Transitional States II, Ch34
Author's Note: Rated M for language, sexual situations, violence, and the occasional flying monkey man.
Tim
The plane trip to Norway gave him far too much time to think.
Tim had brought along all of the data they’d received from Mossad and spent the first few hours of the trip studying it with the hope that he would find something that he’d overlooked the first time. Before he left, he’d made sure that Michelle would sign for the daily delivery of translated copies of Deep Six - he was up to twelve by last count and had to admit that Tony had outdone himself with this particular prank - and convinced Sarah to spend the next week with their parents. Just in case she decided to ignore him (which was always a strong possibility with her these days) he’d talked Abby into checking up on his sister … although, in retrospect, that might have been a mistake. The very last thing he needed to deal with when he got back to D.C. was the discovery that Sarah had decided to go ahead and get the angel wings tattoo on her back that she’d once expressed interest in. He could only imagine the look on their dad’s face the moment he saw something like that; Tim was sure the old man still hadn’t recovered from the first time he met Abby.
By the second hour of the plane trip, though, McGee had examined so much of the background material about the organization Tony and Michael had been trying to shut down that he was afraid his lunch was going to come back up. With each new document, he saw another example of uncompromising brutality and efficiency that painted a picture of a very dangerous group of criminals who would do anything to protect their interests. Even DiNozzo’s joke of a codename for the organization - SMERSH, likely used because of Tony’s love of the Connery Bond movies - or the fact that Mossad as a whole seemed to embrace the nickname wholeheartedly (whether out of perverse humor or a complete lack of it, Tim wasn’t sure) couldn’t hide how much danger Tony and Ziva were actually in.
Unable to look at another report linking this group to an assassination, or a weapons linked to them and used against Americans in Afghanistan or Iraq, or a suspected bribery of a high government official somewhere else in Europe, Tim then tried to do some free writing on his laptop, only to discover that, without his typewriter, he couldn’t make the words sing. Trying to type with one hand certainly didn’t help, but the laptop just wasn’t the same. Even worse, every time he managed a sentence that didn’t entirely suck, his thoughts would inevitably jump to the terrible photographs he’d just looked at and his subconscious would then superimpose Tony or Ziva’s face on the corpse. He’d promised Abby that he would bring them back … but had it been wrong of him to make such a promise? What if they were already too late?
“Stop thinking, McGee.” Gibbs’ order caused Tim to jump in surprise and glance across the small aisle to where his boss reclined in the plush leather seat of the executive jet that Deputy Director Vance had acquired for their trip. Sitting next to Gibbs with his hands clasped across his stomach, Ducky stared out the window, an uncomfortable expression on his face.
“Sorry, Boss,” Tim said. He closed his laptop and placed it on the seat next to him. “Just worried about…” McGee trailed off, glancing down at his immobilized arm.
“So am I, Tim,” Gibbs murmured. He glanced at his watch before glancing in the direction of the cockpit. When Doctor Mallard shifted anxiously at his side, Gibbs gave him a sidelong look. “You okay, Duck?” he asked.
“Not particularly,” the doctor replied. “I cannot say that I’m particularly enthusiastic about this trip, Jethro.” When Gibbs frowned, Ducky continued. “I work with the dead,” he pointed out, “and I desperately do not wish my services to be necessary for Tony or Ziva.”
“That makes two of us,” Gibbs said with another grimace.
“Three,” Tim corrected softly.
“They might need medical attention,” Gibbs continued as if McGee hadn’t even spoken, “and nobody knows Tony’s record like you do.”
“Ah,” Ducky said, brightening as comprehension flickered across his face. “His lungs. Yes, I can see how that might confuse a Navy corpsman who had never encountered the aftermath of Y. pestis. Well done, Jethro.” Gibbs smirked.
“Not my first day, Duck.” The doctor chuckled, though it sounded a little forced. “Both of you should try to get some sleep,” Gibbs suggested in a tone that made it clear it wasn’t a suggestion. “When we hit the ground, we’re not going to stop until we find them.” When Tim opened his mouth to reply, his boss pinned him with a look so fierce that McGee leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.
He jolted awake sometime later, momentarily confused about his surroundings, and the last vestiges of the nightmare - the usual one, about Jeanne dying, though there was a new wrinkle: she kept changing into Tony or Ziva, so Tim wasn’t sure exactly which one had reached the Porsche before it exploded - causing cold sweat to stain his shirt. Ducky was snoring softly, but Gibbs was wide awake, a death grip on the aluminum coffee mug he’d brought along. His eyes were locked on McGee, a sympathetic expression on his face, and Tim looked down.
