "Basic anatomy Tony, orgasm causes muscle spasms. More intense the orgasm the more muscles spasm. Jaw's a muscle. There's a reason why simultaneous orgasms and sixty-nining isn't a great plan."
Tim and Tony just stare at him, and Jimmy looks back at them, smug, and says to Tim, "What, you think you're the only one who's ever made a girl black out? Gibbs was just lucky she had his thigh in her mouth. 'Course, that tension/release response works both ways, bet she's got some interesting marks, too."
"Palmer, that was one sentence further than you needed to go. I don't need images of Gibbs getting off in my head," Tony says.
Jimmy shrugs. Good for the goose, good for the gander, right? Not like he edits Gibbs out of the mental pictures that go along with this conversation. Apparently, Tony does. "Okay, here's a better image. What do you think our girls are doing?" He's patting Anna's back, trying to get a burp out of her as he asks.
"What makes you think we know any more than you do?" Tim asks, as the timer on the oven bings. He pulls dinner for the four of them that eat solid food out of the oven. (Baked salmon, roasted onions, zucchini, and eggplant.)
Jimmy flashes Tim his I can't believe you just asked me that look. "Gosh, I don't know? Somehow I got this weird idea that you two were like, cops, and that Tony never met a mystery he could leave be, and you peek at you presents ahead of time, so, like, maybe you two would have snooped or something?"
Tony opens his mouth to say something along the lines of how, as a now veteran husband, he's learned that if Ziva says leave it alone, he's going to leave it alone. But he's cut short when all three of their cells buzz in quick succession.
Tim's had a text from Abby. Check your email.
He flashes back. Checking.
It takes his security program a few seconds to burn through the encryption on her email, but finally it does, and he sees there are ten photos and a video linked to it.
As soon as he opens the first photo, memories of Afghanistan and the day he got home from Afghanistan flood through him. Same cobalt blue teddy with white lace trim, same matching panties, but this one isn't a selfie, Breena or Ziva must have snapped it.
She's kneeling on the bed, Jimmy and Breena's bed, nibbling her bottom lip, nipples hard, hands clasped behind her back, sweet, innocent, but not really expression on her face, her makeup soft and natural looking. The sheets and pillows are mussed, her hair is wild, and she looks like she's just hopped up from bed to greet him and invite him to join her.
He closes his eyes and bites his lip. Fuck!
He can hear Tony chuckling, and Jimmy's not making any noise at all.
He knows not to look at the other nine pictures. They're all going to be variations on this theme and he can see from the thumbnails they're going to get sexier and sexier.
"Killing us, Jimmy, that's what they're doing," he says as he sees the little icon for a movie.
Jimmy nods slowly, not looking away from whatever's on his phone.
Tim can't make himself not click on the video. His brain is reminding him he's standing in the kitchen, Jimmy and Tony four feet away, Molly and Kelly on the floor, and there's absolutely no shot at all that he can watch anything that'll be on there and not get hard, but his finger still taps the screen and it starts to play.
He hears a quick giggle and hits mute, fast. He does not want Tony or Jimmy to hear whatever it is that's coming up.
Apparently Ziva had to be filming this one because he could see Breena and Abby. He feels his heart start to speed up. They're both in little teddies. Abby's in the blue and white one. Breena's in light pink with a little pink thong. They're on what has to be Breena and Jimmy's bed, sitting next to each other, Abby half kneeling, feet tucked under her butt, facing Breena. Breena's cross-legged, facing the camera. They both wave at the camera; Abby blows it a little kiss, and Breena winks, mouthing 'Happy Valentine's Day!', then Abby turns toward Breena, cups her face in her hands, while Breena's hands slip up her arms to lightly rest on her shoulder, for a second Abby's eyes flicked to the camera, and Breena grins, and then they kiss.
Tim whimpers. He can't make that sound not rip from his mouth.
Soft, slow, and wet kissing. Full, luscious red and pink lips rubbing all over each other, little, tiny glimpses of wet, pink tongues stroking each other, and Abby runs her hand through Breena's hair, her long, tumbling along her back in soft curls, hair, and Breena reaches up, pressing her body into Abby's, and every single ounce of blood in Tim's body is racing toward his dick as fast as it can possibly go.
He hears Jimmy choke next to him and realizes he must be seeing the same thing.
"What?" Tony asks. He's starting to circle around to see, and Tim rapidly tucks his phone into his pocket. Tony takes a step toward Jimmy, and Tim has enough presence of mind to grab him and stop him, because from the look on Jimmy's face he's completely unaware of the fact that he's in Tim's kitchen with two other guys.
Finally, Tim pulls enough brain cells together to say, "You just get an email from Ziva?"
"Yeah." Tony grins.
"Good stuff in there?"
"Promise of good stuff later."
Tim takes a deep breath. Abby knows how to encrypt an email. So what he got was encrypted. He doubts Ziva does, and she'd be aware enough of the risk, so she wouldn't send something like that without encryption, and Breena just wouldn't care.
"It's really good stuff. Jimmy and I just got ours."
"How good?" Tony glances at Jimmy, seeing him completely absorbed by whatever he's watching, absently patting Anna.
Jimmy's still staring at his phone. Tim watches him, sees the tension in his face and shoulders, realizes that kiss must still be going on and that it's possible there was more than kissing happening and oh fucking god he needs to be seeing that right this second, but Tony's still next to him, waiting for him to say more.
"It's really, really good." He says, eyes closed and nodding.
"Like, dirty pictures?" Tony says with a wide grin on his face.
"Yeah, like that."
And Tony, understanding the guy code of you don't look at another man's wife, especially if she might be naked, takes a step back, so there's no shot of seeing the screen on Jimmy's phone, and says, "So, you two got emails of really, really good stuff, and I got an email telling me there would be good stuff later."
"Apparently."
Jimmy finally blinks, puts his phone into his pocket, hand shaking, carefully gives Anna to Tim, and walks out of the kitchen without saying anything.
Tony watches him do it. "I really don't want to know what he's about to do, do I?"
"Probably not." Tim shakes his head. "Let's put it this way, Breena, Abby, and Ziva don't seem to get that there's a point where teasing stops being fun and crosses the line into torture. And in that Anna's a little over two months old, my guess is that tonight is supposed to be their first night back at it…"
"Oh!" Tony suddenly gets exactly (okay, not exactly, but he's got a much better idea of why Jimmy's acting like a fourteen-year-old) what's going on with Jimmy.
"Yeah. Can I have your cell?"
Tony looks confused. "Why do you want mine?"
"Because if I take mine out of my pocket, I'll see the end of what Jimmy was just watching, and… now's not the time."
"Wait, why did you guys get the same… watching… video?"
Tim swallows. "Because Abby and Breena are evil and enlisted Ziva to help them be evil."
Tony's eyes go really wide and his expression seems to be somewhere between blind with lust and homicidal rage. "Abby and Breena and Ziva?"
"From what I saw, Ziva was the camerawoman."
Tony looks much more relieved, and then a really dirty smirk spread across his face. "Breena and Abby?"
"Yeah, and I need to send her a text and if I pull my phone out, I'll just watch them, and end up in pretty close to the same state Jimmy is."
Tony laughs and hands over his phone. Tim sends a quick text to Abby and Breena.
Tim here. You are EVIL! Jimmy's brain melted. That was not nice!
A minute later he feels his phone buzz, so he takes it out, sees the video has ended and finds Yours didn't? from Abby.
I stopped watching! I'm in the kitchen with two other guys and three babies. That was not cool at all.
He can feel her grin from here. It was kind of cool. ;)
No! Got babies to watch, Tony to entertain, and dinner to eat, and all I can think about is what's on this email.
That's the idea.
EVIL
Come on, you know you like it. :)
Not saying I don't. (Really, not saying that at all!) But your timing sucks . You do not send something like that to three guys when we're together . Seriously, Jimmy's either icing himself down or jerking off in our bathroom, and I'm sure as hell not getting close enough to figure out which.
LOL
Breena here: He's what?
He's got his phone on him, go text him.
Okay
Abby again: What's Tony doing?
Grinning like a smug moron. Ziva just told him good stuff would be coming later. He didn't end up seeing anything too revealing because she seems to get how this works.
Okay, sorry. Next time Breena and I decide to make some smut for you guys, we'll make sure you're alone before sending it off.
Thank you. That's all I'm asking for. Wait… Again?
Well, we had fun doing it. Sounds like timing aside, you're enjoying it.
Oh fucking God YES! (sound of me whimpering for mercy and begging for more)
He can imagine how satisfied she's looking when she reads that. A second later he gets. J So, yeah, there'll be a next time.
When are you coming home?
Breena's wrapping up Ziva's pics, and I'm wrapping up the Photoshopping on them, so… call it another hour and a half?
Okay, see you then.
Good.
You're getting fucked through the wall when you get here. Putting Kelly to bed early, waiting for you naked and eager, and as soon as you're in the door I'm wrapping your legs around my waist, backing you into a wall and showing you exactly how hard you and Breena kissing makes me.
Good. Wanna feel you in me as soon as I get home.
He groans when he reads that, sees Tony staring at him, curious, and says, "Gibbs isn't the only one getting his ashes hauled."
Tony laughs at that.
An hour later, as he's feeding Kelly, after the guys left, Tim decides to look at the pictures and watch the video.
It's not like he's unfamiliar with sexual arousal or desire.
And it's not like he and Abby never play games or she never dresses up for him.
But it has been a while.
And this…
They're pin ups. No full nudity. Nothing that'd get more than a PG-13. But each costume has been picked to hit his buttons and her hair and makeup is carefully done for each of them. He can tell that in some of them she has to be wearing Breena or Ziva's stuff, because it's nothing like what she owns and it's a little too small on her, but that's oh so good, too.
