Timing in Everything: Chapter 1-Opening
Disclaimer: As much fun as it would be to have a part in NCIS, I don't. I just borrow the characters/settings/etc and use them for my own (and, I hope, your) enjoyment.
Summary: A bomb goes off on an aircraft carrier filled with sailors, Marines, family members, and a group of Israeli sailors on a training mission in the Fifth Fleet, just off NSA Bahrain, getting everyone's attention. While Ziva is investigating what, if anything, the Israelis have to do with it, Gibbs and Abby make their way to Bahrain to help DiNozzo figure out exactly what happen, and with any luck, find a child who has been missing the explosion in the process.
A/N: I promised I'll be back :) Once again, this is going to be a long story that fits into my previous series of stories (the most recent of which was Fallen Angels), which means that yes, this is a story with an established Tiva relationship (marriage is pretty established, I think). I recommend you read those stories first, for this to completely make sense. As a reminder of them, I've given you a brief run-down before we get started with this one. I've been busy, which was why writing has been slow, and writing will probably continue to be slow. I'll do my best, but please be patient with me.
Deep Lacerations: A former Army medical examiner joins the NCIS team temporarily, and almost immediately, the MCRT has a case that makes them realize that there is more to her story than they previously realized.
Of Jews and Gentiles: The murder of a Navy lieutenant and attempted murder of his active duty, Jewish girlfriend gets the attention of the MCRT. As they look into the case, they realize that it is only the most recent of a string of attacks against Jews and their non-Jewish significant others. Tony and Ziva go undercover as a couple, and in the process of running down leads and figuring out who is responsible, their relationship becomes much less undercover than they ever planned.
Truths and Covert Lies: Ziva's father is hospitalized in Israel and requests for Ziva, and by extension Tony, to fly to Tel Aviv. What Director David asks of her is so appalling that she fails to realize what is happening right in front of her eyes, and after the director is murdered, it is up to her, and the rest of the MCRT, to figure out why.
Consequences of Love and War: A Navy physician is abducted from her office in Afghanistan, and her husband, a former Marine scout sniper, calls the only person he could think to call: his former gunnery sergeant, Leroy Jethro Gibbs. The investigation takes them through the underground world of the Taliban and those who finance the organization, making Gibbs realize that there is more to his team than he previously thought.
Lethal Fractures: Dr. Sonja Gracy is back from Hawaii, and her first case is actually the latest in a series of her old cases, the most recent murder of a serial killer she had been following throughout her career. This time, the killer made a mistake and killed a Marine sergeant, and the MCRT is determined to figure out who it was and why. The why, however, proves to be too close for comfort for Dr. Gracy.
The Price of Honesty: NCIS Special Agent Stan Burley is murdered in his apartment in Bahrain, and Director Vance assigns Gibbs and the rest of the MCRT to the case to figure out why. After they solve the case, Vance promotes DiNozzo to Burley's former position, and the director of Mossad reassigns Ziva to join him.
Fallen Angels: a senior JAG goes missing in Bahrain. A junior pilot falls from the skies under suspicious circumstances. Although these seem completely unrelated at first, it doesn't take DiNozzo in Bahrain nor Gibbs and McGee in DC long to realize that there's more going on than they first realized. And while McGee finally gets a girlfriend who is neither crazy nor involved in criminal activity, Tony and Ziva tie the knot in a way that only they can.
I also recommend Falling on Unyielding Ground, over on Fictionpress (same pen name; there's a link on my profile here on FFN). There are going to be appearances of characters that are introduced in that story, beginning, in fact, with this opening. I'll try not to make this one too dependent on that one, but it might help with the background and figuring out the relationships.
I think that's pretty much it (and yes, I do realize that those were very, very brief run-downs. I didn't want to ruin too many endings for people who hadn't read the stories).
I hope you enjoy, and don't hesitate with any reviews/thoughts/questions/feedback/suggestions/etc.
Lieutenant Commander Siobhan Mox hated the Navy's blue camouflage uniforms. As a Fleet Marine Force medical officer, and wife to a Marine, she had very strong opinions about the use of camouflage uniforms. They were to be worn in combat situations, when the camouflage pattern helped one to blend into the background, and the sturdy boots allowed one to walk as comfortably as possible for miles while wearing a heavy pack and weapons and worrying about the need to suddenly start running for one's life. There was no need to wear a uniform that only blended in with the miles of ocean surrounding them, and combat boots on a ship were just another thing that took too long to lace up properly and served no real purpose, as one was never in combat and wouldn't have anywhere to run to even if one wanted to.
On her previous two deployments, both of which were with Marine combat units, she wore desert MARPAT camouflage every day—with 'U.S. Navy' over her left breast instead of 'U.S. Marine Corps'—and was proud to do so. She had nothing against camouflage. She just didn't like blue camouflage.
Fortunately, as one of the two critical-care trained physicians manning the ICU aboard the U.S.S. Harry S Truman for her six-month deployment to the Middle East, she didn't have to wear the dreaded blueberry camouflage uniform often. Like any ICU on land, the recommended uniform was scrubs and tennis shoes, not blue camouflage and black combat boots; the fact that she had the 2000-0800 shift meant that hardly anyone who cared was still awake when she was at work. She could sneak into the ICU's locker room in her PT uniform—which she didn't care for, either, but this wasn't the time nor the place to get into how her skin looked against the bright yellow shirt—and change into her scrubs there. Anyone who saw her between her quarters and the locker room just looked the other way, undoubtedly amused at the sight of one of their docs trying to sneak around in the improper uniform.
Not today, unfortunately. Today was halfway through a family weekend. They had been anchored off Bahrain, the home of the Fifth Fleet, since Thursday, with all of the wives and husbands and children eager to see where their family members worked crawling around the ship. And when there were so many dependents around, the Navy had to look good, which meant that everyone in the Navy had to look good. And look good which in the proper uniform of the day, which was, unfortunately, blueberries.
