Disclaimer: Don't own the show or the characters (except for Charley)…how I wish I did.
Author's Note: This was written before the episode where Tony basically did the same thing Tim does with the kitchen (you'll know it when you read it). I guess great minds think alike.
Author's Thanks to agent222 who pointed out the mix-up with directors. I hope I've caught them all.
**Another day, another dollar...and hopefully one last round with Tony.**
Tim McGee, NCIS Special Agent and published author, sighed to himself as he made his way toward his bathroom. It had been a week of constant comments from the other agent, all dealing with his latest project. **If only my agent hadn't called me at work...if only I had been at my desk...if only Tony hadn't answered the phone...if only she hadn't mentioned what the stupid thing was about!** The fantasy title might have slipped by (after all, Tim was sure that Tony had plenty of his own) but a storyline with a dragon, a gryphon and a kraken was a sure guarantee for harassment.
Putting it out of his mind for the moment, Tim stripped off his robe and stepped into the shower, wincing slightly as the sound of his opera-loving neighbor made it through the sound proofing of his apartment. Not at the noise (Mr. Minetti had a rather good voice) but in anticipation. For the last 3 weeks, ever since the building had undergone some plumbing upgrades, he and the older man had somehow been cross-connected, with the result that whoever got their shower first got all of the hot water.
**Sneaky old man must have reset his alarm.**
Gritting his teeth and closing his eyes to brace himself, Tim turned the hot faucet on full in hopes of getting a minute amount of warmth...and nearly came out of his skin as nearly scalding water cascaded over him. Frantic hands turned down the hot and turned up the cold until a more moderate compromise was reached. Slowly relaxing, he opened his eyes to find a maintenance notice hanging from the shower head. He barely managed to bite back a curse, and then just shook his head. At least the thing was fixed.
Despite its rocky start, Tim was greatly cheered by his first reliably hot shower in weeks. He dressed and headed for the kitchen for a quick breakfast and, in a burst of enthusiasm, he decided to try the new blend that he'd picked up at his favorite coffee shop. He'd been looking for something to replace the favorite that had been discontinued, and this looked interesting. Not to mention it had been the only way to get the overly-zealous attendant out of his face. **I really need to learn how to say no.**
As the machine purred to itself, he logged onto the computer for a quick check of his email. His eyes widened a bit when he noticed one new message from his publisher. It had only been a few days since they had received the draft, and such a quick response meant a rejection. **Well, this was my first try outside of the mystery genre; maybe I can tweak it into a more saleable form.** It had been an interesting exercise to inject computers and math into a fantasy story that would reach children and young adults, and he wasn't ready to give up on it just yet. As he clicked on the subject line to open the message, the coffee machine chirped gaily and he turned to fortify himself with his first sip before reading the bad news.
Fortify wasn't the word for it! It rolled over his tongue like liquid velvet, teasing his taste buds with a complex flavor that nearly brought tears of joy to his eyes. He briefly entertained the thought of taking some to work, thinking maybe even Gibbs would approve of this. But then Tony would no doubt get hold of it and badger him until the source was revealed...and he wanted to keep this a secret as long as possible. He smiled evilly. He could take a thermos but leave it in his car. Using a generic mug from a national chain would disguise the shop, and in this case he had no compunction about lying through his teeth in stating that he'd picked it up off of a street vendor.
With a grin and another lingering sip, he returned his attention to his email. When he read the first line, he nearly choked as he tried to inhale his mouthful of ambrosia. **They liked it? They loved it? They want to publish it for how much?** As he continued to read, his grin grew. It was one thing to find out that something you'd tried for the very first time was a success; it was an order of magnitude more to find out that professionals saw a series of lessons that could reach from elementary school through high school and beyond.
As he finished his coffee (a little more quickly than he would have liked, once he took a look at the clock), he dashed off a quick response before shutting the computer down. As he tore out the door, he decided that no matter what else happened, this day was a success.