Some of them are a little translucent so he gets glimpses of shadows of tattoos and nipples. And there's one where she's lying on the bed, on her stomach, propped on her elbows, wearing a red satin slip, reading one of his books, and her legs are spread almost far enough apart for him to get a glimpse of pussy, but just not quite far enough apart for it, and the slip is just tight enough and sheer enough that he can see the line between her buttocks, and fuck these shots are just killing him.
Kelly's complaining because he's not being properly attentive to getting the food into her mouth. So he shuts down the phone and tries to focus on baby wrangling.
Dinner for Kelly, bath time, because at seven months old she needs to be hosed down after all non-nursing meal, and then Goodnight Moon, lullabies, and sleep time.
Which puts him at twenty minutes until Abby's due home.
So he opens the video, and God, it hits him just as hard, if not harder, because he's not in the kitchen with two other guys, and this time there's sound.
They're kissing, petting each other gently, and Abby keeps playing with Breena's hair, and Breena's slowly stroking her hand up Abby's arm, and all that soft, wet, open-mouthed kissing, and both of them are breathing fast, with hard nipples that just barely graze over each other, and then Breena lightly strokes the backs of her knuckles over Abby's breast, and he knows that has to be what made Jimmy choke because an awfully similar sound rips out of him. And Abby pulls her closer, bodies pressed tight together, Breena sitting in her lap, and they just tongue fucked, there's no other term for it, Breena grinding on Abby's leg, as Abby sucks her tongue, and then after a few more seconds of that, they pull back, breathing hard, looking a little glazed, and Abby turns to the camera, winks and blows a kiss at him.
It takes a minute before he has enough control over his hands to turn the video off and hit the text screen.
On your way home?
A minute later he gets back. Yeah, at the stoplight at Tuner.
Just watched the video. Play a game with me tonight?
Always. What kind of game?
Gonna ravish you. His hands are shaking as he texts that, so he has to back up and delete a few times to get it right.
Ooooo!
Oh yeah. You wearing panties?
No.
Skirt?
Of course.
Find a place, stop, put some on. Gonna cut them off you.
I like the sound of this.
I really hope so. You wet?
I thought you said you saw the video. Of course I'm wet!
He groans at that. It wasn't just a show, she liked it, really liked it. Even better. Park so your door is next to the Highlander, say three feet away.
Okay. Mysterious.
This is what the step past gonna fuck you through the wall looks like.
Light's green. Home in 15.
Fifteen minutes. Either this is a really good plan, or it's a really bad one, but Janice did say that it helped if you were already leaning in that direction, and right now, he really is.
He heads up to his room, and finds the little tester bottle of... somehow he hadn't managed to notice the name before, but he does now, Satyr.
Why not?
He opens it up, and God, it reeks. Dirty goats. Dirty goats cats have peed on. Blech. And it's black. The color of old tar. He's hoping, as he puts the tiniest little drop of it he can manage on just one wrist (it leaves a mucky brown stain) that this works out.
He heads to his closet, looking for a belt. He wants everything about tonight to broadcast exactly how turned on he is, wants her to feel the power of it, and slowly stripping off a belt will help with that.
If he had button fly jeans, he'd put them on, too. The image of popping each button, hand moving slowly down the fly, the feel of his dick hard, pressing against the denim, straining to get free, strong in his mind.
He slips his belt through the loops on his jeans, feeling very turned on, very... cocky. And not so much in a can take on any challenge that comes his way sort of way, but in a literal, balls in charge, much more focused on his dick than he usually is, feeling like he's a walking hard-on sort of way.
He's also not smelling like dirty goats or cat pee. No, not those, just very male. Very, very male. He's feeling urgent, and insistent, forceful. He heads back to the vial and adds a bit more, upping the amount to what he usually puts on.
Yeah, very much not dirty goats. Horny as a goat. Randy goats looking to fuck anything that will let him. Wild-goat man with a huge, raging, throbbing erection, grabbing a barely dressed woman, dancing around a bonfire, wearing translucent wisps of fabric that flutter around her as she moves, carrying her off to ravish her under the full moon in some sort of ancient fertility ritual as she screams and begs in ecstasy, ripping her nails down his back as her legs wrap tight around his hips and her pussy quivers and clenches around him in shuddering orgasm after shuddering orgasm, as he plunges into her over and over and over… Yeah, that's definitely going on.
His pants are way too damn tight as he tucks his knife into his pocket, very much looking forward to cutting Abby's panties off and burying himself in her over and over and over as he squeezes his dick through his jeans… and if he doesn't stop that this is going to be done before she shows up.
So he stops, grabs the baby monitor, (Kelly usually sleeps right through, but he'll plug it into the wall socket, so they can hear if she wakes.) and heads outside to wait.
Abby does as directed. There's a gas station on the corner of Patterson and Grove, so she stops there, grabs the bag she had taken to Breena's, and changes into some panties. The idea of having them cut off again, because it's been a long time since they played that game, sending some very happy tingles all through her.
Getting home, she sees the porch light is off, and so are all the house lights. Which means once she turns her headlights off, their front yard, and more importantly the place she parks as per Tim's directions, is awfully dark. Moon's out, so it's not pitch black, but it's not well-lit, either. Probably a good plan, the neighbors don't need to see what's about to happen out here.
Perfect.
If it wasn't staged, it would set her danger sense off. As it is, there's this sense of heightened anticipation. She knows he's going to jump out from somewhere, but not when, not where, and not what (exactly) he's going to do when he does.
She doesn't see him as she pulls in. But it's dark, so she doesn't expect to. She knows that she won't see him until he wants her to.
She's expecting it, or something like it, yet it still takes her by surprise when less than a heartbeat after closing the door to her car he's materialized from somewhere, twists her to face him, and pushes her back against the door of the SUV.
His hands pin hers to the car, holding her wrists flush against cold metal. His legs are between hers, grinding his pelvis, cock, into her.
"Feel it? Feel how hard that video made me?" he says, voice low, hard, almost dangerous, each word feeling like a slow, wet lick over her clit.
"Yes."
He arches into her, grinding what feels like a just on the verge of coming hard-on against her, and she moans.
He lifts her hands over her head, pinning both of them in his right hand, just above her head, and reaches with his left into his pocket.
"Watch." She does, eyes wide, nodding, as he flicks open the blade, puts the knife on the hood of the car, yanks her skirt up, picks the knife up again, and very carefully slips the blade between her hip and the waistband once, twice, slitting it fast on both sides, tossing the knife aside, and pulling what was left of her panties off of her.
She watches him do it and breathes, "Fuck, Tim."
He's staring at her, eyes scalding hot. "Exactly. Keep watching."
He doesn't usually wear belts on the weekend, but he is now. He's taken just enough of a step back so she can watch him undo it.
Her hands pinned, cold winter air on her naked skin, his voice, and the sight of his left hand deliberately yanking off his belt, working the button on his fly, her eyes start to close as another moan slips through her lips.
"Keep your fucking eyes open! I want you to see it." He shoves his pants down around his thighs, pulling his cock out. She can feel it hot and hard against her hip for a second before he guides it into her in one fast, hard, balls-deep thrust that has both of them moaning.
"Fuck, Abby, feel that? Feel how hard it is?" He's grinding into her, rubbing his pelvis into her clit.
"God, yes!" He lets go of her wrists and pulls her up a few inches, wrapping her legs around his hips, thrusting into her relentlessly and making the car shake. "Tim, fuck!"
"Yes. Gonna fuck you so hard you tremble for a week." She's back against the car. He's using it and his weight to keep her up, as his hand settles into her hair, tightening into a fist at the base of her skull, keeping her looking into his eyes. "Gonna pump into you over and over, fill you up with me, and lick it off your quivering thighs when we get in the house." His other hand clenches on her hip, and she's straining against him, trying to get just a little more friction on her clit because she's so close and this is almost enough but not quite there.
"We get in there, you're going upstairs, and I'm going to tie you up, lick you all over, fuck you with the vibrator while I eat you out, and then more… Oh, God… fucking." His thrusting is getting erratic, losing its rhythm and she knows he's almost ready to come. "Gonna do it all night… Over and over… Long, slow fuck, do it until you're flushed and begging, until your legs won't hold you up anymore…" his words slur into a long groan as his body tightens and spasms, finishing off the first round in hard, wet pulses.
After a minute, he's still breathing fast, but let her put her legs down, and pulls back. Then he kisses her, soft and gentle, smiles, and says, "Good start?"
"Fuck yes!"
"Good." He quickly pulls up his pants, buttons them, not caring to redo the belt or zipper, and hoists her over his shoulder, fireman's carry style.
She squeaks in response. "Tim!"
His hand trace over her rear, slipping under her skirt, fingers brushing very lightly against her lips, getting wet with his cum, and slipping a little further back to circle her anus.
"Wasn't kidding, baby. All damn night!"
He planned it out, and left the front door a centimeter open, but none the less, it looks really impressive when he kicks the door open and carries her into their home.
He literally tosses her onto their bed. "Stay put."
She nods, very much enjoying being 'ravished.'
"Get naked." He's rummaging through their toy box looking for the ropes he wants as well as the right vibrator.
Abby quickly strips out of her clothing, tossing it away from the bed.
"Do you want anything to eat or drink? Go to the bathroom?"
She shakes her head.
"Good." He sets the vibrator on his nightstand and then kneels on the bed next to her. "You made me wait an hour and twenty seven minutes between seeing the first picture and slipping into you." He loops the first rope over her wrist, securely knotting it, and pressing gently on her chest to let her know to lie down on her back.