“We should be landing in thirty minutes or so,” Gibbs said after an awkward moment of silence. Tim nodded and rubbed his eyes.
“Does it ever get easier?” he asked softly. Gibbs flinched.
“I can’t answer that for you, Tim,” the older man replied. “Everybody is wired differently.” He looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the topic, but to McGee’s surprise, Gibbs continued to speak. “When this is over,” he said, “you should take some time off to deal with this.”
“I’m okay, Boss,” Tim argued. Gibbs glared.
“No,” he said, “you’re not.” He leaned forward, pinning McGee with a too bright gaze. “Trust me on this, Tim. If you don’t deal with this, it’ll eat you up from the inside.” The smile he gave Tim looked more like a grimace. “Don’t be like me, Tim,” he added, the words instantly bringing to mind memory of Gibbs’ drunken comments to Tony in the wake of Paula’s funeral so long ago.
“I promise, Boss,” McGee whispered, his eyes wide. Gibbs nodded, as if satisfied, and fell back into his seat.
They landed at Bodø Main Air Station, Norway twenty-five minutes later and exited the plane to find no one to greet them. Tim shivered slightly at the unexpected chill in the air, before glancing around in an attempt to get his bearings. It was just a little past midnight local time, and with no moon and the thick cloud cover blotting out the stars, the lack of ambient light made it really hard to see more than a few feet. Gibbs hefted his bag and stalked off to the right, no trace of hesitation in his stride. Ducky shrugged and gave Tim an amused smile before they both fell into step behind the silver-haired ex-sniper.
Barely ten steps away from the plane, the sound of an approaching car caused them to glance to their left. Its lights out, a black SUV slowed to a stop alongside them. A bald but powerfully built African-American man was behind the wheel and he flashed his badge through the window before gesturing for them to get in.
“Sam Hanna,” the man said as they clambered into the SUV. “You must be Gibbs.”
“I must be,” Gibbs replied. “This is Doctor Mallard, our M.E., and Special Agent McGee.”
“No offense, Doc,” Hanna said with a smirk as he put the truck into gear and accelerated, “but I’m hoping we don’t need you.”
“Oh, you aren’t the only one, Agent Hanna,” Ducky replied.
“Hanna.” Gibbs frowned. “You’re with OSP?” The driver nodded. “Callen’s mentioned you once or twice. Said you weren’t totally useless.”
“Coming from him, that’s a hell of a compliment,” Hanna remarked with an amused shake of his head. “We’ve got a platoon of SEALs here on combat standby,” he said. “We can be wheels up in ten minutes if our people in the field give the word.”
“You’ll be going with them?” Gibbs asked, the remark causing Tim to realize that Hanna was wearing dark combat gear with an ease that identified him as ex-military.
“Deputy Director Vance gave me operational command,” Hanna said, “since I’m a former SEAL and actually served with some of these guys, so yeah, I’m going in with them.”
“I’ll need a rifle,” Gibbs began, but Hanna was already shaking his head.
“Not gonna happen,” the ex-SEAL said flatly. When Gibbs turned his cold stare on him, Hanna smirked. “Callen warned me about that look,” he said before abruptly sobering. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Gibbs, but you’d be a liability to us in the field.” He held up a hand to forestall Gibbs’ reply. “I know all about the sniper background,” Hanna said, “but you’re what? Early, mid fifties? With bum knees and crappy eyes?” Gibbs’ glare intensified, but Hanna continued. “Leon gave me command of the field operation and there’s no way in hell I’m going to risk my guys by taking a wild card like you on this op.”
“Jethro…” Ducky’s voice was clearly intended to be mollifying, but Gibbs shot him a dark look before returning his full attention to Hanna.
“These are my people we’re talking about,” he said tightly.
“And I give you my word as a SEAL that I will bring them back,” Hanna replied, “but you are not going in with us. Period.” He braked and turned into an empty parking space outside an unremarkable-looking building. There were a couple of familiar faces lounging next to the door of the structure and McGee frowned.
“Boss,” he called out, nodding in the direction of the two Mossad officers he recognized. Gibbs grunted and slid out of the SUV before it came to a complete stop.
“Agent Gibbs,” Officer Hadar greeted calmly. He was wearing an outfit similar to what Hanna had on, though there were a few minor differences. At his side, Ariel Livni stood straight, both arms clasped together at the small of his back. He too was wearing the combat fatigues, and the still healing burns and scrapes on his face lent him a dangerous, almost sinister appearance.
“What are you doing here?” Gibbs demanded.
