Taking His Place

by channeld

written for: the NFA Abby Wears the Pants challenge. This challenge requires a Tim/Abby situation in which Abby is in control.
rating: K plus
genre: drama, action, case file
pairing: McAbby friendship


disclaimer: I still own nothing of NCIS.


10:02 p.m.

Abby stood before Tim's closet, pushing the clothes on hangers back and forth, quietly, searching…searching. Darn it, he was so skinny. This would be hard. She was only a few inches shorter than he was, so the height wasn't an issue. His suit coats and shirts, though, were out. Her chest was bigger than his was…particularly given his weight loss in the last few years. And as for pants? She bit back a sigh. Most men didn't have hips to speak of. McGee had no hips; none at all. A physical abnormality, he was. She, on the other hand, had a woman's standard hips. It had never been an issue until now.

There was nothing in the closet that would work!

She almost gave the hangers a shove, punishing them for not being helpful. Then she remembered Tim.

He, though, was soundly asleep, still. Good.

There must be something…Aha! His dresser. Opening a bottom drawer with the greatest caution lest it squeak, she was rewarded with just the thing: a dark-colored, nondescript sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. Yes, those would fit her.


7:43 p.m.

"Ow. Who'd have guessed this could hurt so much?"

Abby gave him a sympathetic, yet stern, look. "Don't move around so much, Tim." She gave him a supportive arm as he sat down on his bed, and propped the crutches against the night stand. He lay down on the bed, and she gently helped him swing the injured leg up. "Do you want to take the painkillers now?"

"No…maybe. I don't know," he sighed. "Why is it that we are wussier about minor injuries than we are about major ones?"

She folded her arms and smirked at him. "You want me to call your mother?"

"Oh, would you?" he asked. "She'd get on the next plane out here. My mom loves me."

Abby gave him a very light whack on his head. "No, she wouldn't. I've talked to your mom on the phone a couple of times, remember? She'd tell you to suck it up and don't get in this mess again."

"Yeah, that sounds like her."

"Take your painkillers. I'll get you a glass of water. Do you want me to take your shoes off? I'll take your shoes off."

"I'm okay, Abby. Calm down," Tim said, and winced at the pain. Abby filled a glass with water and offered him two pills, which he took.

"Gibbs is not going to forgive me for breaking you," she said, frowning. "Not with so much at stake."

"So don't tell him yet," Tim said, his eyes closing. The apartment was warm, and the stress of the last day combined with his cold just made him tired.

Abby nodded, wondering how long she could avoid talking to Gibbs.


10:21 p.m.

She gave Jethro, Tim's faithful dog, a pat before she left. "Wish me luck," she whispered. Then, in a flash of reasoning, she knew something had to be done with her hair. She had a couple of seldom-used barrettes in her purse; these she used to quickly pin her braids to the top of her head, without the aid of a mirror. There wasn't time to check a mirror. It didn't matter if she looked terribly neat or not; she just had to look something like…Tim, at night, at a distance. She knew he kept a spare NCIS swoop cap in his closet, for those rare occasions when he left for an assignment directly from home. It was a little tight over her braids, but it would do.

Sorry, Timmy, she thought as she slipped his cell phone into her pocket, leaving her own in its place on the table. They might try to contact Tim. They wouldn't need to contact her.


9:21 a.m.

She tried to listen to what Gibbs and the team were saying, she really did (fully convinced that she could multitask), but her eyes and ears were drawn to the ZNN report on the TV. Then she realized that the others were watching, too.

"…little Bonnie Dakins, seen in this 2010 family photo, who was first reported missing from her home in Alexandria two days ago. The ransom demand, made yesterday, has touched the hearts of all in the metro area. In an emotional statement issued today, her father, Navy Captain Joseph Dakins, pleaded with the kidnappers to return his daughter safely. Her mother wept…"

Abby was not always swept away by kid stories, but Bonnie Dakins' appealed to her. The then 5-year-old with a tousled head of frizzy hair and big brown eyes behind pink-rimmed glasses had an infectious grin in the photo. Another photo, often flashed by the news media, showed her in the grass with a cricket in the palm of her hand. This is what got to Abby. Six years old, and Bonnie had her life mapped out already.

"…because she wants to be an entomologist when she grows up," her father was saying, his voice choked. "She just loves bugs. And she's smart, so smart, she knows that's what an entomologist does, and it's often mistaken for an etymologist. She's proud that she knows that."

Abby was proud, too, of this little girl she'd never met; this proto-scientist, this girl who could bravely lead her generation of females into science and math.