"That's a very long time to want something and not have it." He secures the knot to the bedpost.
She tries to look chagrined at that, but isn't doing a very good job of it. "Were you hard the whole time?"
"Yes. Saw you in those tiny blue panties and teddy and my dick got hard, all I could think about was how you'd feel wrapped around me." He loops the second rope around her left wrist, securing it to the bedpost as well.
"Seventeen minutes between watching that video all the way through and you getting home." He grabs her right ankle, pulling her toward the footboard, just enough force that it feels dangerous, not so much he might risk hurting her, and ties her leg down.
"Seventeen minutes where all I could think about was you and Breena making out. All I could see was your sweet mouth on hers." He grabs the left ankle, forcefully, too, spreading her wide, and tying her down.
He climbs onto their bed, reminding her very strongly of a big predator cat stalking its prey, about to leap. He leans over her, weight on his hands and knees, and gently sniffs along her throat, breasts, and pussy.
He licks her inner thigh. "I can smell me here. And you." He nuzzles his way back up her torso, licking and kissing her belly and breasts. He lays open mouth kisses across her collarbones and up her throat to her ear. "I can smell her, here." He licks her lips. "Taste her on you." Though he can't, not really, but he likes saying it. Likes imaging that he can. Wants to taste Breena on Abby.
She'd been grinding on Abby's leg, so he slides down again, licking and nibbling his way to her left leg, and begins to slowly kiss each inch of her thigh, sucking and ghosting his teeth along her white skin.
He catches a hint of a scent, flavor that isn't Abby and isn't him. He's not entirely sure if it's real or if he's imagining it, but either way, he thinks it's Breena's musk on Abby's skin, and it makes him growl, look up, make sure Abby's watching his eyes and then he gently bites her hip, followed by a long, sucking lick up her thigh, making sure to get every hint of Breena off of her.
He slides back up so he's face to face with Abby, kisses her, hard, tongue thrusting between her lips, reveling in fast, rough friction.
"Makes me feel crazy, tasting her on you, seeing you touch her. Makes me want to fuck you, so bad."
She moans at that, and he kisses her lips, taking her moan, echoing it back to her.
He pulls back a hair, kissing "Makes me so hard knowing her lips were here," to Abby. "Didn't just get off two minutes ago, smelling her on you, tasting her on you, I'd be rutting on your leg and leaking."
"Good." She smiles brightly at him.
He sits back on his heels and begins to slowly undress. He carefully pulls off his jacket, hanging it on the corner of the footboard.
"Tell me how it felt," he says as he slowly unbuttons his shirt. "All of it."
"She's so soft, Tim. Her skin and lips and hair, everything about her is soft or smooth as silk. And she's nursing, so her breasts are so full and ripe. Heavy in my hands, and warm, all of her is so warm."
He groans at those mental images/sensations.
"She was wearing that perfume Jimmy got her, smelling like rich, spicy peaches and vanilla dipped in honey. And she tastes sweet. Not food sweet, but… just sweet. I wanted to push her back on the bed and lick every inch of her."
Tim's jaw clenches and he groans at that, tossing his shirt toward the hamper. He stands up next to bed, popping the button his jeans, as she says, "She's a really good kisser, Tim."
That makes him groan, too, and a second later he's naked, on his hands and knees, leaning over her.
"Show me. Kiss me like she kissed you."
Abby lifts her head up some, so he lays down, so she doesn't have to strain her neck. Her lips find his, stroking gently over him. She doesn't open her mouth as quickly as usual, this is more lips and a bit less tongue than they usually do. She's keeping her touch light, resulting in very sharp, focused, almost but not quite ticklish strokes over his lips.
Eventually she does coax his tongue out, sucking it, soft, plump sucks that flood his mind with images of both Abby and Breena sucking his cock, just the tip, then she sucked a little harder while flicking the tip of her tongue along the tip of his, and he groans again.
"God, baby."
"Yeah! She's gold and pink all over."
He buries his face in Abby's neck, kissing her throat and collar bone.
"Kissing her feels like gold and pink. So femme and so soft and smooth and everything about her is so GIRL."
He shifts his weight to one arm, leaning on his side, kissing her chest, hovering over her breast for a moment, catching her eyes this okay? on his face. She nods.
He begins gently, slowly kissing her breast. He doesn't want to start her milk letdown, so no sucking, but he makes sure to cover every inch with kisses and gentle nibbles. She arches her back, looking for a bit more pressure. Been a long time since they've done this, and they've both missed it.
He takes his time, getting to know her breasts again, noticing that she does need a firmer touch than she did before, but he's a quick study so it doesn't take long to get his technique adjusted.
He reaches for the vibrator, feeling around for it for a few seconds before his hand gets it, then he starts with it on her nipple. He's licking the one, firm, focused touch, lightly buzzing the other.
That gets a pleased squeak out of Abby. And then a somewhat less pleased note as milk rushes out of her nipples. He leans back, smiles, licks her clean, and says, "So, not yet, huh?"
She shakes her head. "Not yet."
"Just have to find something else to lick." And he did. He kisses his way down her chest and abdomen, settling himself between her legs and kissing her properly.
He's not a huge fan of oral with a vibrator. He finds having his tongue buzzing distracting and doesn't much like the noise. So, it doesn't happen a lot. But Abby really likes it, so it does happen.
And he has to admit, he loves the visual of it. Loves watching himself play with her and the vibrator, loves seeing her flush and writhe as he gently strokes it over her skin, starting at her inner thighs and gently working his way closer and closer to where she wants it. He loves the way she arches up as he starts to ease it into her, loves the look of her body taking it in, soft, wet, glistening pink lips spreading wide around the expanse of bright blue plastic.
And more than that, more than all the visuals on earth, he loves bending his head, tasting her, hearing her gasp as he starts to suck her clit (mimicking the sucking and tongue flicking combo she'd kissed him with earlier) while rocking the vibrator in and out in firm, deliberate strokes.
Then there's the way she tries to grind into him. The strain of movement hampered by ties. She wants more, faster, but he's not doing it. He had to wait more than an hour to get off, and she's going to wait, too.
He turns the vibrator off, just using it as a dildo, and licks harder, slower. Barely any friction, just pressing and releasing as she arches against him, trying to get off.
He pulls back, each palm on her inner thighs, and looks up at her. "Frustrating, huh?"
She whimpers. "Please."
"Close your eyes," he says, "I want you to imagine something."
Her eyes close.
"Good girl." He delicately licks over her clit, making sure to keep his tongue pointed so that just his tongue touches her. He's shaved recently, but it's been a few hours, so he's also sure his mouth doesn't feel as soft or smooth as it should for this. "That's Breena, tasting you."
Abby sighs. He licks again, light, just wet tongue on wet clit.
"And she's seeing how sweet and yummy you are. How you're all ivory and pink and ebony." Another slow, dragging lick, and this time he draws the vibrator out before thrusting it back in hard, fast, and sliding it out slow again. "She'll be telling Jimmy about how soft you are, and how everything about you is so amazingly hot. How every curve and angle and flat made her feel all sexy and fluttery." More licking, in time with the vibrator. "She's going to tell him how wet you were, and how slick, and how everything about you just begged to be licked and how she just couldn't help it, she had to tie you down and lick you all over." Firm, hard, fast licks, just a few, just enough to make her tense, thighs quivering looking for release, and then he stops again. "She's going to tell him how she made you come. How you called out her name and screamed from the pleasure of her mouth." Back to slow, easy licks, forcing her back from the edge of getting off. Abby groans at that, she wants to come, now. "Then she's going to climb up you, straddle your face, and you're going to get her off." He stops licking all together and spends a few seconds just sucking her clit, drawing his lips over it, making sure the suction is firm but not bruising. Abby's hips thrash at that, trying to get some more friction to go with suction, but he holds firm, just sucking, and then turns the vibrator on low. "You're going to show her how to lick pussy. Show her every trick your brilliant tongue knows. And she'll be flushed and arching against you, so wet, so sweet, everything about her flushed pink, beautiful gold hair, golden skin, and you'll be burying yourself in her wet, pink pussy." Abby groans at that and what he's doing to her. Licking again, still soft, still slow, but he's angling the vibrator up with each stroke, rubbing it over her g-spot.
Her thighs are growing tight again, stomach pulled in, he doesn't look up, but he can imagine her hands are clenched and arms tight, so he stops breaking the action to talk and keeps licking, gradually increasing his speed and the speed on the vibrator.
She's moaning, no words, just low, deep, sounds of pure need.
He moves faster, keeping his touch firm, but speeding his tongue again, speeding the vibrator again, stroking it all the way in and all the way out as his tongue circles fast and hard. Her hips are jerking, fast, hard, looking for more, so he gives it to her, matching his speed to her, fucking her hard with the vibrator, licking as fast and hard as he can, and she tightens further, not moving for a heartbeat, and then her whole body jerks as she yells, orgasm racing through her.
His face is wet, slick, smells and tastes like sex and Abby, and his dick has certainly woken all the way back up.
Which means it's time for phase three. Or it will be. Giving her some time to catch her breath and relax is a good plan, so he scoots back up, cuddling her, and Abby turns into him, kissing him, soft, gentle, lazy.
She nibbles his lips, sighing lightly, eyes closed, and he very lightly strokes her nipples.
When she opens her eyes, grinning at him, he grins back. She licks his cheek. "I got you all wet."
He wipes his face and grins. "I like to think of it as I got you all wet."
She tries to reach for him, and notices her hands are still tied.
He grins at that, too. "Abigail, you up for more?"
She nods. "You're not trying to get out of your promise are you?"
"Just checking in, making sure we're good."
"I'm good. Hoping I'll be better in a bit."
