Plot: McGee is attacked on his way home from work and is knocked unconscious. He wakes up on the sofa in his apartment with a familiar face watching him. Samson Johnathan McGee, Tim's twin brother. The question is who attacked McGee, why and what has Sam done to make a criminal from the NCIS most wanted board come after him?
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC's and the general idea/plot. Everything else belongs to its current owners. No profit is being made from the story, it is purely for entertainment purposes.
Author's note: This is my first fanfic, ever so please be nice. Constructive criticism only please. Chapters will be uploaded ASAP as I'm a full time student with little free time for writing.
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Chapter 1: Tim McGee, not Sam
"Thanks, Suzy, I'll see you later."
"That's alright, Timothy, and you take care now, sweetheart."
Exiting the car, special agent Timothy McGee nods and waves goodbye to Suzy, his neighbor, who kindly gave him a lift to the high street not far from his home. The elderly woman couldn't drop him at his front door as she had an errand to run, but, Tim didn't complain. He preferred her driving over Ziva David's, his female co-worker, and Suzy's company is much more better than the likes of his male co-worker, special agent Anthony Dinozzo and his boss, Leroy Jethro Gibbs. The car journeys McGee has with Suzy are absent of awkward silences filled with stares and movie trivia, talks of women or unexpected detours to bars that usually occur during any trips he has with his boss and Tony. Tim's car is in the shop and wouldn't be repaired until later, hence why he got a lift from his passing neighbor, who was only to happy to pass up the opportunity for a friendly, casual chat with McGee.
Tim had already began walking through the almost vacant street when a soft drop of water lands on his head. The agent lifts his head to the murky, cloud filled sky and a single drop of water marks his left cheek. More and more drops fall, the rain getting heaver and heaver. Sighing softly, McGee vowed never to let Ziva drive his car ever again. He let her use it yesterday and the mossad agent ended up speeding and had crashed it into a fire hydrant thus putting the car temporarily out of action. The part-time, best selling author continues walking down the high street and decides to turn right into a short cut he knew well.
The offending stench of puke, urine and garbage nearly makes McGee vomit whenever he takes this rote home. Graffiti consumes the walls overpowering the colourless, chipped paint. Litter devours the cracked, wide, concrete floor with several, torn rubbish sacks on either side of the alleyway. The sound of falling water echoes through the shortcut as Tim begins walking forwards cautiously. He couldn't put his finger on it, but, McGee could tell something isn't right. But what?
A muscular man, in his late thirties, begins approaching Tim from the other end of the alley. He's only a few inches taller than the federal agent, who is about halfway through the shortcut. The man's crew cut, russet hair appears a few shades darker than it would be when dry. Two hazel orbs are dazed off and not really focused on anything. Sharp, clear words flow out of the stranger's mouth bouncing of the disgraceful walls and back to Tim's ears.
"Right, Frank, so we're agreed?"
A short pause is interrupted by the man continuing his conversation. "Very good. Now for phase two in the plan. Micheal and I are getting the package now. I'll be there soon." The man freezes and releases a booming laugh into the alley. McGee curiously observes the man as he turns to the left side of the alley. A slim, sliver, rectangular object is pressed up against his left ear, supported by the man's left hand. A mobile phone. He could see it clearly now being only a few feet away from the stranger. "No, no, no, I assure you, I won't make the same mistake twice. Trust me, Frank, Sam J McGee will not escape me this time." Tim freezes, holding his breath at the name as the man looks at the federal agent, a Cheshire cat grin on his face. "Nice try Sam, but, did you really think dying your hair would fool me?" Generally confused McGee decides to set the man straight. "But I'm not..."
Wham!
The author is knocked to the ground as something hit him on the back of the head, hard. Vision blurring, Tim shakes his head to clear it and reaches for his knife. Gibbs' rule, number nine, never go anywhere without a knife. Before he manages to reach it, another blow knocks the agent face first to the ground. Strong arms force him of the ground and push him against the left wall revealing both of his attackers.
The man, now of his phone, is the one who had grabbed Tim to pin him against the wall. A look that says 'I'm pissed off so don't mess with me' is written all over his face. McGee blinks furiously, in an attempt to clear his vision and it works. He notices another man standing behind the first man as if standing guard or waiting for instructions.
A muscular man in his early thirties with white skin that's lightly tanned. A singular tattoo lays on the right side of his the man's, consisting of a black and red Cobra wrapped around a white, human skull. Shaggy, black hair rested on his head as two sapphire orbs glared at Tim as if waiting for something. A signal or sign of some kind that the NCIS agent would cause trouble for the attackers. A wooden, ash baseball bat is held tightly in the man's right hand, fresh blood dripping on the end of it.
"Try anything and I'll knock some sense into you, again."
The second man threatens with a nod at the weapon in his hand, his voice deep and bold. "You really thought you could get away with it and not expect us to find you, Sam. How thick can you get?" The first man spat at McGee who had to hold his breath to stop the stench of whiskey, tabacco and marijuana as the man breathed in his face. "You're wrong. I'm not Sam." Tim declares as the attacker's grip tightens on the agent. "Sure and I'm the king of France." The sarcasm drips from his voice as the man instantly returns to his 'don't mess with me' persona. "Now, Sam, where is it?" "Where's what?" The author asks patiently, wanting to know more from his attackers. The second man growls at him, narrowing his eyes as he turns to the first man. "Can I hit him now?" "No." "Why not. He's clearly buying time and I hear that torture is a wonderful technique for information."
McGee tenses and hopes his gulp goes unnoticed as black spots return to cloud his vision. His head is killing him, but getting worse and the agent couldn't afford to pass out now. He violently shakes his head to clear his vision but the spots remain to devour his view. "Having trouble, Sam? Look just give us the chip and we'll be on our way. We'll even call an ambulance for you. So, what do you say?" The first man states, but, Tim knows he's lying, he is a federal agent after all. He narrows his eyes at the attacker who seems to get the message. "Fine, we'll do this the hard way. Micheal, it's your turn." He drops the agent who crumples to the ground with a thud. The second man, Micheal, is on him like a shot. He swings the bat and it makes direct contact with its target knocking him front first to the ground. The taste of iron emerges from Tim's mouth as he spits out the fresh blood.
His attacker flips his onto his back and, being half-conscious and lacking focus, McGee fails to notice the blows until they made contact with his body. Micheal punches and kicks the agent square in the chest. McGee's body feels like it's on fire as blow after blow emerges, bruising several of his ribs. The spots return and overpower Tim who's to weak to fight it off any longer. The blackness surrounds him and he welcomes it, taking the agent away from them, the attackers, the pain as he falls into darkness.