“This is to be a joint operation,” Hadar replied calmly. “My director sent a team to assist in retrieving Officer David and Agent DiNozzo, and they are coordinating with your SEALs right now.” The smile he flashed didn’t have a trace of human warmth. “Surely you did not expect us to idly sit by while one of our own was in danger.” Gibbs glanced to Hanna who promptly shrugged.
“I’ve worked with Mossad before,” he admitted before grinning. “But you’re still not going, Gibbs,” he added.
“Yes,” Hadar interjected calmly. “I have explicit instructions from Deputy Director Vance to exclude you from field operations.”
“These are my people!” Gibbs growled. He balled his hands up into fists and looked like he was on the verge of attacking.
“Officer David is a member of Mossad,” Hadar pointed out. Gibbs glared.
“I consider her one of mine,” he retorted harshly. To Tim’s surprise, Hadar smiled.
“And Mossad considers Agent DiNozzo one of ours,” he said, the comment causing Gibbs to rock back on his heels in visible surprise. “I will bring them back, Agent Gibbs,” Hadar promised, his voice earnest, before nodding for Livni to follow him. Without another word, the two Mossad officers climbed into the SUV.
“Hanna,” Gibbs called out before they could leave. The African-American glanced back. “Callen. Where is he?” The ex-SEAL smiled.
“Already in the field,” he replied. “Where’d you think he’d be?” He nodded to the building they stood before. “That’s the command center,” Hanna said. “You’ll be running things from there and will be our eyes in the sky.”
“Good luck,” Ducky said as Hanna slid behind the wheel.
A moment later, he was gone.
“Boss?” Tim shifted awkwardly, not sure what to say. From the moment he had boarded the plane, he had known that he wouldn’t be involved with the actual rescue - the hairline fracture of his collarbone eliminated him from any field ops, even though it felt fine - but he could see the worry and open fear on Gibbs’ face over being excluded from the op. The older man clearly felt that he owed Tony and Ziva, and probably thought he was letting them down by staying here instead of going in with the SEALs.
“Come along, Jethro,” Ducky instructed softly. “We cannot help them from out here.” The doctor pulled the door open and waited.
“Yeah,” Gibbs murmured. He shook the moment off and McGee could actually see him firm up his resolve. “Let’s go bring our people home.”
A/N #2: I have been completely unable to find any real good visual representations of Bodø Main Air Station, Norway, so I have intentionally avoided describing it. In the event that there are some Norwegian fans reading this, I mean no slight ... I just can't seem to locate any reference images. :(
Tim
The plane trip to Norway gave him far too much time to think.
Tim had brought along all of the data they’d received from Mossad and spent the first few hours of the trip studying it with the hope that he would find something that he’d overlooked the first time. Before he left, he’d made sure that Michelle would sign for the daily delivery of translated copies of Deep Six - he was up to twelve by last count and had to admit that Tony had outdone himself with this particular prank - and convinced Sarah to spend the next week with their parents. Just in case she decided to ignore him (which was always a strong possibility with her these days) he’d talked Abby into checking up on his sister … although, in retrospect, that might have been a mistake. The very last thing he needed to deal with when he got back to D.C. was the discovery that Sarah had decided to go ahead and get the angel wings tattoo on her back that she’d once expressed interest in. He could only imagine the look on their dad’s face the moment he saw something like that; Tim was sure the old man still hadn’t recovered from the first time he met Abby.
By the second hour of the plane trip, though, McGee had examined so much of the background material about the organization Tony and Michael had been trying to shut down that he was afraid his lunch was going to come back up. With each new document, he saw another example of uncompromising brutality and efficiency that painted a picture of a very dangerous group of criminals who would do anything to protect their interests. Even DiNozzo’s joke of a codename for the organization - SMERSH, likely used because of Tony’s love of the Connery Bond movies - or the fact that Mossad as a whole seemed to embrace the nickname wholeheartedly (whether out of perverse humor or a complete lack of it, Tim wasn’t sure) couldn’t hide how much danger Tony and Ziva were actually in.
Unable to look at another report linking this group to an assassination, or a weapons linked to them and used against Americans in Afghanistan or Iraq, or a suspected bribery of a high government official somewhere else in Europe, Tim then tried to do some free writing on his laptop, only to discover that, without his typewriter, he couldn’t make the words sing. Trying to type with one hand certainly didn’t help, but the laptop just wasn’t the same. Even worse, every time he managed a sentence that didn’t entirely suck, his thoughts would inevitably jump to the terrible photographs he’d just looked at and his subconscious would then superimpose Tony or Ziva’s face on the corpse. He’d promised Abby that he would bring them back … but had it been wrong of him to make such a promise? What if they were already too late?