Whatever guardian angel had the duty this day must have been trying to fill a quota, because the drive to work was every bit as good as the morning had started. Hitting every light on the green had never happened before, and he barely had to tap his brakes. As he came to the normally-congested portion of the trip, the traffic seemed to melt away until he was virtually alone on the road. Just as his paranoia began to kick in, stating that he'd obviously missed a sign saying the road was blocked or restricted or some such, the radio announcer interrupted the music to describe the collision that had just taken place at the intersection McGee has breezed through only a minute or so ago. According to the report, there had been no injuries, but the resulting tie-up resulted in a detour that took everyone out of the way enough that he'd only have the limited local traffic to contend with. And that, at this hour of the morning, was very light indeed.
As he continued on, a glance at his gauges revealed that once again he was running on fumes. With a sigh, he pulled into his favorite gas station, wondering if the thrill of driving a Porsche (and its silent bragging rights over Tony) was worth it. Enjoying the quiet and working on auto- pilot, the tank was filled and the credit slip received. Before he put it away, he idly glanced at the final amount...and froze. **This cannot be right! No way, Jose.** He turned to scan the pump, and found the price per gallon there did not match the posted one. He hesitated, his conscience warring with his wallet. But he couldn't let it pass, so he jogged over to the pay window.
"Good morning, Mr. McGee," the station owner greeted him cheerfully. "What can I do for you?"
"Hello, Charley. Uhh...I think you have a problem." He indicated the figure on his credit slip.
"What the...?" The owner did a double-take, then hurriedly turned to the computer that
controlled his pumps, took one look, and started talking to himself. "That idiot kid! I left my night attendant a note to change the prices at midnight. I've told him over and over to double-check everything when he does that, but does he listen? Of course not!" Finishing up, he came out from behind the counter and headed for the pumps, followed by McGee. "I can't thank you enough, Mr. McGee. I almost had a massive problem." He did a quick scan of all the pumps and nodded in relief. "All set." He glanced over at McGee and noted his continuing concern. "Oh, don't worry about your bill. What got charged is what you pay...that's why it would have been a problem. Most people would have taken advantage and run. By the time I would have noticed it, word would have spread. You saved me a small fortune."
McGee nodded and got into his car. "I'm glad it worked out, then." With a wave, he pulled out
and headed for NCIS Headquarters.
As he pulled into the employees' parking lot, he began scanning for a spot. To his amazement, the first unreserved spot closest to the entrance was lacking its normal occupant. **Daniels must have been called out for some reason. Well, his loss is my gain.** Glancing around, he quickly pulled in. He got out and shut his door, just as Tony drove by. McGee barely managed to restrain a grin as he waved "good morning" to his co-worker. A glower was his only response and he chuckled to himself as he entered the building, leaving the other agent to cruise the lot for a spot further away. This day was just getting better and better!
Entering the main bullpen of NCIS, he nodded to Ziva and Gibbs before hurrying to his desk and dropped his bag beside it. As he automatically booted up his computer, he noticed the folder next to it. **Geeze, the monthly report! Is this the end of my lucky streak?** He flipped open the cover with trepidation.
A broad smile split his face at the sight of the red "Accepted" stamp emblazoned on the cover sheet. He looked up just in time to get a big kiss on the cheek from an equally-beaming ex-Mossad operative.
"Thank you very much, McGee! My report was accepted as well, and that would not have been the case without your assistance."
He blushed as she pulled away and smiled at him. "No problem, Ziva. I was glad to help." He glanced over at Tony's desk, seeing the folder on the other man's desk.
Ziva's smile turned into a wicked grin. "And do you think Tony, who did not ask for assistance, managed to write an acceptable report?" She shook her head sadly. "Somehow I do not think so."
They looked up at the sound of the elevator, and she trotted back to her own desk as Tony appeared. Tim listened to the irate mutterings about parking in the boondocks while he began his morning scan of emails and nightly processes. His mouth twitched when a muted outraged howl cut through the morning bustle.
"Rejected! How can they reject it?"
