A/N: I honestly have no idea where this came from, or what it means--I just wanted to write some Tiva angst. And this happened. It's kind of...different. From McGee's POV.
Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS.
Betting
It's unfortunate when you lose a bet. But sometimes, it's even worse to win a bet you didn't mean to make.
I bet this won't end well.
You wanted them to be happy. You didn't think they were really complementary, as so many others seemed to, but if they truly wanted each other, you wanted them. They were your best friends, and you never would have willed anything but the best for both of them.
She didn't mean to do it. You know that, but a little voice in the back of your head is telling you she was relieved it happened, even accidentally.
What you're most angry about, what makes the sting of his death even worse, is that she lied. She claimed it was self-defense.
The idea of her using self-defense against him is laughable.
She should have been able to take him down easily, without even injuring him if she didn't want to. Instead, the police found a sobbing woman crouched next to a bloody man, an equally bloody knife a foot away.
Maybe this was one of their games. Or maybe they got in a fight; she always liked to get physical, because she was so much better at it than he was. His height was no advantage against her training.
When she climbed onto the courtroom bench, crying, you knew they were crocodile tears. You'd known her long enough to tell the difference. She wove a story of domestic abuse and how in her last defense against her advancing boyfriend, she had grabbed the knife. He'd lunged for her, she'd tried to protect herself, and the rest was history.
Oh, the poor, abused woman, the audience seemed to croon.
Your skin itched. You were in shock that she could ever claim something like that happened—she was a trained assassin, not some helpless Barbie doll, and he would never, ever have hit a woman. Besides this, she was mysteriously unable to produce any visible wounds.
You were stricken, but your boss was furious. When the verdict—accidental manslaughter, a term of years in jail—was announced, she winked at you as if to say 'How'd I do?'
You could only stare.
What happened to the woman you used to be?
--
A week passed and no one could make any sense of it. You went to visit her in jail, and this time she was more appropriately subdued. She tried to explain her reasons for lying, but they were flimsy excuses and it was obvious she was glad to have him out of her life for good.
She apologized, but sorry wasn't enough, and all you could see was a dangerous person—a killer.
You told her bluntly that you had always liked him more, and gleaned satisfaction from the hurt on her face.
You walked away without looking back, and when she was whisked off to Israel, to be free and work for her father again, you took the belongings in her desk and burned them.
And vowed never, ever, to make another bet.