Text Message- V. Special Ex-Agent Tony
Okay, McHemingway, prompts away! "Happiness" And... GO
"Happiness is not a thing we can become or a place we can go to; true, pure happiness is just a fleeting, bare moment in time when your highest expectations and reality reflect each other.
Happiness is a glimpse. And if you're really smart, you take that moment and you wrap it up and save it, because when everything around you seems bad or dark or sad or chaotic, you can sit quietly and unwrap that one perfect, blissful time, and know that there is something beautiful apart the bleak reality around you."
Tim McGee looked up from the page, thankfully no longer blank, that rolled through the typewriter. He blinked, startled, at the lack of daylight. It was well into the evening, nearly eleven pm., and the only light in the room wisped from the small desk lamp perched beside the old Royal manual. Tim scrubbed a hand over his eyes, then rolled his shoulders back, wincing as the left one crackled like bubble wrap. Leaning forward once again, he grasped the page he had just completed and pulled it noisily through the roller, then tucked it into a fat pocket folder that bulged with similar papers. Then he plunked the blue folder into the old-fashioned half-empty metal file holder that always reminded him of a giant toast rack.
Mm-mm. Toast. His stomach grumbled in response, and Tim realized that he had been working so diligently on his writing prompt that he had entirely forgotten dinner. He pushed himself to his feet, tucking his phone into the pocket of his pajama pants and shuffled towards the kitchen, the hardwood floors mercilessly chilly on his bare feet.
The phone buzzed again. Tim dug it free from the flannel pocket, and peered at the screen.
Text Message- V. Special Ex-Agent Tony
One hundred words yet?
Tim smiled and tapped in a reply:
Ninety-three. I didn't want to wax poetic. Or nostalgic. Or Brazilian. How's Paris?
Somehow, the whole text-prompt thing had started just after Tony DiNozzo landed in Israel with his daughter and father in tow. Tony had texted Tim from the airport in Tel Aviv "Landed intact. Never stop looking for the good. Write more. Here's a prompt: "brothers". That had been on a Wednesday afternoon, and three months on, Tony had never missed a weekly prompt. At the first available opportunity, Tim would sit down, relax and free-write the first hundred words that the prompt invoked. Then he would rewrite, and re-rewrite, and so on, sometimes for hours. It was a game, it was a challenge and it meant far more than one hundred words could ever convey.
He flipped on the kitchen light and tugged open the cabinet door above the tile-topped counter. Muesli. Bleah. A can of minestrone. Too complicated. Tuna? Too fishy. The cupboard contents were sparse, owing to a long week of long hours and long nights. Well, that and the fact that he was shopping for one again. Delilah had taken the Seoul office assignment in June, clearly chafed over Tim's refusal to up and leave NCIS to follow her. She had fumed silently over his dedication to NCIS, to Gibbs, to his ex-girlfriend and most of all, Tony. You're so loyal to everyone else, Tim, there doesn't seem to be any of you left for me.
Buzz.
Text Message- V. Special Ex-Agent Tony
Tali is loving the pigeons. Future poultry herder/fashion model. Sending vid.
Tim clicked the video and watched, entranced, as the dimpled little Tali, clad in a pink tutu and cowboy boots, trailed a patient trio of grey pigeons across a cobbled plaza. At one point, she stopped, turned and look toward Tony as he filmed. The camera zoomed in and Tim drew in his breath sharply; the child was a beautiful, perfect mixture of Tony and her mother, light brown curls bouncing as she giggled and clapped. Tim could hear laughter in the background and the camera swung around to show Tony's father, arm around Ziva, as she laughed aloud and called "Not a chicken, Tali! A pigeon!"
The video came to an end, and the phone buzzed once more.
Text Message- V. Special Ex-Agent Tony
Prompt 2, Probie. "Family". Include yourself. Miss you, man. See you in October. -T
Tim grinned, then laughed out loud. His eyes were a little more watery than he would like to admit, but damn it, when did it become a crime to love your family? He reached up into the cabinet and pulled down a box of Lucky Charms. He texted back one-handed as he pried the cereal box open.
"Family"- One word. "Us". Love you guys. See you in T-minus 2 months and counting. -Uncle Tim