Hey All!
Ok, so I thought a little game of 'Guess That Crossover' would be a fun thing to write. As is stated in subjects, it is supernatural, so there's your first hint :).
I intended this to be a oneshot, but I guess, as is typical with me, I have trouble simply writing oneshots. Gotta elaborate; it's my nature. By the way, if you've read my stories 'window seat' and 'I am not Don Juan Triumphant', keep a look out for updates. Feel like those would be fun (as requested) to elaborate on.
I rated this one Teen, but it may in later chapters get a bit... violent. If it does, then I'll change it to 'M', but for now, it's not too bad.
This will be Timcentric, but the rest of the team will be in focus as well. I hope you enjoy! And review and let me know what you think the crossover is!
"So, what do you think Ninja Woman? Stapler? Paperweight? Gibbs' coffee cup? Hell, anything will fit in there. Look at Probie!"
Tony was perched on the side of his desk like a wild cat ready to pounce as he stared intently at McGee. The green eyed agent was almost recumbent in his desk chair, head thrown back, mouth wide open as he snored noisily. Ziva simply shook her head.
"Man, he makes your snoring sound like a lullaby. You think if I held a wine glass next to him it would break?" Tony moved from his position on his desk to McGee's, staring into the enormous open cavity of McGee's mouth.
"Tony, leave McGee alone. He's obviously overworked. He never sleeps on the job. Well, rarely." Ziva defended the younger agent.
"But Ziva! This is a prime probie hazing opportunity! We can't pass this up! I'm going to stick pens in his nose." DiNozzo grabbed a handful of pens from the mug on McGee's desk, and was slowly moving at least seven towards Tim's nose. Ziva shook her head, but watched in amused silence.
Meanwhile, in McGee's subconscious…
Strange dreams were not foreign to McGee, what with the gruesome crime scenes he frequented, as well as his overactive imagination and writer's mind. But this was something he'd never quite experienced before.
He walked slowly through a city, that was the epitome of an apocalyptic scene. Flames belched from nearly every window of the high rise buildings that loomed above him, dark ash blackening the deep crimson sky. Some buildings had even collapsed, crushing cars, trees, and light poles in their descent. McGee could feel tremors beneath his feet as he walked, not sure whether they were earthquakes or buildings falling some distance away. Cars were overturned and scorched, and rarely in one piece.
The ground was a thick with ash, mud, and some unidentifiable odorous substance. He looked at it intently, but kept himself from reaching down to touch it. Whatever city this was, it had met its end.
McGee wound his way around flaming cars, overturned busses, and pieces of the road that had cracked and split, jutting up around him. Through the cracks in the concrete, McGee could see a golden, almost amber glow resonating from below. What happened here? I've seen this before…
Then something caught the agent's eye. Around the front half of a fire engine (the other half was missing) McGee saw someone watching him. As soon as he focused on the apparition, it disappeared around the truck and out of view. McGee began jogging after it, as if it held the key to understanding why the city was the way it was. As he turned the corner, he was overcome with a splitting headache. McGee fell to his knees as a piercing sound resonated between his ears.
"Aaaah!" McGee cried, the sound threatening to split his head in half. He could feel the frontal, parietal, occipital, and temporal bones of his skull begin to pull apart, and he could hear the cracking. Desperately he clutched his head, trying to hold his skull together as he fell onto his side in the fetal position. As the pain increased, he felt a presence beside him, and he knew who or whatever it was must be responsible for doing this to him. Shaking, he slowly turned his head to identify what was beside him. But all he saw was red and two glowing eyes staring at him. Then he heard it.
"Do you see?"
Then, the pain jumped to unbearable levels, and in his dream, Timothy McGee's body exploded.
"YEEEAAAAH!" McGee screamed as he erupted from slumber, arms flailing, lurching out of his chair. He crashed headlong into Tony and knocked him over his desk and onto the floor, pens, and eraser, and stapler sent flying through the bullpen. McGee landed on top of Tony, who stared at the no longer sleeping agent in shock.
"Mc- Probie! What the hell was that?" Tony shot, attempting to push McGee off him. Tim, raised himself, ears and cheeks burning from embarrassment as the rest of NCIS looked at him and Tony.
"Find out later, and stop playing grab ass in my bullpen. Gear up! Got some dead SEAL's!" Gibbs snapped as he strode swiftly into the bullpen. Tony and Tim hurriedly righted themselves.
"Yes Boss."
"Sorry Boss."
The team was well accustomed to Gibbs' many moods. There was Brooding Gibbs, Angry Gibbs, Brooding Gibbs, Pissed-Off Gibbs, Brooding Gibbs, Anxious Gibbs, Brooding Gibbs, and the ever elusive Caring Gibbs. Oh, and there was silent, glaring, grim Brooding Gibbs.
Tony shot McGee a glare and the younger agent nodded, sensing something in Gibbs' voice. This was a different Gibbs. It was a Gibbs that they experienced even less than Caring Gibbs. This was Confused Gibbs. Gibbs was never confused, and hated when he was.