That gets an evil smile out of him. "Oh, god, baby, trust me, you're going to be so much better."
"Good."
He unties her hands and legs, rubbing her wrists, letting her curl into a little ball and pull everything tight, then stretch herself back out.
"All good?"
"Yeah."
He's on his side, facing her, and pulls her to him. Side by side. Slow sex. Talking sex. Relaxed, easy, kissing, nibbling, her neck pillowed by his arm, her thigh over his hip. Gentle, rocking against one another, slow burn sex.
But eventually slow burn sparks hot, igniting everything around it. Eventually she's on her back and he's on top, moving hard, fast.
His time sense blurs, fades into wet, slick friction, hyper-awareness of the tension in her muscles, her heart-rate, and breathing, he kept easing both to the edge of orgasm, and then pulling back, just to take them higher after the pause.
There's a point where everything starts to unravel. Where the world falls away. Where sex becomes a sort of hypnotic meditation, slick, gliding sensation that shuts everything else out. That's where he loses his intentions, his plans, where his body takes over and brain shuts down, and there's just soaring through quivering pleasure and striving for faster, harder, more sensation. She's moaning, and begging, and maybe crying, and he might have been too, no idea, there's just the need for more, pushing himself and her as far as they can go before tipping over and edge that felt like it ate them alive, leaving both of them collapsed, breathing hard, buzzing all over with sparking nerves and sated bodies.
It takes a long time before either of them wants to move, but eventually Tim pulls away, and both of them get cleaned up and crash back into bed, elated and exhausted.
"Happy Valentines," he murmurs, her hair under his lips.
"Love you."
"Love you, too."
Next
July 31, 2014
Shards To A Whole: Valentine's Gibbs
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 356: Valentine's Gibbs
Gibbs feels disoriented when he wakes. It takes him a second to get himself situated in both time and space. There's a warm female body pressed against him, red hair in his face, for a heartbeat he thought he was back with Shannon, but then the rest of his life came back, and he knew he wasn't.
Probably the sixth time that's happened to him. It only lasts for a second or two, and only happens the first time waking up with a new redhead, but… But this is different. He's not with Shannon, but this is the first time he's had that slip, and he's not feeling distressed when he rights himself in time.
He's not disappointed that it isn't her.
Abby's on his usual side of the bed, so he can't see his clock, but he's not feeling any desire to go springing out of bed and get started on the day. Also a first. His usual way of dealing with realizing that the woman lying next to him isn't Shannon is to hop up and do something: make coffee, work on whatever project he had going, go home, something. Because if he just lays there, he'd end up dwelling on who he wasn't with.
He stretches a little, inhaling and exhaling deeply, enjoying the way she feels against him, the long, smooth expanse of her back against his front, the way she smells, and even the fact that her hair is tickling his face.
That wears out its welcome pretty fast, so he carefully gathers her hair and tucks it under her neck.
She shifts a bit when he does that, and he's hoping he didn't just wake her up. She stills again, and he settles in to enjoy holding her, counting the freckles on her back and shoulder.
Eventually his bladder lets him know that now would be a really good time to get out of bed, so he does, carefully, making sure not to wake her, and he does get to see the clock, notices it's a bit before six, earlier than he usually wakes up, but he does have a new person in his bed.
He takes care of business, brushes his teeth, and heads back into the bedroom, thinking about morning sixty-nining and waking her up very nicely.
He sneaks back into bed, slow, easy movements, trying to not wake her up. Doesn't work. She's lying on her side, arms curled in front of her, hand under her chin, top knee against the bed, top foot draped over her lower calf. For a second, she looks very, very peaceful, and then one eye goes springing open as soon as his weight hits the mattress in front of her.
There's a split second of huh? on her face, but then she, too orients herself in time and space, remembers why she's in Gibbs' bed and why he's naked, laying in front of her, propped on one elbow.
"'Morning," she says, stretching. He smiles and strokes his hand down her shoulder and side.
"Yep. Sleep well?"
She nods, inhaling, making a little purring sound as she stretches again. "Always sleep well after a good tucking in."
He chuckles at that as she gets up to use the bathroom.
When she's back she smells of toothpaste and morning. She slips back into bed with him, and kisses him properly.
This time is slower. They take longer, exploring each other, mapping out each other's curves and planes with fingers and lips, palms and tongues, finding old scars, and on Borin, one new one. Gibbs wonders, briefly, at the bright red bullet crease on her hip, but he doesn't ask. Now's not the time.
And she does like sixty-nine, and he does too, and God, she's brilliant at it. And he hopes what he's doing to her feels half as good as what she's doing to him, and he figures it does when she goes tight and bites the inside of his thigh, hard.
She ends up with a matching hickie on her thigh. He'd meant to be kissing her, but she did… something… he's not sure what, just that it felt beyond amazing… and he lost it.
They're both drowsing, warm, happy, comfortable. His face resting on her thigh, and he has one hand cupped over her hip. She's using his thigh as a pillow, too, and is gently stroking his now dormant penis. Not trying to turn him on, just touching to touch.
"What's on for the rest of your day?" she asks.
"Mmmm…" he blinks a few times, sliding fully into awake. "Only thing I have to do is Molly's birthday party. Duck reminded me yesterday that I can't miss it. You?"
"Nothing. Phone doesn't ring, and I've got all day free. What's Sunday usually look like for you? Sounds like you've got other things you'd usually be doing."
"Run with Mona. Breakfast at the diner with the kids. Church. Sunday dinner at Breena's parents' house. But we've got the birthday party instead. Jimmy, Tim, and I cut out early for Bootcamp. Ziva meets us there. Tony showed up last week, hopefully he'll come today, too. Then home, dinner… woodworking. Play with Mona. Read sometimes. What's a typical day off look like for you?"
"You've got full Sundays."
He nods. "Empty Mondays through Fridays, but right now I've got full Sundays."
"Sleep in on Sunday. That's usually the start. Breakfast out." She yawns.
He laughs. "So, don't wake you up so early, next time?"
She shrugs. "Sundays I'm on call, it's better to grab me when you've got me. Never know when the phone'll ring."
He nods at that. "Know that story."
"Yep. After breakfast, swimming. Lunch with friends, usually. Call my parents in the afternoon. Maybe hit the range. Then takeout and catching up with all the shows I didn't watch over the week."
"Sounds like a good Sunday."
"I like it."
He kisses her thigh and was about to say, "Wanna get breakfast with me?" when her phone rang.
So much for 'If I don't get a call out."
She sighs, rolls over, reaching around on the floor, and finds her purse. She sits up. "Borin." She rubs her face while listening. He kisses her shoulder and then puts on a pair of shorts and heads downstairs.
It only takes him five minutes to put everything together. He's done this for himself more times than he could count, so doing it for her is just a matter of rote morning routine.
It's not fancy. But it's hot, and it's filling, and it'll keep you going. Big cup of coffee, scrambled eggs sandwiched between two pieces of toast.
He hears the shower going, and knocks. "Come in."
"Breakfast's sitting on the sink. Got a go bag in your car?"
"Yeah."
"I'll grab it and bring it up for you."
She pulls back the shower curtain, and wet, naked, Abby in his bathroom is making him want to whimper for mercy and shoot whichever son-of-a-bitch killed someone and is pulling her out of his home.
She reaches out, grabs the waistband of his boxers, and pulls him close for a long kiss, submerging him, again, in vivid sensations of exactly what he's going to be missing out on by her leaving. As soon as she catches the son-of-a-bitch, he's going to shoot that bastard, twice.
"Thanks," she says when she lets go.
He smiles wryly, at her, at the situation, at the fact that he's half-soaked, and desperately wants to hop in with her. "Keys in your purse?"
"Front pocket."
"Okay. I'll be up with your work clothes in a bit."
He strips out of the wet boxers, tosses on last night's jeans, and remembers that it's February and now is a really bad time to be outside in just a pair of jeans when his feet hit the ice cold front porch. It'll take longer to bundle up than it will to get her stuff. So he gets to her car (fast), finds her bag (fast), and almost sprints back into the house, where Mona's waiting for him, staring up, and wondering why he started their morning run without her.
"In a minute," he says to Mona, taking Borin's bag up, and then heading down to make sure his other lady gets some breakfast, too.
She comes down while he's getting food for Mona. She's carrying the coffee mug and plate (both empty), and wearing last night's jeans, but with a button-down and a jacket. She looks professional. Except for the damp hair.
"It'd be a stretch to think you've got a hairdryer?"
He nods. His hair's a little shaggier than usual, because he's not getting it cut every two weeks, but it's still short enough that a good toweling off and five minutes of air takes care of drying. Though he's thinking that by the end of today, he'll have one, and… maybe a pizza stone to go on his hearth grate, and definitely a new pack of condoms.
She nods, having expected that answer and separates her hair into three hanks, starting to braid it.
"Where you going today?"
"Not sure, yet. Dunton Cove. Think it's somewhere on the Delmarva Peninsula. Got a ghost ships with two bodies on it."
He nods at that. She finishes her hair and shoulders her bag. "I had a really good time."
He smiles. "Wanna show you a lot of good times."
She smiles back at him, pleased by that, as he walks her to his front door. She's about to step out when something hits him.
"Wait."
"Wait?" She looks irked. "I've got to get going."
"You can hold up for two minutes." He kisses her fast and heads into his kitchen. It takes forty seconds to find it. Two seconds later he's kissing her again, pressing a key into her hands. "I know the schedule is insane. I never lock up on my own, but Mona's changed that. Whenever you want company, come on over. If I'm not here, let yourself in. I'll be back sooner or later. Sleep over at Tim and Abby's sometimes, but fire off a text, and I'll come. Don't want anyone else coming by, lock yourself in."
