Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or any of its characters.
Immortality. What if one were to possess it? Would it be considered a gift or a curse? This has been the topic of discussion for so many since the beginning of time.
"Hey, McSpacy!"
McGee looks up, blinking back into the here and now. "Uh, wh-what? What Tony?"
"I asked what you thought about being immortal."
"Oh.. well, I think it's a curse. I mean.. you watch your family die, and everyone around you, and you just.. keep on going," he says, his voice and face looking like he's really, really thought on this.
Ziva picks up on this, but before she can speak, Tony speaks again. "Curse? Nah. Besides, think of how many lives you could leave. How much you could learn. Or earn. Man, can you imagine having a treasure trove of stuff from a thousand years ago? I'd be rich. So many cars.. I could own my own theater."
"Yeah, you would think of yourself," McGee snaps, his tone more harsh than usual. "Those kinds of things belong in a museum, not an auction."
"Whoa whoa, calm down, McGee. Don't tell me you wouldn't want a little piece of the money."
"Don't need it. Money can't buy happiness."
"But you sure like the money from your books, dontcha?"
"I earned it." He groans and tries to get to work at his computer screen, but-
"You did not! You changed names and wrote about us! You didn't have to come up with anythi-gunhh. Uh, hey Boss."
"McGee earned it. He got inspiration from us, but it's his book."
McGee's face brightens at this rare praise from Gibbs, and his face gains a grin. He goes back to work, typing a little note to himself about the look on Tony's face-not that he would forget it.
Gibbs had just sat down when the phone rings. After finishing the call, he stands up, grabbing his things. "Dead marine, let's go."
"Where at, Boss?" Tony asks as he gathers his stuff in record-time, Ziva in second and McGee in third.
Of course, he doesn't get an answer, just Gibbs getting into the elevator and waiting.
At the crime scene, McGee walks over to interview the man who claimed to have come across the body, a dead female marine with a single gunshot wound to the brain, straight up from the back of the neck. He speaks with the man, who seems to be a little nervous-who wouldn't, finding a dead body?-but McGee has a suspicion nagging at the back of his mind about the man. Shane Laturo, he said his name is. Early 30s, black hair back in a ponytail, slim build.
While McGee is talking with the man, Tony photographs the crime scene, noting how the pool of blood isn't where it should be; the victim seems to have been moved. He picks up on a faint blood smear on her face.
Ziva is bagging and tagging with Tony's help, and directs Tony's attention to a black hair. "Here, Tony." After he photographs it, she carefully picks it up and bags it for Abby.
Gibbs is speaking with Ducky, who tends to the body as Tony and Ziva finish noting all the marks, imperfections. They had time, really, since Ducky was a bit late arriving. Partially Palmer's fault this time, since he couldn't drive well due to a sprained wrist. His excuse was a fall, which most believed, since nobody witnessed what happened.
"She died about two hours ago," Ducky announces to Gibbs as he removes the liver thermometer. "By what appears to be a bullet to the back of the neck, but you know I don't like to speculate until everything is confirmed."
"Right, right. Anything else y'got for me, Duck?" Gibbs looks around at the area; a secluded part of the park, where foul play could easily be committed and never seen.
"I'm afraid not. At least not yet. Ah-Mr. Palmer, please be a bit more careful," Ducky scolds, as Jimmy drops a medical instrument from his injured left hand.
"Sorry Dr. Mallard, I uh-I used the wrong hand.."
Gibbs turns from the scene that's mildly annoying and checks in with Tony, who relays everything they've found, Ziva arriving to confirm just as Tony's nearly done. A second later, McGee immediately shouts out-before Gibbs' trained ears pick up the sound of a silencer, firing three shots. He whips around, hand ripping out his gun as he runs toward the sound, watching McGee slump and fall to the ground.
Everything seems to go by so fast.. and yet, at the same time, so slow. He noticed the witness was carrying something similar to a gun at his belt, mostly concealed-save a wrong move while chatting nonchalantly. McGee reaches for his gun.. but in a quick flash, he feels three bullets sink into him. Stomach, stomach.. chest. The pain begins almost immediately, and he hears voices calling out his name. He knows the voices, but he doesn't. They're rolling him onto his back.. he fell? Onto his side? Or his front?
Oh, man. This is worse than you'd think, you know? Well, he knew. This isn't his first bullet. It's his first from a modern gun, any way. His first in.. how many years? He realizes, as these thoughts run through his head, they're rambling. He's losing it. He tries to focus; he sees, through fading vision, Gibbs, Palmer and Ziva tending to him; he hears an echoing Ducky from somewhere behind him, yelling. Traffic, did he say?
Was it traffic..?
Ziva, Tony, Palmer, Gibbs are all waiting for Ducky. But it's taking so long. Fifteen minutes seems to last fifteen hours, especially with the downcast look on Jimmy's face and the very, very worried look on Gibbs'.
"Duck! Duck, what? Is he okay?" As soon as Ducky walks into view, Gibbs jumps up in a panic-scaring the others.
Ducky looks up at Gibbs, taking in a deep breath before it releases in a ragged exhale. "I.. truly, am sorry, Jethro. We weren't fast enough."
Gibbs stares at Ducky's eyes, seeing the horrid truth, the pain of loss. For a minute, he thinks his mind is playing tricks on him; but when he looks back at the team, the expression of panicked horror clear on his face-the reactions of the others snaps him back to reality.
McGee is gone.