NCIS Fic: "Tim McGee Sees It Through" (4/6)
Disclaimers: Don't own Tim, Gibbs, Ducky, Tony, Ziva, or Abby. Or the universe in which they operate. I'm just playing in DBell's and Shane Brennan's sandbox.
Rating: FRT; lots and lots and of Tim-whump.
Spoilers: Season 7; up to 7.15, "Jack-Knife" in general, and a few specific ones for 7.01.
Genre: General/Drama/Hurt-Comfort/Case-Fic
Characters: Tim-centric; All Hands On Deck. (Plus assorted OMCs.)
Pairings: None
Notes: a) A completed fic, in six parts; I'll post one a day until it's done.
b) Title borrowed from P.G. Wodehouse.
c) Inspired, encouraged, and has lovely bits written by, melliyna . She is my muse, sounding board, and partner in crime, and this fic would not have come to be without this lovely crack ficlet she wrote me for the prompt, "Gibbs, McGee, ER, waiting/worry."
Summary: What should have been a routine interview has gone, as they say, pear-shaped. Now Tim must a) figure out how he got in this dangerous situation, and b) get out of it. But Gibbs and his teammates are there to back him up. In more senses than one.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
NOW
The Vogon had exited. For the second time. With very little more than Tim's opinion on the NCIS cafeteria's selection of Jello.
Unfortunately, it had cost Tim another broken rib, and several more blows to the head. He was now expending a great deal of effort, more than he would have liked, merely to stay conscious.
But he had gained something from this last beating session. He hoped. Mr. Vogon knew exactly as much as he currently did about the NCIS case against this Russian mob set. And given how long Tim had been sitting here? He was very certain that Gibbs, Ziva and Tony had made a lot more progress than he had. Especially since he had been spending most of that time staring, Zen-like, at the dark spot on the concrete.
Ryan. Ryan was the key. And Ryan was like him. Ryan was one of the Stennis's token nerds. Stationed in the radio room. Kept to himself. Kept to himself. Probably picked on in the mess hall by the more jockish members of the crew. An apt target for someone from the mob.
Someone who wouldn't have needed force, or even threats of it. Suavity, and subtlety, would have sufficed. "Mr. Ryan. I think we have need of your special skills. You are not so well compensated by your Navy, yes? Don't worry. You will give us what we need, and we will never talk again."
That someone knew exactly where Ryan was vulnerable. It was a set of vulnerabilities Tim knew intimately. Insecurity. Inferiority. Fear. The fear of failure. The intense fear that somehow, sometime, someone was going to find him out and take everything away from him.
NO. Damn it, no. He was not going to be sucked back into this again. Hadn't he silenced this particular demon a long time ago?
Hadn't he paid for this in blood? In bruises, in pain, in loss. Sand, and blood, and fear.
Yes, you have, McGee. I know you listen, but do you never believe, my friend?
"Hey, Ziva. Knew you'd show up eventually."
Of course. I couldn't let Tony have all the fun, now could I?
"Fun isn't the word I'd choose. It's taking everything I have to keep my vision clear."
Tim sucked in an unsteady breath.
"I don't think I can get through this, Ziva. I'm not strong, I'm not like you. "
Well, your first point is incorrect. And the second, I am very glad of.
"What?"
I am very glad you and I are not alike. Frankly, it would get very boring. Imagine your *average* conversation in the bullpen, with one Tony and two Zivas, or two Tonys and one Ziva. Bleah.
"When did you pick up 'bleah' as an idiom?"
I am not exactly sure. But it is useful, yes?
"Yup."
Anyway...your first point is still incorrect. It is not strength you lack, McGee, but experience. And experience is not always everything.
"It helps a lot, though."
You also have more experience than you give yourself credit for. Tim, I did not know you, when you first became a field agent. But do you think you are still that man, that 'Probie'?
"Oh god, I hope not."
And you recall the first case we worked on together?
"Falling into the fountain, yeah, thanks for bringing that up."
You have not fallen into that many fountains recently, have you?
"Nah, I've moved up in the world, I fall into muddy culverts instead."
*snort* That was rather entertaining, yes.
"Oh, you're laughing at me now, Ziva? Is that helpful, is that..." Tim couldn't help it, and started to laugh, too.
Well, technically, since I am only a figment of your imagination, you are laughing at yourself. Which I have been told is a very good talent to possess.
"My mother said that a lot. I think it was...what, a Shirley MacClaine quote, she said? 'The person who knows how to laugh at himself will never cease to be amused'.”