She stares at the key, and for a second looks a bit alarmed, but then what he's actually said hits her. She smiles, realizing he's not asking her to move in after one date. Just making sure that she knows she can just come over whenever, that his open door truly is, for her, and she can have privacy here, if she wants it.
"I lock up, can you get in?"
Of course says the look on his face.
"Okay." She kisses him one last time, body flush against his, fingers twined in his hair, and he holds her close for several seconds after the kiss ends, hands spanning her hips, lips just touching hers, enjoying her body on his.
"Go get 'em."
"Enjoy your birthday party."
And she heads out. Mona stares up at him, Okay, we're at the door again, we going on our run, now?
He rubs his eyes. "Yeah, Mona. Let me put some more clothing on."
Gibbs usually doesn't spend a lot of time looking at himself, especially not when breakfast starts at eight, it's 7:45, he's naked and dripping wet, and he lives seventeen minutes from the diner.
But as he towels off his hair, he does look, seeing the bruises on his skin, three of them. He touches one, little tender, not bad. They'll be gone tomorrow or the next day.
Nothing about him changed between today and yesterday. His body is still the same, but it feels new.
Feels, hopeful, maybe.
Or it might just be that right now, he's wearing her touch on his skin, in real tangible reminders, and he likes that.
Too many women have drifted in and out of his life, never leaving a mark, but this one did. And he's proud to wear it.
When Gibbs walks into the diner for Sunday breakfast, late, with something that could, just possibly, be called an I-just-got-laid-shit-eating-grin on his face, he sees Jimmy and Tim glance at each other, can feel them both thinking it, and sees both of them break into grins, too.
"Looks like someone had a good night," Jimmy says, smug.
Gibbs nods.
"Gonna tell us about it?" Tim asks.
"Nope."
"Come on!" Abby says. "You can't not tell us about it."
Breena's nodding along with that. "First date in forever, you've got to tell us about it."
Gibbs shakes his head, little smile on his lips.
Elaine heads over, looks at him, pours the coffee, and calls back to her husband, "Add an order of pancakes to Gibbs' plate." Then she looks at him smiling. "You better bring her in to meet me. Twenty years you've been coming in here, and I've never seen that look on your face. I want to meet the lady that's inspiring it."
Gibbs sips his coffee, without comment.
Church came. Church went. The only interesting part of it was that, while sitting there, it hits Gibbs that he should call or text or something, Borin.
And sooner would be better than later. First time he and Hollis hooked up, he didn't call after, and she was not happy about that.
He didn't call any of the ladies after her either, though he did go out of his way to 'run into them' sometime in the next day or two and see them again.
But he's not going to 'run into' Borin. There's no reason for him to be in Dunton Cove. (Wherever it may be.) And true, he's got nothing planned tomorrow besides calling Senior and learning more about how expensive real estate works, and adding another coat of finish to Shannon, but he's not going to go stalk her job.
He's got enough sense to know that's a bad idea.
Which is why, when he gets into his car to drive over to Jimmy and Breena's, he shifts his phone from call to text. If she's working, if she's busy, a call could just be annoying. But a few quick words…
Happy Valentine's Day, Abby. He debates sticking a smiley face on that and decides not to.
Gibbs hits send and pockets his phone, putting the car in reverse, getting into toddler birthday party mode.
The party was winding down. The guest of honor had been put down for naptime. (Her oldest cousin napping beside her, her little sister, not quite on the same schedule was bright-eyed and enjoying cuddling with her Aunt Ziva.)
The whole family, plus Ed and Jeannie, are here in Jimmy and Breena's kitchen, milling around, chatting, moving in the direction of getting ready to go home.
It is in the midst of this, that Ducky reaches to Penny, and kisses her, on the lips. That's not unheard of. It's not common, either. And this sort of kiss, deep, passionate, maybe not erotic, but very definitely loving, is not the sort of gentle display of affection the rest of the crew has seen over and over again.
Compared to clinking a ring against a glass, this is a much more effective, and direct, way of getting the attention of everyone in the room.
When he pulls back, eyes sparkling, grin on his face, everyone else is staring at them.
He kisses her one more time, quick little peck on the lips.
"You weren't there, darling, when Jimmy and Breena celebrated their wedding, but they asked me to say a few words about marriage. Though, given my lack of experience on the matter, I think it had more to do with having a soothing voice than any sort of wisdom on my part." Jimmy and Breena laugh at that.
"However, I did appear to come up with something relevant, which Edward reminded me of a few months ago." He strokes her face, looking into her eyes. "The point of marriage vows is that they are public. That it's not enough to build a life together, but that you do it in public, that you stand before everyone who has ever mattered to you and proclaim that you will devote your life to that person."
Penny's staring at him, eyes wide, knowing where this has to be going, but looking like she cannot believe he's doing it.
"Penny, the journey has been long, and I have been blessed with a rich and satisfying life, not a day of which I would trade for any other, but this last year, spent with you, has been the sweetest of all of them. We're surrounded by everyone in this world who I love, and I would like to say, in front of all of them, that I will devote all of my remaining days to the love of you."
She's smiling, tears in her eyes, and he kisses her, quickly, one more time.
"There is a symbol that goes with these words, one…" his voice catches, "One I would like to wear. One I would like you to wear."
He pulls the ring box out of his jacket pocket and opens it.
Penny doesn't gasp, but that short, sharp inhale is awfully close. Gibbs wouldn't believe that she could get flustered, but apparently Ducky's managed to do it. He takes the first of the wedding bands out of the box. Gibbs isn't close enough to get a very good look at it, but he can see some sort of reddish metal twined around a cool gray one, and there's a blue stone at the top.
"Red gold for the passion and heat that keeps us together. Steel for strength, for love that will sustain us through the years to come. Star sapphire, because you are the star that lights the twilight of my life. Penelope Langston," he's staring up into her eyes, so much love on his face, "be my wife?"
She's crying and smiling and manages to get out, "Yes" while nodding at him.
Ducky slips the ring onto her finger, and kisses her again.
"May I be your husband?"
"Yes!"
He hands her the other ring. Same mix of gold and steel, but no stone. She slips it onto his ring finger and kisses him, long, and soft, and so happy.
There were hugs, and kisses, and congratulations, and girls cooing over rings, and at one point Ducky did manage to get Jethro alone to say, "I believe it is safe to say that I, nailed that, and there shall be no weeping women complaining at you for keeping secrets."
Gibbs chuckles and shakes his head. "No Duck. Not gonna hear a peep out of them. How far ahead did you have to plan that?"
"Edward did say something that made a lot of sense on Christmas. It took me a day to remember who Timothy's jeweler was and yet another day to track him down. The rings were not done until yesterday, though."
Gibbs smiles at that, watching Breena, Abby, Ziva, Penny, and Jeannie all inspecting Penny's new ring.
"Looks like you did good."
Ducky nods, an of course look on his face. "And now…" he leaves Jethro, detours to the foyer to grab their coats, and returns to Penny's side, checking the clock, while holding open her coat. "And now, my dear, we have a plane to catch."
"We do?"
"Indeed." He's smiling, eyes sparkling, mischief radiating off of him. "One cannot properly celebrate a marriage without a honeymoon!"
"And where is this plane going?" Penny asks as she puts on the coat.
"That, my lady, is a surprise, but I shall promise you will be happy to get there when it lands." He puts on his own coat, adjusts his fedora, wraps his arm around his bride, and waves goodbye to the rest of the crew.
As soon as the door closes, Ed looks around at the rest of the group from his seat at the kitchen table and says, "None of us will ever be that cool." The other guys all nod.
Jeanie ambles over and wraps an arm around him, kissing the top of her head. "But none of us will mind if you try."
He grins up at her. "Oh, I've got some plans for you." Then he looks to the rest of the family. "Time for us to be heading off, too. I think."
And with that, Molly's birthday party really did break up.
Speaking of plans, the girls have something planned for them. It is ultra-top-secret, but involves all three of them.
It also involves the guys being shut out of the Palmer house, though, upon naptime ending, Gibbs has instructions to come in, pick up baby girls, and then transport them to their fathers/uncles where they shall stay until after dinner time.
So, since this is the long afternoon nap, the guys have two hours, which is long enough for a quick Bootcamp sans Ziva.
They fought. One on one on one on one. It was fun. Played to Tony's strength of being better at understanding a fight, so he wasn't quite so behind Tim and Jimmy's been-training-for-a-year-now speed. Pretty much looked like a brawl. Though none of them were working particularly hard. Gibbs because he's just feeling too good to muster any sort of real killer instinct, and Tim and Jimmy and Tony are all hoping to get very laid tonight and don't want to be sore and achy for that.
So they don't go at it for long before calling time.
They're heading to the locker room, (the three younger guys knowing this is their prime get ready for tonight time) and Tim asks Jimmy, "Did you know Ducky was going to do that?"
Jimmy holds up his hands shaking his head, and then opens his locker, stripping out of his clothing while saying, "About a month ago he swore me to secrecy about the time-off request. I thought a get-away somewhere warm was his Valentine's Day gift, but that was all."
"Gibbs?" Jimmy asks, grabbing his towel.
Jethro's untying his shoe, and shakes his head, he can honestly say, "Not a clue." Because if he had spent hours thinking of it, though he didn't he never would have come up with that for how Ducky would make sure all the girls were happy.
"You know, that's the way to do it." Tony says as he pulls his shirt over his head. "At home, your whole family there, good rings, nice words, and then off to the honeymoon. No flowers, no renting a place, no dithering over cake flavors. You tell her you love her, you offer her the rings, and then party time on the beach. Ziva and I ever renew our vows, that's how we're gonna do it."