"Problems, DiNozzo?" Gibbs' voice was dry and flat, but McGee had been around long enough to hear the amusement behind the calmness.
"Uh, no boss...just a little misunderstanding with my monthly report."
"Uh huh." The total skepticism was clear. "If you wrote it properly the first time, there wouldn't be any misunderstandings." He finally looked up at the younger agent. "Just try not to better your record this time, DiNozzo. We may not have the time for four more tries."
A muffled chuckle came from Ziva's desk, and Tim couldn't restrain a smothered snort of his own. Then he looked over at Tony with studied innocence as the dark-haired man jumped to his feet.
"Oh, come on! Don't tell me Ziva's report got passed."
"Very well, I will not tell you." Her dark eyes snapping with laughter, she simply waved the cover sheet at him before replacing it in its folder and dropping the folder into her file drawer. "Of course, I had the common sense to ask for expert help." She tossed an air kiss in Tim's direction. "But again I forget...sense is rarely common."
"Hey, McGeek!" Tony looked at him in outrage. "I thought we were buddies! Teammates!"
"Oh, really, Tony?" McGee allowed some of his annoyance to peek through his calm. "When the only interaction we've had all week has been your harassing comments about my new book? Which, unlike you, my publisher liked...a WHOLE lot." At Ziva's inquisitive noise, he flashed a number of fingers at them, inwardly snickering at Tony's open-mouthed amazement.
The other agent pulled himself together. "Okay, so I was wr...misinformed." He obviously couldn't bring himself to admit his error. "But is that any reason to help one teammate and not another? Come on, Pr...Tim, have a heart!"
Before Tim could answer, a low-pitched beeping sounded from his computer. With a look of alarm, Tim spun around and began typing furiously. At the same time, there was a spate of muttered cursing from across the bullpen.
"Johnson!" McGee's raised voice cut across the verbal chatter of the other agents. "Don't touch anything!" After a few more seconds of typing, he jumped up and hurried over to the new agent's desk. "Move!" The sharp command, reinforced with an air of determination and expertise, had the other man leaping out of his chair and out of the way without a word of protest.
By this time, the unusual flurry of activity had drawn the attention of everyone else in the room, including Gibbs and Director Vance, who had been standing on the second-floor balcony. But McGee was oblivious to his growing audience as he concentrated on whatever he was pursuing. His obvious concern indicated that this wasn't just a simple glitch, and others began backing away from their desks as if expecting their own computers to explode.
Tim hit one last key and held his breath. There was a flurry of characters across the screen, a few beeps and whistles, and then everything went black and silent. Johnson, peering over his shoulder, sucked in a dismayed breath. Then they both exhaled in relief as the operating system came up with its normal computer-type noises. Once the desktop appeared and all standard processing was completed, Tim popped open the CD drive and removed an unmarked disk. He ran another program and examined the results intently for a few minutes before sitting back with a second sigh.
"Okay, Johnson. Everything looks good. But if you ever bring in a CD from home again, I'll...turn you over to Ziva for lessons!"
"No, sir!" The youngster shook his head vehemently, tossing a quick glance at the formidable Israeli-born agent (who had caught her cue and glared ferociously at him). With a gulp, he turned back to Tim. "But I did a full virus scan on it."
"McGee?"
Director Vance had come down from the upper level and was now standing behind him, flanked by Gibbs. Tim spun to face him, taken by surprise, and jumped to his feet. It was then that he realized that he was the center of attention for the entire floor, and flushed. "Yes, Director?"
"Care to explain?" He shot an amused glance at Gibbs. "In words of two syllables or less if possible."
"Yes, sir. I'd heard about a new Trojan...a computer virus...and set up a scan for it last night. I...thought it might be a good idea to have the program set a check on all the computers on our network, since it appears that this thing is pretty virulent. The alarm went off and I managed to stop Johnson's computer before the virus was triggered." He looked at her worriedly. "I know I didn't get authorization, but from what I read this thing could have brought the entire building down."