“Stop thinking, McGee.” Gibbs’ order caused Tim to jump in surprise and glance across the small aisle to where his boss reclined in the plush leather seat of the executive jet that Deputy Director Vance had acquired for their trip. Sitting next to Gibbs with his hands clasped across his stomach, Ducky stared out the window, an uncomfortable expression on his face.
“Sorry, Boss,” Tim said. He closed his laptop and placed it on the seat next to him. “Just worried about…” McGee trailed off, glancing down at his immobilized arm.
“So am I, Tim,” Gibbs murmured. He glanced at his watch before glancing in the direction of the cockpit. When Doctor Mallard shifted anxiously at his side, Gibbs gave him a sidelong look. “You okay, Duck?” he asked.
“Not particularly,” the doctor replied. “I cannot say that I’m particularly enthusiastic about this trip, Jethro.” When Gibbs frowned, Ducky continued. “I work with the dead,” he pointed out, “and I desperately do not wish my services to be necessary for Tony or Ziva.”
“That makes two of us,” Gibbs said with another grimace.
“Three,” Tim corrected softly.
“They might need medical attention,” Gibbs continued as if McGee hadn’t even spoken, “and nobody knows Tony’s record like you do.”
“Ah,” Ducky said, brightening as comprehension flickered across his face. “His lungs. Yes, I can see how that might confuse a Navy corpsman who had never encountered the aftermath of Y. pestis. Well done, Jethro.” Gibbs smirked.
“Not my first day, Duck.” The doctor chuckled, though it sounded a little forced. “Both of you should try to get some sleep,” Gibbs suggested in a tone that made it clear it wasn’t a suggestion. “When we hit the ground, we’re not going to stop until we find them.” When Tim opened his mouth to reply, his boss pinned him with a look so fierce that McGee leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.
He jolted awake sometime later, momentarily confused about his surroundings, and the last vestiges of the nightmare - the usual one, about Jeanne dying, though there was a new wrinkle: she kept changing into Tony or Ziva, so Tim wasn’t sure exactly which one had reached the Porsche before it exploded - causing cold sweat to stain his shirt. Ducky was snoring softly, but Gibbs was wide awake, a death grip on the aluminum coffee mug he’d brought along. His eyes were locked on McGee, a sympathetic expression on his face, and Tim looked down.
“We should be landing in thirty minutes or so,” Gibbs said after an awkward moment of silence. Tim nodded and rubbed his eyes.
“Does it ever get easier?” he asked softly. Gibbs flinched.
“I can’t answer that for you, Tim,” the older man replied. “Everybody is wired differently.” He looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the topic, but to McGee’s surprise, Gibbs continued to speak. “When this is over,” he said, “you should take some time off to deal with this.”
“I’m okay, Boss,” Tim argued. Gibbs glared.
“No,” he said, “you’re not.” He leaned forward, pinning McGee with a too bright gaze. “Trust me on this, Tim. If you don’t deal with this, it’ll eat you up from the inside.” The smile he gave Tim looked more like a grimace. “Don’t be like me, Tim,” he added, the words instantly bringing to mind memory of Gibbs’ drunken comments to Tony in the wake of Paula’s funeral so long ago.
“I promise, Boss,” McGee whispered, his eyes wide. Gibbs nodded, as if satisfied, and fell back into his seat.
They landed at Bodø Main Air Station, Norway twenty-five minutes later and exited the plane to find no one to greet them. Tim shivered slightly at the unexpected chill in the air, before glancing around in an attempt to get his bearings. It was just a little past midnight local time, and with no moon and the thick cloud cover blotting out the stars, the lack of ambient light made it really hard to see more than a few feet. Gibbs hefted his bag and stalked off to the right, no trace of hesitation in his stride. Ducky shrugged and gave Tim an amused smile before they both fell into step behind the silver-haired ex-sniper.
Barely ten steps away from the plane, the sound of an approaching car caused them to glance to their left. Its lights out, a black SUV slowed to a stop alongside them. A bald but powerfully built African-American man was behind the wheel and he flashed his badge through the window before gesturing for them to get in.
“Sam Hanna,” the man said as they clambered into the SUV. “You must be Gibbs.”
“I must be,” Gibbs replied. “This is Doctor Mallard, our M.E., and Special Agent McGee.”
“No offense, Doc,” Hanna said with a smirk as he put the truck into gear and accelerated, “but I’m hoping we don’t need you.”
“Oh, you aren’t the only one, Agent Hanna,” Ducky replied.
“Hanna.” Gibbs frowned. “You’re with OSP?” The driver nodded. “Callen’s mentioned you once or twice. Said you weren’t totally useless.”