She sighed as she surveyed the dreaded uniform, piled somewhat neatly in her locker, and reluctantly began peeling off her scrubs to put the blue camouflage back on, just so she could walk the few decks back to her quarters and change again for a few hours of shut-eye amidst the chaos of a fully-awake aircraft carrier. A forced night-owl on this deployment—she tried telling people it was by choice, but the fact was that the other critical care doctor, in addition to being an adult doc instead of a pediatrician like her, was a captain and therefore two ranks higher than her—she had to completely switch her schedule. She got up at 1600 every day and hit the gym for an hour, without fail. Depending on the day, she either put in seven miles on the treadmill—another thing she hated about being on a ship; she preferred to run outdoors—to keep her in shape for when she'd be returning home to her marathon-running husband, or lifted weights to keep herself from dying of boredom from running on the treadmill every day. Then she headed to the officer's mess for breakfast while they were beginning to serve dinner for everyone else, and then made her way back to her quarters for some alone time and family time before she got ready for another twelve-hour shift in the small ICU. During the week, she'd sit down to talk to Zack while he was at work back at Quantico. On the weekends, she got him at home while he was taking care of the boys, and that was even better, getting to hear about what Andrew was learning in kindergarten and just listening to Ben, at all of fifteen months old, as he babbled excitedly at the webcam. But Zack was out on a field-training exercise with his unit and the boys were staying with the grandparents for the week, who, despite it being almost 2012, didn't yet have a webcam.
She was still thinking about her boys as she crossed the threshold into her quarters; the fact that she was thinking about them at the end of her shift, when she was usually too tired to think about anything, was enough to tell her that she was definitely going through withdrawal from her Mox boys, the three of them. She sighed again and glanced at the family picture she had taped to her mirror, taken right before she left for the deployment six weeks ago. It was one of those rare weekends that both her and Zack had off work, and they had taken the boys to a nearby national park for some light hiking in the nice fall weather. Andrew had just gotten his haircut before starting kindergarten—she was sad to see those springy curls go, but if there was one thing Zack was going to put his foot down about, it was his boys being squared away and looking like the future Marines they undoubtedly were—and was looking so much like his father that strangers would come up to them when they were out and comment on it. Ben was much more her boy, with his lighter coloring—nowhere near her Irish pastiness, but not nearly as dark his half-Kenyan father—and the same serious expression she often wore at work, while he looked out onto the world from his position in the backpack Zack was wearing.
She missed her boys, and the fact that the Fifth Fleet-based crew of the aircraft carrier got to have their families on board while hers was in Virginia, well, it just wasn't fair.
She sighed as she peeled off her uniform blouse and tossed it onto the bed, groaning as she bent down to untie the shiny black combat boots she hated so much. Although the ICU was hardly hopping, she was still drained after each shift, and between her exhaustion and the almost-undetectable motion of the ship, she would fall immediately into a deep sleep, which was all she wanted to do now. For some reason, though, she was too keyed up to even think about lying down.
Now removed of her blue camouflage blouse and combat boots, she sat down at her computer to check her email, reading through the standard junk emails about things that were going on back at Bethesda—Walter Reed National Military Medical Center, not that she would ever call it that aloud—when she remembered she still needed to call Jeff Cunningham back. One of Zack's former cross-country teammates from Annapolis, he had gone onto medical school and became a pediatrician, like her, and the two had worked together at Balboa in San Diego for a few years between deployments, before she returned to Bethesda for a neonatology fellowship and he had left for deployment as a senior medical officer with 1st Recon, of all the silly things to do. He was now an infectious disease fellow at Balboa, and a few weeks before she left for deployment, was captured outside his apartment and taken as a prisoner to Yemen, earning a few broken bones before being returned to San Diego. She had gone out to California when he got back to see him and see for herself that he was okay and in one piece and that his girlfriend, a Marine-turned-NCIS special agent, had everything under control.
Of course she did. Kim Tomblin always had everything under control.
They had talked a few days before on Skype, their conversation cut short by him needing to go into work, and she promised him she'd call him back, but between the hours at work and the preparations for Family Weekend, that had slipped her mind. She did some quick calculations and determined that it would be around 1930 in San Diego. Perfect; there was almost no chance he was still at work. He might be having dinner, but Kim would understand. Marines always seemed to understand when their dinners were interrupted—especially Marines who lived with Navy doctors.
She had barely begun to dial in the number on the computer when her radio, which she likened to the pager she carried back home and had about the same affection for, beeped to indicate that someone was trying to reach her. "Dr. Mox," she said, quickly grabbing it and hoping it wasn't something emergent.
"Yes, ma'am, it's HM2 Gadson. Ma'am, the skipper's son was complaining of a hurt knee—"
"And he's in my office now," Dr. Mox finished for the corpsman. Perfect. Just what she needed after a full shift.
"Yes, ma'am. You're the only pediatrician on board, ma'am."
Of course she was. As ridiculous as it was for the Navy to put a neonatologist in an adult ICU—despite what the admirals may think, there were big differences between a one pound preemie and two hundred pound sailor—it was equally ridiculous that that same neonatologist would be the only pediatrician on board on a weekend that the ship was crawling with kids. "I'll be right there, Gadson."
"Thank you, ma'am." Siobhan sighed and reached for the tossed-aside remnants of her uniform, tying up the boots as quickly as she could before she headed out toward the medical bay.
She was almost to the tiny closet off the ICU that served as her office when she noticed a sudden change in the air of the ship. She frowned and stopped, looking around and trying to figure out what it was while seeing if anyone around her noticed the same thing.
And then the ship exploded.