NCIS (television): Moonstone
Title: Moonstone
Fandom: NCIS
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Gibbs/McGee UST.
Word Count: 350 words
Summary: Gibbs world is not black and white, no matter how much he wishes it was.
A/N: Story for limejuize! This was fun to write too! ...I just wish it could be as long as Attempted Erasure....
Gibbs remembered tripping. He remembered it very well: the hallways had been dark, with only a dim light at the corner -- buzzing and flickering sporadically. The light had been very white; it had washed out everything, made it look like a goddamn Humphrey Bogart movie.
He had been running through those dark halls and their humming, flashing lights. He remembered thinking that it would be an epileptic's nightmare. He had been glad that Tony wasn't there to make jokes; it was just him and Ziva, who prowled out of his line of sight, lit up by the lights' oscillations only occasionally.
And then they had that damned corner, and they had heard the shouting and the shots, and then he had ceased thinking and started running.
That was when he tripped, right over McGee's legs. He had spent years stepping over those legs, whenever McGee had to commandeer the floor for some reason or other; years stepping, hopping and jumping over, depending on how many wires were strewn about. Years of practice, and it had flown out of his head when confronted with panic.
When he had picked himself up, Ziva had already leapt into the dark room in front of McGee, her shout ringing off the concrete walls, making both men shudder. McGee had drawn his legs up against himself when Gibbs approached, pressing his back against the wall, trying to keep the older man out. Gibbs hadn't pushed it; just put a hand on McGee's twitching shoulder, noting the blood-spattered pistol clutched in McGee's left hand.
That damn flickering light had washed the color out of everything. It had turned McGee's hair black, his skin white. His blood silver.
Yes, Gibbs remembered that too. The blood had been leaking from a wound in McGee's stomach, staining his shirt and streaming onto the floor like water from a faucet. There had been a lot of it, pooling on the floor, congealing onto his clothes.
"You're bleeding, McGee," Gibbs had whispered, placing a hand over the wound.
Tim had said nothing, and simply covered Gibbs hand with his own.
Fandom: NCIS
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Gibbs/McGee UST.
Word Count: 350 words
Summary: Gibbs world is not black and white, no matter how much he wishes it was.
A/N: Story for limejuize! This was fun to write too! ...I just wish it could be as long as Attempted Erasure....
Gibbs remembered tripping. He remembered it very well: the hallways had been dark, with only a dim light at the corner -- buzzing and flickering sporadically. The light had been very white; it had washed out everything, made it look like a goddamn Humphrey Bogart movie.
He had been running through those dark halls and their humming, flashing lights. He remembered thinking that it would be an epileptic's nightmare. He had been glad that Tony wasn't there to make jokes; it was just him and Ziva, who prowled out of his line of sight, lit up by the lights' oscillations only occasionally.
And then they had that damned corner, and they had heard the shouting and the shots, and then he had ceased thinking and started running.
That was when he tripped, right over McGee's legs. He had spent years stepping over those legs, whenever McGee had to commandeer the floor for some reason or other; years stepping, hopping and jumping over, depending on how many wires were strewn about. Years of practice, and it had flown out of his head when confronted with panic.
When he had picked himself up, Ziva had already leapt into the dark room in front of McGee, her shout ringing off the concrete walls, making both men shudder. McGee had drawn his legs up against himself when Gibbs approached, pressing his back against the wall, trying to keep the older man out. Gibbs hadn't pushed it; just put a hand on McGee's twitching shoulder, noting the blood-spattered pistol clutched in McGee's left hand.
That damn flickering light had washed the color out of everything. It had turned McGee's hair black, his skin white. His blood silver.
Yes, Gibbs remembered that too. The blood had been leaking from a wound in McGee's stomach, staining his shirt and streaming onto the floor like water from a faucet. There had been a lot of it, pooling on the floor, congealing onto his clothes.
"You're bleeding, McGee," Gibbs had whispered, placing a hand over the wound.
Tim had said nothing, and simply covered Gibbs hand with his own.