Vance nodded in approval. "True, you should have run this through my office first, but I'll overlook it this time. Just make sure you start sending me a report on any new computer viruses and such you "hear" about as soon as you do...including a recommendation as to how to defend against them. I'll send them down to the cyber unit for implementation if you are too busy to handle it yourself." He turned and headed back up the stairs. Halfway up, he paused and looked at him. "Good job, McGee. I see you've learned Gibbs' Rule 18 well." With a slight smile, he turned and continued on into his office.
(Rule 18: It is easier to ask for forgiveness than to g
et permission.)
It was mid-afternoon when Tim, having returned from a fruitful couple of hours down with the cyber unit, looked up to see Gibbs hang up his phone and pull open the drawer where his weapon was stored. He automatically jumped to his feet, grabbing his own stuff as Gibbs sang out.
"Grab your gear, people. We have a dead Navy diver." He barely paused on his way to the elevator, tossing the keys to their vehicle at the only person standing...Tim. "Your turn to drive, McGee."
"Boss!" Tony's cry of mingled disbelief and disappointment fell on deaf ears as Tim darted after Gibbs before either of the other agents could wrest the keys from him. As Tony squeezed through the closing doors, Tim smiled to himself as he buried the hand clutching the keys in a pocket. It was a treat to drive the team at any time, but they had just been issued a new Explorer (the end of fiscal year "get rid of your money before more is issued" spree had been especially beneficial this time around) and he would be the first to drive the fancy vehicle.
The black SUV drove as good as it looked, and Tim silently sighed as he pulled up outside the victim's residence. He didn't think he'd be behind the wheel again any time soon, but at least the trip had been worth it. A sharp "McGee!" brought him back to the present and he blushed as he got out to join the others.
A shaking woman stood just inside the door of the small house, flanked by a state policeman. "I just came over to ask Mr. Myers if he could help me out with my car." She glanced at the newcomers. "He was always willing to lend a hand with the older people of the neighborhood. "The door was open, so I stepped in and called his name. Then I heard the noise in the kitchen. I thought maybe he'd fallen and hurt himself, so I went to look." She gulped. "That's when I saw him...he was lying there trying to move. When he saw me, he reached out, but then..." She swallowed again. "That's when I screamed."
The officer took over. "Another neighbor heard her and called it in. I was just getting home...I live one block over...and heard the commotion. I was here in less than a minute." He gestured toward the back of the house. "I took the short route through the yards."
Gibbs nodded, motioning Ziva to stay with them and get any further information out of the witness and officer while the rest of them moved into the rest of the house. The body lay stretched out in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, blood pooled beneath it from the large wound in the chest. A large kitchen knife lay in the open pantry door, the blood labeling it as the murder weapon and a gap in the butcher's block next to the stove indicating its origin. Tim lifted the camera and started taking pictures as the others scattered to look for clues.
After finishing taking pictures of the crime scene, Tim moved into the living room, looking for anything out of place. As he studied the room, something caught his attention. Even though there didn't seem to be anything out of place, something was nagging at him. After a few seconds, he shrugged and started to turn back into the room, but then it hit him. He froze, his eyes darting around as he double-checked the stunning thought and wondered if he should call the others. Deciding against it (in case he was wrong, he didn't want to give Tony something else to rib him about), he quietly moved back into the kitchen. He stepped into the pantry and started to examine the back wall.
As he reached for the small knob he found, the panel it was connected to swung open and a burly form burst out. Cans and jars spilled to the floor as the hidden door slammed into the shelves. Without thinking, Tim seized one arm and spun, flipping the suspect over his shoulder and planting him face first into the linoleum. Before the man had a chance to recover, Tim had him secured, planting a knee in his back and twisting his arms back to snap on handcuffs. He stood up, a bit shaking from the quick action. He had time for one deep breath before Gibbs swung into the room with his gun drawn, followed immediately by the others.
"What the hell is this, McGee?" The older agent slipped his gun back into its holster as Tony and Ziva moved up beside him.