"I liked dithering over cake flavors," Tim says as he tucks his shoes into his locker and tosses his shirt in on top of them.
"You would," Tony replies.
"We had great cakes!"
"Okay, yeah, they were, still… What Ducky did, that's a wedding!" Tony sounds very definitive, tossing his shorts and briefs into his locker, wrapping his towel around his waist.
"That was a wedding for a guy," Jimmy says as he pulls out his towel and bag of toiletries. "Covered everything a guy thinks matters. And sure the girls loved it because it was completely out of the blue and the ring was gorgeous and it's Valentines' Day and he's Ducky so he can get away with it. Plus, she's been married before and did the whole white wedding thing once. But if any of us had tried that…" Jimmy's shaking his head.
Tim nods in agreement. "Yeah, that wouldn't have flown for Abby. We renew our vows someday, and that would probably work, and anytime I want to show up with expensive custom jewelry and shower her with love words, she'll be happy, but… I loved our wedding. It was, right, you know?"
Gibbs shrugs, tossing his shirt into his locker, back to them. "That was right for them."
Tim nods. "I think you're right on that. Haven't ever seen her look like that. Just shocked and happy and… It was right for them."
Tony, who had been facing Jimmy and Tim turns, seeing Jethro, who is currently facing his locker, and sees the nail marks down his back. Then Gibbs grabs his towel and turns to face them.
"Whoa, you did not get that from the fight." Tony says, staring at the bite marks on Gibbs chest and thigh. Jimmy and Tim looking over, summoned by the shock in Tony's voice. "That was one hell of a date, wasn't it?"
Gibbs looks down at the two bite marks on his chest, touches one of them lightly, smiles gently, nods, then looks up at Jimmy, Tim, and Tony, smiles, cocky this time, and says, "Duck's not the only one who's got some moves." Then he calmly slings the towel over his shoulder and heads off to the showers, all three of them just staring at him.
"What are they doing?" Jimmy asks as Gibbs hands Kelly to Tim. They've all gathered at McGee's house, waiting, with instructions to baby wrangle and feed themselves.
He shakes his head. He's got a pretty good guess as to what the girls were doing. He saw Abby and Ziva, who were both made up very pretty and in their bathrobes, so he's guessing they've got a camera somewhere and are taking pictures, but he's not telling. They're going to this much effort, he's not spoiling the surprise.
So he just smiles at them, says, "Trust me, you'll like it," and finishes with, "Got some shopping to do." He waves and heads off, in search of a hairdryer, pizza stone, and, most definitely, condoms.
When Gibbs gets to his car, his phone buzzes. Happy Valentines to you, too, Jethro.
How's it going?
Just finished processing the boat and where it landed. ME's got time of death but no cause, yet. Gonna be a long night.
Know all about that.
Yeah, I bet you do. Gotta get back to it.
Okay. Go get 'em.
Will do.
He's about to let her go, tucking his phone back into his pocket when something hit s him. Hey, you get to eat yet?
He can feel the eye roll. One power bar and six coffees since breakfast. No time. We're just heading back now. Why?
:)
He googles Dunton Cove, VA, and sees that A: It's not on the Delmarva Peninsula, it's much further south and B: 'heading back now' means 'won't hit DC for hours.' So, he heads off to do his shopping, stocking up on groceries and a few other things to make Borin feel more at home in his home.
Unlike with his clothing, where he just shoved the new ones on top of the old ones, he takes the old condoms out and tosses them. He might, eventually, wear the old clothes again, he's not going to be using the old condoms.
He heads down, not feeling like eating, yet. Mona's watching him, looking expectant.
"Fetch?"
She bounds up and runs out the doggie door to the back yard.
He grabs a tennis ball and his jacket and heads out, too.
While he's tossing the ball around, he thinks about Borin, and about this whole… life… thing.
He's not a cop. Not anymore. And right now he's a lot less bothered by that than usual. Which is not to say that it's making him happy, but… it's not a kick in the balls right now, either.
But she is. And right now, he wants to… He's not even entirely sure. It was a really good first date. And he wants more of them, a lot more of them. He wants to hear about what happened with the HR guy (they never got to that) and how today's case went, and if she's on call because they're short men or because it's Sunday and she's being fair, making sure everyone gets a turn at saying goodbye to their off time.
He wants to know how she ended up with the Coast Guard. They talked about the Marines, but not how she got from there to here. She was an officer, so it's not like they would have just booted her out.
He wants to know about the old scars, and the new one.
He doesn't want to scare her off. Doesn't want to go from being so aloof women can't tell if he's really interested to so clingy they need a jackhammer to get rid of him.
The problem with not following old patterns is that he's got no idea how this will work. He can't just imagine it and see how it's going to unfold.
And it might be that she's just looking for some company for her downtime. Or she might, like Tim suggested, be looking for a home.
And right now he's not a cop, and he's not entirely sure he's a good bet for anyone's home, either, and for that matter, he's not entirely sure he's ready to be someone's home... But she is a cop, and if anyone knows how to take care of a cop, it's him. And right now, he wants to do some taking care of.
So he pulls out his phone, and starts to make some calls.
Two hours later, when Borin got back to her office, she found coffee delivered from Java Jane's sitting next to a bowl of pho. No note, no explanation, no hint of Gibbs around, so she's not sure if he brought it and left it here, or if he had it delivered and paid for it, but however it happened, there's hot food waiting for her on her desk when she sits down, ready to do more work.
She sends one more text. Thanks.
Gibbs is inside Shannon, sanding the finish yet again, second to last coat for the inside, when he gets it. Hope you like it.
Best Valentine's in years, Gibbs.
He smiles at that. Me too. Shoot for better next year?
Sure.
Next
Chapter 356: Valentine's Gibbs
Gibbs feels disoriented when he wakes. It takes him a second to get himself situated in both time and space. There's a warm female body pressed against him, red hair in his face, for a heartbeat he thought he was back with Shannon, but then the rest of his life came back, and he knew he wasn't.
Probably the sixth time that's happened to him. It only lasts for a second or two, and only happens the first time waking up with a new redhead, but… But this is different. He's not with Shannon, but this is the first time he's had that slip, and he's not feeling distressed when he rights himself in time.
He's not disappointed that it isn't her.
Abby's on his usual side of the bed, so he can't see his clock, but he's not feeling any desire to go springing out of bed and get started on the day. Also a first. His usual way of dealing with realizing that the woman lying next to him isn't Shannon is to hop up and do something: make coffee, work on whatever project he had going, go home, something. Because if he just lays there, he'd end up dwelling on who he wasn't with.
He stretches a little, inhaling and exhaling deeply, enjoying the way she feels against him, the long, smooth expanse of her back against his front, the way she smells, and even the fact that her hair is tickling his face.
That wears out its welcome pretty fast, so he carefully gathers her hair and tucks it under her neck.
She shifts a bit when he does that, and he's hoping he didn't just wake her up. She stills again, and he settles in to enjoy holding her, counting the freckles on her back and shoulder.
Eventually his bladder lets him know that now would be a really good time to get out of bed, so he does, carefully, making sure not to wake her, and he does get to see the clock, notices it's a bit before six, earlier than he usually wakes up, but he does have a new person in his bed.
He takes care of business, brushes his teeth, and heads back into the bedroom, thinking about morning sixty-nining and waking her up very nicely.
He sneaks back into bed, slow, easy movements, trying to not wake her up. Doesn't work. She's lying on her side, arms curled in front of her, hand under her chin, top knee against the bed, top foot draped over her lower calf. For a second, she looks very, very peaceful, and then one eye goes springing open as soon as his weight hits the mattress in front of her.
There's a split second of huh? on her face, but then she, too orients herself in time and space, remembers why she's in Gibbs' bed and why he's naked, laying in front of her, propped on one elbow.
"'Morning," she says, stretching. He smiles and strokes his hand down her shoulder and side.
"Yep. Sleep well?"
She nods, inhaling, making a little purring sound as she stretches again. "Always sleep well after a good tucking in."
He chuckles at that as she gets up to use the bathroom.
When she's back she smells of toothpaste and morning. She slips back into bed with him, and kisses him properly.
This time is slower. They take longer, exploring each other, mapping out each other's curves and planes with fingers and lips, palms and tongues, finding old scars, and on Borin, one new one. Gibbs wonders, briefly, at the bright red bullet crease on her hip, but he doesn't ask. Now's not the time.
And she does like sixty-nine, and he does too, and God, she's brilliant at it. And he hopes what he's doing to her feels half as good as what she's doing to him, and he figures it does when she goes tight and bites the inside of his thigh, hard.
She ends up with a matching hickie on her thigh. He'd meant to be kissing her, but she did… something… he's not sure what, just that it felt beyond amazing… and he lost it.
They're both drowsing, warm, happy, comfortable. His face resting on her thigh, and he has one hand cupped over her hip. She's using his thigh as a pillow, too, and is gently stroking his now dormant penis. Not trying to turn him on, just touching to touch.
"What's on for the rest of your day?" she asks.
"Mmmm…" he blinks a few times, sliding fully into awake. "Only thing I have to do is Molly's birthday party. Duck reminded me yesterday that I can't miss it. You?"
"Nothing. Phone doesn't ring, and I've got all day free. What's Sunday usually look like for you? Sounds like you've got other things you'd usually be doing."
"Run with Mona. Breakfast at the diner with the kids. Church. Sunday dinner at Breena's parents' house. But we've got the birthday party instead. Jimmy, Tim, and I cut out early for Bootcamp. Ziva meets us there. Tony showed up last week, hopefully he'll come today, too. Then home, dinner… woodworking. Play with Mona. Read sometimes. What's a typical day off look like for you?"