Your mother was a wise woman, McGee.
"That she was, Ziva, that she was."
A noise from outside interrupted the cheerful internal dialogue. Some of the goon squad had returned, and the yelling resumed.
"They're back. He's going to come back in. I don't think I can do this again."
Listen to me, McGee. You will hang on. Remember two things: one, you are in fact, stronger than you think. The trials you have endured in the last 6 years have not been for nothing.
"And what's the other thing?"
What did Gibbs tell you when you officially joined the team?
"That I belong to him, now?"
Gibbs is a very possessive man. He does not give his people up without a fight.
********
Then
"Zilch, nada, nyet, niente...personne...."
"Tony?"
"Yes, Ziva?"
"You know how many languages I speak."
"I have an approximate idea, yes."
"Do you really want to get into a linguistic synonym contest with me?"
"...No."
"Then shut up, please."
The brief argument ended abruptly, but not surprisingly, as the two of them reached the edge of the bullpen. They had spotted Gibbs, arms crossed, wearing his trademark expression. An even darker version than usual.
"Found nearly nothing at Ryan's apartment, boss."
"That much, I got. 'Nearly' nothing?"
Ziva took pity on her partner, and stepped up.
"The place had been ransacked, stripped of anything useful, *except* the computer. However, they seem to have tried their best to demolish that as well. We dropped it off with Abby on the way up. She also said she might have something on the crime scene debris soon."
That thought seemed to bring Tony out of his funk. "Hah! We'll be fine. Abby'll give us a break in the case, and then Probie can bring it home with the laptop.There is no nefarious computer business that McGeek can't unspool." He looked around the bullpen for the first time. "Where is he, anyway?"
Gibbs paused, and the frown quickly became a scowl. "Not back from Bethesda yet."
Ziva and Tony exchanged looks; the darker shade of the Gibbs-glare had suddenly become clear.
Tony's tone was light, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Seriously? The traffic we ran into wasn't that bad. And his interview with Dr. Ryan can't have taken that long."
Gibbs's scowl acquired a tinge of frustrated contempt. "I'm aware of that, DiNozzo. And he will be too, once he calls in."
Ziva found herself in the uncomfortable position of token optimist. "He will call in. Of course Not calling in would be like...I do not know, not backing up his computer files at the end of the day."
All three of them knew this. Thus, the pause in a conversation deepened all the way into a gaping hole.
The reverie was suddenly, violently broken by two noises: the *ding* of the elevator, and the ringing of the phone on Gibbs's desk. The owner of the phone went to answer it; the elevator opened to reveal an unusually bouncy Abby Sciutto, holding an evidence bag with a piece of blue plastic in it.
"How much do you love me? Right here, right now, how much?"
Tony decided to humor her. "You beautiful girl, you've broken the case?"
Abby beamed, but got slightly less bouncy. "Well, I am beautiful, but I shouldn't take all the credit. Tim helped some, if the label is correct. It's this bit of blue plastic he found."
"The one that smelled like Thanksgiving dinner?"
"The very same. As Tony's talented nose nosed out, it's got traces of peas, onions, and carrots on it. Only a few DC area companies package that particular combo.*And*, with a little finagling..."
Ziva raised an eyebrow. "Finagling?"
"Twisting, prodding, poking...anyway, I got a few letters off it."
Tony felt the rush he always loved, the pull of gravity down the hill towards a solved case."Give it to me, Abs."
"Palinowski's Frozen Foods. They've got a warehouse out in Rosslyn." Her information delivered, Abby emerged from science tunnel-vision. "Where's Timmy? He should revel in his awesome crime-scene skills."
Tony made a chopping motion, and was about to answer, when a deadly serious Gibbs loudly hung up the phone. His next sentence brought the conversation to a screeching halt.
"That was Bethesda PD. Reports of multiple gunshots at Dr. Ryan's house. Once they arrived, they found Ryan, dead. There was surplus blood, signs of a struggle, and McGee's car, abandoned."
The last bit of news rendered the other three speechless. However, Gibbs had already entered Gunny-mode, leaving no extra time for processing.
"Abby. The warehouse address?"
"2658 Front Street."
"Ziva...Legal, and their damn paperwork. Tony, contact Rosslyn PD. I want SWAT, or HRT, or hell, 5 guys with Kevlar and shotguns, and I want them there ten minutes ago."
These requests had been delivered in motion, and Gibbs was now standing next to the elevator. He had a familiar half-grin, half-sneer on his face, as he motioned with his right hand.