Uh...well, I was in the living room when I noticed the living room wall was longer than the kitchen's. Given the kitchen's apparent dimensions, I wondered if there was a store room nobody noticed. I came in here to check if that was true, and found the entrance." He gestured at the narrow space revealed by the open panel. "This guy came barreling out just as I was going to open it."
Tony hauled the man to his feet, grinning at his curses. "Given the blood on him is probably not his own...except for the stuff from his nose...I'd say we have a winner. The neighbor must have interrupted, and he never had a chance to sneak out back with the policeman's unexpected arrival through the back yard."
Ziva patted Tim on the back. "Well done, McGee."
He smiled at her. "I guess your training sessions are paying off." Tony looked at him with surprised speculation, and Tim's expression broadened into a grin. "She's been showing me some unarmed combat moves after work...just in case."
"Well, this is obviously a record for NCIS," Gibbs stated, waving Tony out with the prisoner. "Less than 30 minutes from commission of the crime to an arrest." He gave Tim a crooked half- grin of approval. "Good job, McGee."
Tim contained his elation as he followed the others out of the house. This was going to shut Tony up for days! And on top of that, he had proof that he was actually getting the hang of Ziva's lessons well enough to be useful in the field. What else could go right?
Tim handed his keys to the valet and waited for the others to meet up with him. Given that the day had been one of his best in recent memory (or long-term memory for that matter), he had decided to celebrate with a night out. And what kind of celebration would it be without his teammates? Though he had been surprised when even Gibbs had accepted. He gleefully noted the amazement on some of the faces as his teammates formed around him and he led the way toward the restaurant entrance. La Bella Dolce was one of (if not THE) most exclusive restaurants in the entire area, with a clientele and price list to match its reputation. One of the things that appealed to him, aside from the exquisite food and the 5-star service, was the lack of pretension. No one was turned away for the lack of a jacket or tie (although they did draw the line at sports or beach wear). All of those things had led to his decision to bring the others here. **And, ** a small honest voice in his head murmured, **the opportunity to be the one everyone fawns over instead of Tony.** He wondered if he would ever get over the urge to one-up the other agent, then the thought was banished as the maitre 'd hurried over to him.
"Mister Gemcity!" The barest hint of an Italian accent softened the enthusiastic greeting. "We were SO pleased when you called. It has been far too long since you graced us with your presence." The effusive greeting would have been too much if the older man hadn't been obviously sincere. "Since your normal table is too small for your party, we have placed you on the mezzanine."
"Thank you, Antonio. That is perfect." Not to mention the most desirable location in the building for a larger party. But even he was surprised when the man turned to Ducky with an equally warm welcome.
"Doctore Mallard, many welcomes as well for you! I did not know that you knew Mr. Gemcity."
"It's good to be back here again, my friend." The elderly doctor smiled broadly, then continued with a wicked glance at Tim. "Oh yes, Thom and I are old friends...and I am sure he will pick my brain for medical details to put in his next book."
"That would be good. All of the staff enjoy his stories immensely. Now please, this way." The maitre 'd led the group around the edge the main dining room, filled to capacity with people from all strata of society, from a couple in elegant evening wear to an office birthday party. Climbing the graceful wrought-iron staircase, he showed them to a large table positioned in front of the large plate glass windows that looked out onto the river. With the ease of experience, he seated Abby and Ziva (who had snagged the seats on either side of Tim), handed out the gilded leather-bound menus with the elegant hand-written list of dishes, and disappeared.
"Uh...Probie?" Tony looked a little shocked. He obviously knew that the style of menu meant that each dish was prepared uniquely for the day, and what the lack of any prices next to the menu items meant. Tim knew the other agent realized that he had an income from his books, but he usually didn't flaunt it quite so blatantly.
"Don't worry about it, Tony," McGee said reassuringly. "I know what I'm getting into here. Trust me."