"You've got full Sundays."
He nods. "Empty Mondays through Fridays, but right now I've got full Sundays."
"Sleep in on Sunday. That's usually the start. Breakfast out." She yawns.
He laughs. "So, don't wake you up so early, next time?"
She shrugs. "Sundays I'm on call, it's better to grab me when you've got me. Never know when the phone'll ring."
He nods at that. "Know that story."
"Yep. After breakfast, swimming. Lunch with friends, usually. Call my parents in the afternoon. Maybe hit the range. Then takeout and catching up with all the shows I didn't watch over the week."
"Sounds like a good Sunday."
"I like it."
He kisses her thigh and was about to say, "Wanna get breakfast with me?" when her phone rang.
So much for 'If I don't get a call out."
She sighs, rolls over, reaching around on the floor, and finds her purse. She sits up. "Borin." She rubs her face while listening. He kisses her shoulder and then puts on a pair of shorts and heads downstairs.
It only takes him five minutes to put everything together. He's done this for himself more times than he could count, so doing it for her is just a matter of rote morning routine.
It's not fancy. But it's hot, and it's filling, and it'll keep you going. Big cup of coffee, scrambled eggs sandwiched between two pieces of toast.
He hears the shower going, and knocks. "Come in."
"Breakfast's sitting on the sink. Got a go bag in your car?"
"Yeah."
"I'll grab it and bring it up for you."
She pulls back the shower curtain, and wet, naked, Abby in his bathroom is making him want to whimper for mercy and shoot whichever son-of-a-bitch killed someone and is pulling her out of his home.
She reaches out, grabs the waistband of his boxers, and pulls him close for a long kiss, submerging him, again, in vivid sensations of exactly what he's going to be missing out on by her leaving. As soon as she catches the son-of-a-bitch, he's going to shoot that bastard, twice.
"Thanks," she says when she lets go.
He smiles wryly, at her, at the situation, at the fact that he's half-soaked, and desperately wants to hop in with her. "Keys in your purse?"
"Front pocket."
"Okay. I'll be up with your work clothes in a bit."
He strips out of the wet boxers, tosses on last night's jeans, and remembers that it's February and now is a really bad time to be outside in just a pair of jeans when his feet hit the ice cold front porch. It'll take longer to bundle up than it will to get her stuff. So he gets to her car (fast), finds her bag (fast), and almost sprints back into the house, where Mona's waiting for him, staring up, and wondering why he started their morning run without her.
"In a minute," he says to Mona, taking Borin's bag up, and then heading down to make sure his other lady gets some breakfast, too.
She comes down while he's getting food for Mona. She's carrying the coffee mug and plate (both empty), and wearing last night's jeans, but with a button-down and a jacket. She looks professional. Except for the damp hair.
"It'd be a stretch to think you've got a hairdryer?"
He nods. His hair's a little shaggier than usual, because he's not getting it cut every two weeks, but it's still short enough that a good toweling off and five minutes of air takes care of drying. Though he's thinking that by the end of today, he'll have one, and… maybe a pizza stone to go on his hearth grate, and definitely a new pack of condoms.
She nods, having expected that answer and separates her hair into three hanks, starting to braid it.
"Where you going today?"
"Not sure, yet. Dunton Cove. Think it's somewhere on the Delmarva Peninsula. Got a ghost ships with two bodies on it."
He nods at that. She finishes her hair and shoulders her bag. "I had a really good time."
He smiles. "Wanna show you a lot of good times."
She smiles back at him, pleased by that, as he walks her to his front door. She's about to step out when something hits him.
"Wait."
"Wait?" She looks irked. "I've got to get going."
"You can hold up for two minutes." He kisses her fast and heads into his kitchen. It takes forty seconds to find it. Two seconds later he's kissing her again, pressing a key into her hands. "I know the schedule is insane. I never lock up on my own, but Mona's changed that. Whenever you want company, come on over. If I'm not here, let yourself in. I'll be back sooner or later. Sleep over at Tim and Abby's sometimes, but fire off a text, and I'll come. Don't want anyone else coming by, lock yourself in."
She stares at the key, and for a second looks a bit alarmed, but then what he's actually said hits her. She smiles, realizing he's not asking her to move in after one date. Just making sure that she knows she can just come over whenever, that his open door truly is, for her, and she can have privacy here, if she wants it.
"I lock up, can you get in?"
Of course says the look on his face.
"Okay." She kisses him one last time, body flush against his, fingers twined in his hair, and he holds her close for several seconds after the kiss ends, hands spanning her hips, lips just touching hers, enjoying her body on his.
"Go get 'em."
"Enjoy your birthday party."
And she heads out. Mona stares up at him, Okay, we're at the door again, we going on our run, now?
He rubs his eyes. "Yeah, Mona. Let me put some more clothing on."
Gibbs usually doesn't spend a lot of time looking at himself, especially not when breakfast starts at eight, it's 7:45, he's naked and dripping wet, and he lives seventeen minutes from the diner.
But as he towels off his hair, he does look, seeing the bruises on his skin, three of them. He touches one, little tender, not bad. They'll be gone tomorrow or the next day.
Nothing about him changed between today and yesterday. His body is still the same, but it feels new.
Feels, hopeful, maybe.
Or it might just be that right now, he's wearing her touch on his skin, in real tangible reminders, and he likes that.
Too many women have drifted in and out of his life, never leaving a mark, but this one did. And he's proud to wear it.
When Gibbs walks into the diner for Sunday breakfast, late, with something that could, just possibly, be called an I-just-got-laid-shit-eating-grin on his face, he sees Jimmy and Tim glance at each other, can feel them both thinking it, and sees both of them break into grins, too.
"Looks like someone had a good night," Jimmy says, smug.
Gibbs nods.
"Gonna tell us about it?" Tim asks.
"Nope."
"Come on!" Abby says. "You can't not tell us about it."
Breena's nodding along with that. "First date in forever, you've got to tell us about it."
Gibbs shakes his head, little smile on his lips.
Elaine heads over, looks at him, pours the coffee, and calls back to her husband, "Add an order of pancakes to Gibbs' plate." Then she looks at him smiling. "You better bring her in to meet me. Twenty years you've been coming in here, and I've never seen that look on your face. I want to meet the lady that's inspiring it."
Gibbs sips his coffee, without comment.
Church came. Church went. The only interesting part of it was that, while sitting there, it hits Gibbs that he should call or text or something, Borin.
And sooner would be better than later. First time he and Hollis hooked up, he didn't call after, and she was not happy about that.
He didn't call any of the ladies after her either, though he did go out of his way to 'run into them' sometime in the next day or two and see them again.
But he's not going to 'run into' Borin. There's no reason for him to be in Dunton Cove. (Wherever it may be.) And true, he's got nothing planned tomorrow besides calling Senior and learning more about how expensive real estate works, and adding another coat of finish to Shannon, but he's not going to go stalk her job.
He's got enough sense to know that's a bad idea.
Which is why, when he gets into his car to drive over to Jimmy and Breena's, he shifts his phone from call to text. If she's working, if she's busy, a call could just be annoying. But a few quick words…
Happy Valentine's Day, Abby. He debates sticking a smiley face on that and decides not to.
Gibbs hits send and pockets his phone, putting the car in reverse, getting into toddler birthday party mode.
The party was winding down. The guest of honor had been put down for naptime. (Her oldest cousin napping beside her, her little sister, not quite on the same schedule was bright-eyed and enjoying cuddling with her Aunt Ziva.)
The whole family, plus Ed and Jeannie, are here in Jimmy and Breena's kitchen, milling around, chatting, moving in the direction of getting ready to go home.
It is in the midst of this, that Ducky reaches to Penny, and kisses her, on the lips. That's not unheard of. It's not common, either. And this sort of kiss, deep, passionate, maybe not erotic, but very definitely loving, is not the sort of gentle display of affection the rest of the crew has seen over and over again.
Compared to clinking a ring against a glass, this is a much more effective, and direct, way of getting the attention of everyone in the room.
When he pulls back, eyes sparkling, grin on his face, everyone else is staring at them.
He kisses her one more time, quick little peck on the lips.
"You weren't there, darling, when Jimmy and Breena celebrated their wedding, but they asked me to say a few words about marriage. Though, given my lack of experience on the matter, I think it had more to do with having a soothing voice than any sort of wisdom on my part." Jimmy and Breena laugh at that.
"However, I did appear to come up with something relevant, which Edward reminded me of a few months ago." He strokes her face, looking into her eyes. "The point of marriage vows is that they are public. That it's not enough to build a life together, but that you do it in public, that you stand before everyone who has ever mattered to you and proclaim that you will devote your life to that person."
Penny's staring at him, eyes wide, knowing where this has to be going, but looking like she cannot believe he's doing it.
"Penny, the journey has been long, and I have been blessed with a rich and satisfying life, not a day of which I would trade for any other, but this last year, spent with you, has been the sweetest of all of them. We're surrounded by everyone in this world who I love, and I would like to say, in front of all of them, that I will devote all of my remaining days to the love of you."
She's smiling, tears in her eyes, and he kisses her, quickly, one more time.
"There is a symbol that goes with these words, one…" his voice catches, "One I would like to wear. One I would like you to wear."
He pulls the ring box out of his jacket pocket and opens it.
Penny doesn't gasp, but that short, sharp inhale is awfully close. Gibbs wouldn't believe that she could get flustered, but apparently Ducky's managed to do it. He takes the first of the wedding bands out of the box. Gibbs isn't close enough to get a very good look at it, but he can see some sort of reddish metal twined around a cool gray one, and there's a blue stone at the top.