"You've got to find her, Gibbs," Abby heard herself saying.

"Working on it, Abbs," she heard him say from somewhere behind her.


10:26 p.m.

She raced out of Tim's apartment, shrugging into his trench coat (without closing it) with a goal in mind but no clear idea of how to implement it. Before she started Tim's car, she pulled Tim's phone and stared at it for a long minute. Then she started texting.

I need the location for the drop.

Within seconds, Ziva's reply came.

In Prince William Forest Park; a mile from the entrance. Were you not listening before? And are you texting while driving, McGee?

Abby's face burned at the scolding implication, although in fact she hadn't even started the engine yet. She was glad that Ziva hadn't asked why she was texting.

Got it. Thanks.

She hoped that sounded curt enough, like Tim would do if mildly stressed.

Now where in the world was Prince William Forest Park, again?


1:07 p.m.

"Honestly, boss; I can stay. You might need me. As a back-up, maybe."

Gibbs gave Tim a look. "Told you half an hour ago to go home, McGee. You know how the Director feels about people here spreading flu germs."

"I don't think it's the flu; I think it's a cold. Besides, the Dakins—"

"We can handle the case. DiNozzo will make the drop."

"But you might—"

Gibbs sighed greatly in resignation. "Leave your phone on, just in case. But we're going to try to not need you. Now, go."


10:32 p.m.

This was a good time to be alive, Abby decided, when the internet was on one's cell phone. She really did have a vague idea where Prince William Forest Park was; in…Virginia. Or maybe West Virginia. But the internet clearly showed it as being in Virginia, and provided directions. All she had to do was drive south on I-95 until she got there.

And then…do something.

With luck, it would be something that wasn't very dangerous. She didn't like danger; didn't handle it very well.

I'm sure there's nothing to worry about, she told herself.


3:47 p.m.

Abby rang the doorbell, and listened. Yes, there was the familiar, faint, thump of a tail on the floor. Jethro had her scent, and was signaling that a friend was at the door.

"Abby?"

She had to switch mental gears to accept that it was not the dog calling her. "Timmy, I've brought you soup and orange juice and other things to make you well."

He let her in. "You didn't have to leave work early to do this. But thanks."

"It's a pressure cooker there at NCIS. Everyone's so stressed about little Bonnie Dakins. I needed to get away. So I thought I would do my bit by doing something for you." She took a sack of groceries into the kitchen. "Shouldn't you be lying down, or something?"

He smiled, and then sneezed into his shirt sleeve. "I had to get up; there was someone at the door."

"A lame excuse. Well, sit down while I nuke the soup. I haven't eaten at all today, so I brought some for me, too."

"I hope it's chicken soup."

"Of course it is. Chicken and wild rice."

"Mmmmm. You make up for me not being needed at work."


11:16 p.m.

She had driven fast, but traffic was fairly light at this time of night and the weather was clear. There was still plenty of time until the rendezvous: time to get her thoughts in order, to make a plan, to mentally shape herself to act like someone else. To act like a special agent.

Gibbs is going to kill me when he finds out, she thought. On several counts.

But it won't mean much if I can't save Bonnie.


10:01 a.m.

Gibbs snapped his fingers as he breezed back into the squad room, with fresh coffee in hand. "The case is ours now. The FBI is letting us take the lead, now that it looks like someone on Capt. Dakins' ship might be involved."

Tony punched one hand into another, but withheld comment. Tim nodded deeply, and Ziva's hand unconsciously went toward one of the knives that she wore.

"Gibbs, I'll need whatever evidence the FBI—"

"It'll be here within the hour, Abbs."

"The kidnappers haven't made solid demands yet," Tim noted, and coughed.

"They will. They're only considering how much they can get," Gibbs said grimly.

"We are not…not going to meet their demands, are we?"

"Not in the way they might think, Ziva. With a child's life at stake, we…have to be flexible."

Tony raised a hand. "If there's going to be a drop, I want to do it, boss. You know I'm the best man for the job. Sorry, McGermy."

"Why cannot I do it?" Ziva protested.

Gibbs shook his head. "A woman making the drop might be a distraction for them, and we don't want them rattled. But let's wait to see what they say, first."


11:20 p.m.

She pulled into the park entrance and parked. Then she texted Ziva again, hoping that the continued use of texts, instead of voice, wouldn't make Ziva suspicious.

I'm in the park. Where do I go now?

Ziva sent back coordinates for the drop location, and added,

I will keep you in sight at all times, McGee, once you get to the fork for the trail.