Just then, his favorite waiter appeared at his elbow. "Mr. Gemcity, Chef D'Angelo wanted me to tell you that we got a shipment of fresh Kobe beef in just this afternoon, and he wondered if you and your guests would like the special." She smiled conspiratorially at Tim's surprised glance at the menu, her dark eyes sparkling in an olive face of considerable beauty and framed with equally dark hair. "It's going to be on tomorrow's listing, but he said since he had all of the ingredients in stock, he could easily whip some up." Her grin widened as she looked at the rest of the group. "Actually, he said he could create his Signature masterpiece despite the lack of warning and time, but it means the same thing."
"Don't let him hear you say that, Lina," Ducky laughed gently. "Or you may end up as an appetizer."
The young girl only snickered. "Somehow I doubt Uncle Vincenzo will go that far...not and risk the Wrath of Mom."
Tim nodded his agreement as the older man recommended the dish, describing the sauce in detail and praising the specially-reared Japanese beef. He smiled as everyone followed their suggestion. Everyone except Gibbs, that is, who asked for a plain steak. The waiter winced, then managed to convince him (with Ducky's help) to try the Kobe beef simply grilled and seasoned. She nodded pleasantly, promising a good wine to go with the meal and ignoring Tony's not-so-subtle come-ons, and disappeared toward the kitchen.
Except for Tony's lack of advancement on the waiter front, the dinner was a rousing success. The conversation drifted from topic to topic, but never once touched on a work-related subject. Everyone thoroughly enjoyed the meal; even Gibbs unbent enough to admit his steak was the best he'd ever had. When the desert tray was brought around, groans of dismay greeted the decadent delights...no one was sure they had room to indulge. But that didn't stop most of them from ordering; the common thought was that they could always take it home. In two cases that turned out to be the case, but Tony, Abby and (to everyone's surprise) Ducky polished their plates (and Abby gave serious consideration to ordering her second choice before reluctantly passing). Although Gibbs was again the abstainer from the general consensus, he did have a third cup of coffee.
As the evening wound to a close, the group got up and slowly made their way to the door, chattering softly about the day and its pleasant ending. As the valets brought their cars and they parted ways, each in their way thanked Tim for the treat. Ziva kissed him chastely on the cheek, saying something in Hebrew that she translated as "Thanks for all the fish". Tim chuckled and Tony gawked as she smiled, clearly pleased to have gotten one of the many esoteric American sayings correct. Then Abby took her place, enveloping him in a patented Scuito hug and planting a kiss right on the mouth. Her goodbye was only interrupted by the arrival of her hearse, the keys to which were handed over by a valet with a very jaundiced look. The men took their leave in a much more restrained way, but made their appreciation just as obvious.
As Tim drove homeward, he reveled in the afterglow of the evening. It was rare that the team got together aside from work to just relax and hang out. It would never turn into a regular thing, but he was glad he could treat the others this time. He was musing over the side conversation he'd had with Ducky about the complex makeup of Chef D'Angelo's sauce when an idea flashed into his brain. What if a military man was poisoned at a group dinner at a fancy restaurant and the Deep Six team had to figure out not only who did it but how, since several people had the same dishes as the victim? He was sure that the Bella Dolce staff would be tickled to be included in one of his stories, but this time he would be sure to ask. Maybe he'd made Angelina the culprit...she'd find that hysterically funny.
Humming to himself, he pulled into the parking garage of his apartment (his one indulgence when it came to his residence). Stopping to collect his mail, he continued on to his apartment, idly skimming through the bills and trash that the postman had delivered. A letter from his agent warranted a look, and he wasn't surprised at this point to find a hefty royalty check from the paperback printing of his first book. What was surprising was the hand-written note stating that there was a possibility of making it a made-for-TV movie. Shaking his head, Tim entered his apartment, dropping mail on the kitchen counter and making his habitual rounds. His mind was too full to do more than put anything new off to think about tomorrow as he got ready for bed.
As he settled contentedly under the covers, Tim thought about his day. No doubt he would have to pay the karma gods for it at some future date, but in his mind it was more than worth it. This had been a once-in-a-lifetime kind of day. And from now on, Friday the 13th was his lucky day!
Fini