“Coming from him, that’s a hell of a compliment,” Hanna remarked with an amused shake of his head. “We’ve got a platoon of SEALs here on combat standby,” he said. “We can be wheels up in ten minutes if our people in the field give the word.”
“You’ll be going with them?” Gibbs asked, the remark causing Tim to realize that Hanna was wearing dark combat gear with an ease that identified him as ex-military.
“Deputy Director Vance gave me operational command,” Hanna said, “since I’m a former SEAL and actually served with some of these guys, so yeah, I’m going in with them.”
“I’ll need a rifle,” Gibbs began, but Hanna was already shaking his head.
“Not gonna happen,” the ex-SEAL said flatly. When Gibbs turned his cold stare on him, Hanna smirked. “Callen warned me about that look,” he said before abruptly sobering. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Gibbs, but you’d be a liability to us in the field.” He held up a hand to forestall Gibbs’ reply. “I know all about the sniper background,” Hanna said, “but you’re what? Early, mid fifties? With bum knees and crappy eyes?” Gibbs’ glare intensified, but Hanna continued. “Leon gave me command of the field operation and there’s no way in hell I’m going to risk my guys by taking a wild card like you on this op.”
“Jethro…” Ducky’s voice was clearly intended to be mollifying, but Gibbs shot him a dark look before returning his full attention to Hanna.
“These are my people we’re talking about,” he said tightly.
“And I give you my word as a SEAL that I will bring them back,” Hanna replied, “but you are not going in with us. Period.” He braked and turned into an empty parking space outside an unremarkable-looking building. There were a couple of familiar faces lounging next to the door of the structure and McGee frowned.
“Boss,” he called out, nodding in the direction of the two Mossad officers he recognized. Gibbs grunted and slid out of the SUV before it came to a complete stop.
“Agent Gibbs,” Officer Hadar greeted calmly. He was wearing an outfit similar to what Hanna had on, though there were a few minor differences. At his side, Ariel Livni stood straight, both arms clasped together at the small of his back. He too was wearing the combat fatigues, and the still healing burns and scrapes on his face lent him a dangerous, almost sinister appearance.
“What are you doing here?” Gibbs demanded.
“This is to be a joint operation,” Hadar replied calmly. “My director sent a team to assist in retrieving Officer David and Agent DiNozzo, and they are coordinating with your SEALs right now.” The smile he flashed didn’t have a trace of human warmth. “Surely you did not expect us to idly sit by while one of our own was in danger.” Gibbs glanced to Hanna who promptly shrugged.
“I’ve worked with Mossad before,” he admitted before grinning. “But you’re still not going, Gibbs,” he added.
“Yes,” Hadar interjected calmly. “I have explicit instructions from Deputy Director Vance to exclude you from field operations.”
“These are my people!” Gibbs growled. He balled his hands up into fists and looked like he was on the verge of attacking.
“Officer David is a member of Mossad,” Hadar pointed out. Gibbs glared.
“I consider her one of mine,” he retorted harshly. To Tim’s surprise, Hadar smiled.
“And Mossad considers Agent DiNozzo one of ours,” he said, the comment causing Gibbs to rock back on his heels in visible surprise. “I will bring them back, Agent Gibbs,” Hadar promised, his voice earnest, before nodding for Livni to follow him. Without another word, the two Mossad officers climbed into the SUV.
“Hanna,” Gibbs called out before they could leave. The African-American glanced back. “Callen. Where is he?” The ex-SEAL smiled.
“Already in the field,” he replied. “Where’d you think he’d be?” He nodded to the building they stood before. “That’s the command center,” Hanna said. “You’ll be running things from there and will be our eyes in the sky.”
“Good luck,” Ducky said as Hanna slid behind the wheel.
A moment later, he was gone.
“Boss?” Tim shifted awkwardly, not sure what to say. From the moment he had boarded the plane, he had known that he wouldn’t be involved with the actual rescue - the hairline fracture of his collarbone eliminated him from any field ops, even though it felt fine - but he could see the worry and open fear on Gibbs’ face over being excluded from the op. The older man clearly felt that he owed Tony and Ziva, and probably thought he was letting them down by staying here instead of going in with the SEALs.
“Come along, Jethro,” Ducky instructed softly. “We cannot help them from out here.” The doctor pulled the door open and waited.
“Yeah,” Gibbs murmured. He shook the moment off and McGee could actually see him firm up his resolve. “Let’s go bring our people home.”
A/N #2: I have been completely unable to find any real good visual representations of Bodø Main Air Station, Norway, so I have intentionally avoided describing it. In the event that there are some Norwegian fans reading this, I mean no slight ... I just can't seem to locate any reference images. :(