"Red gold for the passion and heat that keeps us together. Steel for strength, for love that will sustain us through the years to come. Star sapphire, because you are the star that lights the twilight of my life. Penelope Langston," he's staring up into her eyes, so much love on his face, "be my wife?"
She's crying and smiling and manages to get out, "Yes" while nodding at him.
Ducky slips the ring onto her finger, and kisses her again.
"May I be your husband?"
"Yes!"
He hands her the other ring. Same mix of gold and steel, but no stone. She slips it onto his ring finger and kisses him, long, and soft, and so happy.
There were hugs, and kisses, and congratulations, and girls cooing over rings, and at one point Ducky did manage to get Jethro alone to say, "I believe it is safe to say that I, nailed that, and there shall be no weeping women complaining at you for keeping secrets."
Gibbs chuckles and shakes his head. "No Duck. Not gonna hear a peep out of them. How far ahead did you have to plan that?"
"Edward did say something that made a lot of sense on Christmas. It took me a day to remember who Timothy's jeweler was and yet another day to track him down. The rings were not done until yesterday, though."
Gibbs smiles at that, watching Breena, Abby, Ziva, Penny, and Jeannie all inspecting Penny's new ring.
"Looks like you did good."
Ducky nods, an of course look on his face. "And now…" he leaves Jethro, detours to the foyer to grab their coats, and returns to Penny's side, checking the clock, while holding open her coat. "And now, my dear, we have a plane to catch."
"We do?"
"Indeed." He's smiling, eyes sparkling, mischief radiating off of him. "One cannot properly celebrate a marriage without a honeymoon!"
"And where is this plane going?" Penny asks as she puts on the coat.
"That, my lady, is a surprise, but I shall promise you will be happy to get there when it lands." He puts on his own coat, adjusts his fedora, wraps his arm around his bride, and waves goodbye to the rest of the crew.
As soon as the door closes, Ed looks around at the rest of the group from his seat at the kitchen table and says, "None of us will ever be that cool." The other guys all nod.
Jeanie ambles over and wraps an arm around him, kissing the top of her head. "But none of us will mind if you try."
He grins up at her. "Oh, I've got some plans for you." Then he looks to the rest of the family. "Time for us to be heading off, too. I think."
And with that, Molly's birthday party really did break up.
Speaking of plans, the girls have something planned for them. It is ultra-top-secret, but involves all three of them.
It also involves the guys being shut out of the Palmer house, though, upon naptime ending, Gibbs has instructions to come in, pick up baby girls, and then transport them to their fathers/uncles where they shall stay until after dinner time.
So, since this is the long afternoon nap, the guys have two hours, which is long enough for a quick Bootcamp sans Ziva.
They fought. One on one on one on one. It was fun. Played to Tony's strength of being better at understanding a fight, so he wasn't quite so behind Tim and Jimmy's been-training-for-a-year-now speed. Pretty much looked like a brawl. Though none of them were working particularly hard. Gibbs because he's just feeling too good to muster any sort of real killer instinct, and Tim and Jimmy and Tony are all hoping to get very laid tonight and don't want to be sore and achy for that.
So they don't go at it for long before calling time.
They're heading to the locker room, (the three younger guys knowing this is their prime get ready for tonight time) and Tim asks Jimmy, "Did you know Ducky was going to do that?"
Jimmy holds up his hands shaking his head, and then opens his locker, stripping out of his clothing while saying, "About a month ago he swore me to secrecy about the time-off request. I thought a get-away somewhere warm was his Valentine's Day gift, but that was all."
"Gibbs?" Jimmy asks, grabbing his towel.
Jethro's untying his shoe, and shakes his head, he can honestly say, "Not a clue." Because if he had spent hours thinking of it, though he didn't he never would have come up with that for how Ducky would make sure all the girls were happy.
"You know, that's the way to do it." Tony says as he pulls his shirt over his head. "At home, your whole family there, good rings, nice words, and then off to the honeymoon. No flowers, no renting a place, no dithering over cake flavors. You tell her you love her, you offer her the rings, and then party time on the beach. Ziva and I ever renew our vows, that's how we're gonna do it."
"I liked dithering over cake flavors," Tim says as he tucks his shoes into his locker and tosses his shirt in on top of them.
"You would," Tony replies.
"We had great cakes!"
"Okay, yeah, they were, still… What Ducky did, that's a wedding!" Tony sounds very definitive, tossing his shorts and briefs into his locker, wrapping his towel around his waist.
"That was a wedding for a guy," Jimmy says as he pulls out his towel and bag of toiletries. "Covered everything a guy thinks matters. And sure the girls loved it because it was completely out of the blue and the ring was gorgeous and it's Valentines' Day and he's Ducky so he can get away with it. Plus, she's been married before and did the whole white wedding thing once. But if any of us had tried that…" Jimmy's shaking his head.
Tim nods in agreement. "Yeah, that wouldn't have flown for Abby. We renew our vows someday, and that would probably work, and anytime I want to show up with expensive custom jewelry and shower her with love words, she'll be happy, but… I loved our wedding. It was, right, you know?"
Gibbs shrugs, tossing his shirt into his locker, back to them. "That was right for them."
Tim nods. "I think you're right on that. Haven't ever seen her look like that. Just shocked and happy and… It was right for them."
Tony, who had been facing Jimmy and Tim turns, seeing Jethro, who is currently facing his locker, and sees the nail marks down his back. Then Gibbs grabs his towel and turns to face them.
"Whoa, you did not get that from the fight." Tony says, staring at the bite marks on Gibbs chest and thigh. Jimmy and Tim looking over, summoned by the shock in Tony's voice. "That was one hell of a date, wasn't it?"
Gibbs looks down at the two bite marks on his chest, touches one of them lightly, smiles gently, nods, then looks up at Jimmy, Tim, and Tony, smiles, cocky this time, and says, "Duck's not the only one who's got some moves." Then he calmly slings the towel over his shoulder and heads off to the showers, all three of them just staring at him.
"What are they doing?" Jimmy asks as Gibbs hands Kelly to Tim. They've all gathered at McGee's house, waiting, with instructions to baby wrangle and feed themselves.
He shakes his head. He's got a pretty good guess as to what the girls were doing. He saw Abby and Ziva, who were both made up very pretty and in their bathrobes, so he's guessing they've got a camera somewhere and are taking pictures, but he's not telling. They're going to this much effort, he's not spoiling the surprise.
So he just smiles at them, says, "Trust me, you'll like it," and finishes with, "Got some shopping to do." He waves and heads off, in search of a hairdryer, pizza stone, and, most definitely, condoms.
When Gibbs gets to his car, his phone buzzes. Happy Valentines to you, too, Jethro.
How's it going?
Just finished processing the boat and where it landed. ME's got time of death but no cause, yet. Gonna be a long night.
Know all about that.
Yeah, I bet you do. Gotta get back to it.
Okay. Go get 'em.
Will do.
He's about to let her go, tucking his phone back into his pocket when something hit s him. Hey, you get to eat yet?
He can feel the eye roll. One power bar and six coffees since breakfast. No time. We're just heading back now. Why?
:)
He googles Dunton Cove, VA, and sees that A: It's not on the Delmarva Peninsula, it's much further south and B: 'heading back now' means 'won't hit DC for hours.' So, he heads off to do his shopping, stocking up on groceries and a few other things to make Borin feel more at home in his home.
Unlike with his clothing, where he just shoved the new ones on top of the old ones, he takes the old condoms out and tosses them. He might, eventually, wear the old clothes again, he's not going to be using the old condoms.
He heads down, not feeling like eating, yet. Mona's watching him, looking expectant.
"Fetch?"
She bounds up and runs out the doggie door to the back yard.
He grabs a tennis ball and his jacket and heads out, too.
While he's tossing the ball around, he thinks about Borin, and about this whole… life… thing.
He's not a cop. Not anymore. And right now he's a lot less bothered by that than usual. Which is not to say that it's making him happy, but… it's not a kick in the balls right now, either.
But she is. And right now, he wants to… He's not even entirely sure. It was a really good first date. And he wants more of them, a lot more of them. He wants to hear about what happened with the HR guy (they never got to that) and how today's case went, and if she's on call because they're short men or because it's Sunday and she's being fair, making sure everyone gets a turn at saying goodbye to their off time.
He wants to know how she ended up with the Coast Guard. They talked about the Marines, but not how she got from there to here. She was an officer, so it's not like they would have just booted her out.
He wants to know about the old scars, and the new one.
He doesn't want to scare her off. Doesn't want to go from being so aloof women can't tell if he's really interested to so clingy they need a jackhammer to get rid of him.
The problem with not following old patterns is that he's got no idea how this will work. He can't just imagine it and see how it's going to unfold.
And it might be that she's just looking for some company for her downtime. Or she might, like Tim suggested, be looking for a home.
And right now he's not a cop, and he's not entirely sure he's a good bet for anyone's home, either, and for that matter, he's not entirely sure he's ready to be someone's home... But she is a cop, and if anyone knows how to take care of a cop, it's him. And right now, he wants to do some taking care of.
So he pulls out his phone, and starts to make some calls.
Two hours later, when Borin got back to her office, she found coffee delivered from Java Jane's sitting next to a bowl of pho. No note, no explanation, no hint of Gibbs around, so she's not sure if he brought it and left it here, or if he had it delivered and paid for it, but however it happened, there's hot food waiting for her on her desk when she sits down, ready to do more work.
She sends one more text. Thanks.
Gibbs is inside Shannon, sanding the finish yet again, second to last coat for the inside, when he gets it. Hope you like it.
Best Valentine's in years, Gibbs.
He smiles at that. Me too. Shoot for better next year?
Sure.
Next