"Well?"
If there were any objections, they were lost in Ziva and Tony's speedy rush through the elevator doors.
*******
Rating: FRT; lots and lots and of Tim-whump.
Spoilers: Season 7; up to 7.15, "Jack-Knife" in general, and a few specific ones for 7.01.
Genre: General/Drama/Hurt-Comfort/Case-Fic
Characters: Tim-centric; All Hands On Deck. (Plus assorted OMCs.)
Pairings: None
Notes: a) A completed fic, in six parts; I'll post one a day until it's done.
b) Title borrowed from P.G. Wodehouse.
c) Inspired, encouraged, and has lovely bits written by, melliyna . She is my muse, sounding board, and partner in crime, and this fic would not have come to be without this lovely crack ficlet she wrote me for the prompt, "Gibbs, McGee, ER, waiting/worry."
Summary: What should have been a routine interview has gone, as they say, pear-shaped. Now Tim must a) figure out how he got in this dangerous situation, and b) get out of it. But Gibbs and his teammates are there to back him up. In more senses than one.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
NOW
The Vogon had exited. For the second time. With very little more than Tim's opinion on the NCIS cafeteria's selection of Jello.
Unfortunately, it had cost Tim another broken rib, and several more blows to the head. He was now expending a great deal of effort, more than he would have liked, merely to stay conscious.
But he had gained something from this last beating session. He hoped. Mr. Vogon knew exactly as much as he currently did about the NCIS case against this Russian mob set. And given how long Tim had been sitting here? He was very certain that Gibbs, Ziva and Tony had made a lot more progress than he had. Especially since he had been spending most of that time staring, Zen-like, at the dark spot on the concrete.
Ryan. Ryan was the key. And Ryan was like him. Ryan was one of the Stennis's token nerds. Stationed in the radio room. Kept to himself. Kept to himself. Probably picked on in the mess hall by the more jockish members of the crew. An apt target for someone from the mob.
Someone who wouldn't have needed force, or even threats of it. Suavity, and subtlety, would have sufficed. "Mr. Ryan. I think we have need of your special skills. You are not so well compensated by your Navy, yes? Don't worry. You will give us what we need, and we will never talk again."
That someone knew exactly where Ryan was vulnerable. It was a set of vulnerabilities Tim knew intimately. Insecurity. Inferiority. Fear. The fear of failure. The intense fear that somehow, sometime, someone was going to find him out and take everything away from him.
NO. Damn it, no. He was not going to be sucked back into this again. Hadn't he silenced this particular demon a long time ago?
Hadn't he paid for this in blood? In bruises, in pain, in loss. Sand, and blood, and fear.
Yes, you have, McGee. I know you listen, but do you never believe, my friend?
"Hey, Ziva. Knew you'd show up eventually."
Of course. I couldn't let Tony have all the fun, now could I?
"Fun isn't the word I'd choose. It's taking everything I have to keep my vision clear."
Tim sucked in an unsteady breath.
"I don't think I can get through this, Ziva. I'm not strong, I'm not like you. "
Well, your first point is incorrect. And the second, I am very glad of.
"What?"
I am very glad you and I are not alike. Frankly, it would get very boring. Imagine your *average* conversation in the bullpen, with one Tony and two Zivas, or two Tonys and one Ziva. Bleah.
"When did you pick up 'bleah' as an idiom?"
I am not exactly sure. But it is useful, yes?
"Yup."
Anyway...your first point is still incorrect. It is not strength you lack, McGee, but experience. And experience is not always everything.
"It helps a lot, though."
You also have more experience than you give yourself credit for. Tim, I did not know you, when you first became a field agent. But do you think you are still that man, that 'Probie'?
"Oh god, I hope not."
And you recall the first case we worked on together?
"Falling into the fountain, yeah, thanks for bringing that up."
You have not fallen into that many fountains recently, have you?
"Nah, I've moved up in the world, I fall into muddy culverts instead."
*snort* That was rather entertaining, yes.
"Oh, you're laughing at me now, Ziva? Is that helpful, is that..." Tim couldn't help it, and started to laugh, too.
Well, technically, since I am only a figment of your imagination, you are laughing at yourself. Which I have been told is a very good talent to possess.
"My mother said that a lot. I think it was...what, a Shirley MacClaine quote, she said? 'The person who knows how to laugh at himself will never cease to be amused'.”
Your mother was a wise woman, McGee.
"That she was, Ziva, that she was."