That was reassuring. No Tony, no Tim to act as back-up…no Gibbs! But Ziva was a superb fighter. Abby figured she was safe with Ziva watching from the shadows…she hoped.


9:57 p.m.

Abby happened to be in the living room, right by Tim's phone, when it rang. She picked it up to muffle the sound in her hand so it wouldn't wake Tim. Gibbs is going to kill me when he finds I've broken Tim, she thought for the hundredth time, it seemed.

The display showed it was Tony calling. Tony? Shouldn't he be preparing to do the drop? "Hello, Tony?"

"Abbs! Why are you on McGeek's phone? Never mind; I don't want to know. Just yet. Put him on!" Tony's words came in a tumble, and were suffused with excitement (and a touch of a leer). "McGee!" he said a scarce moment later. "Forget your cold and get out to the drop site, pronto! I got in a car wreck and I think my shoulder's busted. I'm in the ER, waiting to be seen. Gibbs can't do the drop; Vance pulled him for some security detail for the SECNAV."

Abby coughed as she tried to reply, tried to tell Tony…

"McGee; I've got to go. They're calling my name here. Come on, Obi-Tim! You're our only hope!" He ended the call before Abby had stopped coughing.


11:22 p.m.

Abby stepped out of the car, locked it, and then she started trembling. What if I can't do this? These are dangerous people! We don't even know if they'll have Bonnie here, just because they said they would…

She gripped the briefcase she held tighter. It was her own seldom-used briefcase that she kept in the trunk of her own car, for those rare and unpleasant times when she had to testify in court. A briefcase is a briefcase, she told herself. The kidnappers wouldn't know the difference.

It struck her that Tony had never mentioned the role of a briefcase in the drop, or how Tim was supposed to get the "official" one. Tony was probably too distracted in pain to think of it. What was in the official one? Real cash? Monopoly money? What was in hers? Nothing, now, except a pen or two and those horrid glasses that she sometimes wore at court. She knew that she had to put something in the briefcase to give it some weight…

She unlocked Tim's car and looked for something; anything. But the car was very tidy and yielded nothing but his car owner's manual and registration, and those she left alone. She relocked the car and leaned against it, thinking.

Then she got an idea and gathered up stray twigs, leaves and pebbles, filling the case with those. Yes; now it had a good, weighty feel.

I can do this, she thought. I can wear the pants here and do the drop. And then Bonnie will be safe. It's that simple.


10:10 a.m.

"But, Gibbs; NCIS never meets ransom demands, does it?" Abby argued. "That just encourages criminals to do it again, and again!"

Gibbs turned toward her, as if having forgotten she was in the squad room. "Don't you have something you should be doing in the lab?"

"But, Gibbs—!"

He only pointed to the elevator. Wearing a pout, she stormed out…but instead of going to the elevator, took a turn as is heading for the stairs. She hid around the corner where she could barely hear the team talking.

"I don't get it either, boss," said Tim. "There's no guarantee that they'll turn over the girl. In fact, they probably won't, because she might identify them."

"Perhaps they are hoping that a six-year-old cannot give a good description," Ziva mused.

"Not my choice. This comes from above," said Gibbs.

"Not surprising," Tony remarked. "Captain Dakins' CO is a close friend of the Chief of Naval Operations. He has the pull to make…unorthodox moves. Boss, hasn't anyone told him that statistics show that kidnappers—"

"He knows."

"Then—"

"He's desperate."

"A parent will do almost anything for their child, usually," Ziva put in.

"Doesn't it take time to get 1.5 million in cash together? I don't think my ATM card would—"

"Anything's possible, if you know the right people."

At this point Abby did leave. This was already too much to absorb. How could NCIS have so much faith that the kidnappers would turn over the girl? What if they took the money and ran? What would they do to the child?


11:31 p.m.

What does someone making a drop need to know? Abby wondered as she strode purposefully toward the meeting point. Then she checked her stride. Ziva would be expecting to see Tim. She would, in her mind, if Abby walked like Tim. But how did Tim walk? She couldn't think of anything distinctive about his walk.

Guys, she knew, didn't swing their hips as they went. She stopped, and then started again, moving more carefully.

Where was Ziva? Abby fought back against the urge to look around for her. Don't give it away, don't give it away… Ziva would have her back; would keep her safe. Ziva knew when to zig and when to zag in times of danger.

Bonnie Dakins is counting on me, she told herself. Well, she probably doesn't know it, but she is.

I'm her only hope.