McGee shrugged at Tony, who hung up the phone and began picking up his backpack. Dead SEAL's? Of course, any individual from the armed forces could be murdered, but there was something different about when a Navy SEAL was possibly murdered. SEAL's were among the most capable human beings on the planet of defending themselves. And not only that, but Gibbs had said 'SEAL's'. Apostrophe S. More than one. Plural SEALs. Today was not going to be a good day.
"Grab your overnight gear too. This is going to be a long one. I'll tell Ducky." Gibbs snapped as he walked briskly out of the bullpen. Ziva, Tony, and McGee looked at each other confused, but silently concluded, as they had learned to do, that following their boss would yield the answers to most of their questions. The team silently got up, and hurried to the elevator.
The MCRT walked out of Hangar 7 onto the tarmac of Bolling Air Force Base. The sun reflected glaringly off the runway as the team, equipment and overnight bags in hand, walked silently along. Gibbs' gut was churning.
They, as a team, had obviously flown to specific locations of crime scenes. They had obviously investigated the deaths of special operations soldiers. And they absolutely had been involved in investigations that centered around classified and restricted information and locations. But this, just didn't seem right.
In front of them was a C-130 airship, standard transportation for military operations. But surrounding the giant plane, with it's four enormous propellors slowly turning, were countless soldiers. There were at least two platoons of marines standing guard, their fingers close to the triggers. Humvees drove around the airfield in the distance, and Gibbs could make out that the turret gunners were perched behind the .50 caliber mounted guns as if awaiting to be attacked. On American soil. Odd, to say the least.
Lining the path from Hangar 7 to the C-130, were more humvees, all with soldiers behind the mounted guns. They swept the weapons to and fro, as if expecting unknown assailants to appear from around the hangar walls. Gibbs turned, looking up, and saw multiple sniper crews perched on rooftops of the hangars, as well as on any building with a level rooftop. Odd. Very, very odd. The unease did not go unnoticed by the three younger agents. Tony was currently establishing a plot, music score, and characters for the movie in his mind, Ziva was on high alert (and, as Tony would say, Mossad-Mode), and McGee nervously looked about. Ducky even, chatted a little slower and quieter than usual. Yes, something was very amiss.
As the group began to climb up the cargo gate of the plane, an airman in a flight jump suit and a bulky helmet with a dark visor met them.
"You must be NCIS. My name is Dawkins, I'll be attending to you in the hold. Here are the dossiers of the situation. I must remind you that this is a very, VERY classified location, situation, and environment. Or so they've told me."
Gibbs nodded as he took the dossier from Dawkins.
"You got any idea where we're going?" Gibbs asked gruffly, as he and the team followed Dawkins into the hull.
"Some place called Fairport. New York, I'm assuming. But, ummm, we're not supposed to discuss locations. Classified." Dawkins replied.
"You mean to tell me, myself and my team are not allowed to know where we're going?" Gibbs questioned scathingly, the churning in his gut almost burning.
"Look Special Agent…"
"Gibbs." The older agent introduced himself as he and the MCRT took seats against the wall of the C-130's fuselage, strapping themselves into the uncomfortable metallic seats.
"Special Agent Gibbs. I don't even know exactly. To tell you the truth, I've never experienced this much… security. It's all hush hush, you know? I don't even know the half of it. My orders are to give you the dossier, and essentially keep you from asking too many questions." Dawkins laughed after he finished the sentence, realizing that, from the look Gibbs was giving him, that questions would be asked. He continued.
"Ok, look. I'll tell you what I know, and it won't be a security breach, because I don't know much. It's just that-."
Dawkins was cut off by the rumbling of the engines as the plane lurched to life.
"Alright, here we go. This guy looks like he's gonna puke already. Look bud, I'm not cleaning your vomit off the floor. We're not even in the air yet!" Dawkins laughed, pointing to McGee.
McGee was holding the shoulder straps of the seat restraints tightly, his knuckles showing white as he stared at the ceiling and took deep breaths. Ziva patted his knee.
"Calm down McGee. You know, planes are safer than cars, no?"
"Yeah Ziva, but at least I can control a car. And if a car stops working, it just rolls to a stop. If a plane stops working, it falls out of the sky, and everyone dies." McGee closed his eyes tightly, sweat beading on his brow.
"Dawkins is right Probie, you look green already. I'll get you a bag McVomit." Tony laughed at the very uncomfortable McGee.
The lights of the cargo hold dimmed to a deep red, and the agents felt the engines increase power, escalating the plane's velocity in mere seconds. They bounced around in their seats, and Tony threw his hands up above his head in the classic 'roller coaster' pose as he shot McGee a teasing look.
Dawkins, who was seated next to Gibbs, tapped the older agent on the shoulder.
"He squeamish?" Dawkins asked, gesturing to McGee. Gibbs nodded.
"Well, then he's gonna hate this case." Dawkins said with a sigh, as he shook his head.
Another chapter coming soon! Let me know if you think you know what the crossover is!