A noise from outside interrupted the cheerful internal dialogue. Some of the goon squad had returned, and the yelling resumed.
"They're back. He's going to come back in. I don't think I can do this again."
Listen to me, McGee. You will hang on. Remember two things: one, you are in fact, stronger than you think. The trials you have endured in the last 6 years have not been for nothing.
"And what's the other thing?"
What did Gibbs tell you when you officially joined the team?
"That I belong to him, now?"
Gibbs is a very possessive man. He does not give his people up without a fight.
********
Then
"Zilch, nada, nyet, niente...personne...."
"Tony?"
"Yes, Ziva?"
"You know how many languages I speak."
"I have an approximate idea, yes."
"Do you really want to get into a linguistic synonym contest with me?"
"...No."
"Then shut up, please."
The brief argument ended abruptly, but not surprisingly, as the two of them reached the edge of the bullpen. They had spotted Gibbs, arms crossed, wearing his trademark expression. An even darker version than usual.
"Found nearly nothing at Ryan's apartment, boss."
"That much, I got. 'Nearly' nothing?"
Ziva took pity on her partner, and stepped up.
"The place had been ransacked, stripped of anything useful, *except* the computer. However, they seem to have tried their best to demolish that as well. We dropped it off with Abby on the way up. She also said she might have something on the crime scene debris soon."
That thought seemed to bring Tony out of his funk. "Hah! We'll be fine. Abby'll give us a break in the case, and then Probie can bring it home with the laptop.There is no nefarious computer business that McGeek can't unspool." He looked around the bullpen for the first time. "Where is he, anyway?"
Gibbs paused, and the frown quickly became a scowl. "Not back from Bethesda yet."
Ziva and Tony exchanged looks; the darker shade of the Gibbs-glare had suddenly become clear.
Tony's tone was light, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Seriously? The traffic we ran into wasn't that bad. And his interview with Dr. Ryan can't have taken that long."
Gibbs's scowl acquired a tinge of frustrated contempt. "I'm aware of that, DiNozzo. And he will be too, once he calls in."
Ziva found herself in the uncomfortable position of token optimist. "He will call in. Of course Not calling in would be like...I do not know, not backing up his computer files at the end of the day."
All three of them knew this. Thus, the pause in a conversation deepened all the way into a gaping hole.
The reverie was suddenly, violently broken by two noises: the *ding* of the elevator, and the ringing of the phone on Gibbs's desk. The owner of the phone went to answer it; the elevator opened to reveal an unusually bouncy Abby Sciutto, holding an evidence bag with a piece of blue plastic in it.
"How much do you love me? Right here, right now, how much?"
Tony decided to humor her. "You beautiful girl, you've broken the case?"
Abby beamed, but got slightly less bouncy. "Well, I am beautiful, but I shouldn't take all the credit. Tim helped some, if the label is correct. It's this bit of blue plastic he found."
"The one that smelled like Thanksgiving dinner?"
"The very same. As Tony's talented nose nosed out, it's got traces of peas, onions, and carrots on it. Only a few DC area companies package that particular combo.*And*, with a little finagling..."
Ziva raised an eyebrow. "Finagling?"
"Twisting, prodding, poking...anyway, I got a few letters off it."
Tony felt the rush he always loved, the pull of gravity down the hill towards a solved case."Give it to me, Abs."
"Palinowski's Frozen Foods. They've got a warehouse out in Rosslyn." Her information delivered, Abby emerged from science tunnel-vision. "Where's Timmy? He should revel in his awesome crime-scene skills."
Tony made a chopping motion, and was about to answer, when a deadly serious Gibbs loudly hung up the phone. His next sentence brought the conversation to a screeching halt.
"That was Bethesda PD. Reports of multiple gunshots at Dr. Ryan's house. Once they arrived, they found Ryan, dead. There was surplus blood, signs of a struggle, and McGee's car, abandoned."
The last bit of news rendered the other three speechless. However, Gibbs had already entered Gunny-mode, leaving no extra time for processing.
"Abby. The warehouse address?"
"2658 Front Street."
"Ziva...Legal, and their damn paperwork. Tony, contact Rosslyn PD. I want SWAT, or HRT, or hell, 5 guys with Kevlar and shotguns, and I want them there ten minutes ago."
These requests had been delivered in motion, and Gibbs was now standing next to the elevator. He had a familiar half-grin, half-sneer on his face, as he motioned with his right hand.
"Well?"
If there were any objections, they were lost in Ziva and Tony's speedy rush through the elevator doors.
*******