Written for the NFA 'scent' challenge.Thanks to smack and iheartgibbs for the typo pickups. I changed the title after smackalicious' response. This is my 50th fanfiction. net NCIS story story.

Obsession

She held his coat to her face and breathed deeply. The warm pungent smell of dry cleaning fluid interlaced with just a hint of Old Spice flooded her senses. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine he was right there in the room with her, holding her in his arms.

Opening her eyes again, she regretfully placed the coat on the back of the chair where he'd left it 48 hours ago. She couldn't believe he still hadn't noticed its absence and called her. Or maybe he had noticed the coat was missing but couldn't remember where he'd left it. No: he'd remember his visit to her. Maybe he was just too busy with work and couldn't get away. Too busy to call: never. He had her number, he called her regularly.

She had become so familiar with his routine that it had never occurred to her that something might change. He would come in, when he did come in, on a Saturday morning smelling freshly washed and shaven: a heady mix of shampoo, aftershave and toothpaste. She would bring out her instruments and dampen him down, the added humidity releasing his sweet fruity fragrance. Then she would marvel in the glorious aroma as the rich metal tones from the tools of her trade mingled with his manly scent.

Sometimes she would wear a particular perfume on his day, just so she could experiment with the blending of the bouquets as she worked on him.

It was six months before he had first worn the coat. She remembered the day clearly: the day his usual tangy fruit / minty fresh aroma combined with the warm rich depth of thick material to form a volatile explosion that sent her head spinning and made her heart pump wildly in her throat. While she loved his summer light zingy tinge, she always looked forward to the cooler months when he would wear the winter coat tones to complement the season.

Although staid at first, over the years he had grown more adventurous in his tastes. Sometimes on a quite morning, they would go over pictures in glossy magazines together looking for something he would like to try. He would look, she would breath him in: the bite of printer's ink tinting and accentuating the sharp zest from his after shave and peppermint toothpaste. Once he found something he liked, she would examine the picture and then put her years of training and experience to work copying what he had shown her until he was satisfied. He had run the gauntlet now from short and stumpy to long and floppy.

He was exacting in his needs but, when she finally succeeded, he was always lavish in his praise and for a moment, she felt like the center of his universe. She treasured their intimate moments, probably more than she should with a customer of her profession.

She sighed and stared at the phone. She knew his cell number. He had given it to her long ago, afraid that something might come up for work that would make him miss an appointment. She knew it was silly: he was the perfect customer – booked ahead, called if he had to cancel or reschedule but it made him feel better to know she had his number in case of emergencies.

Emergencies? He trusted her with an emergency? Did he think so highly of her that her services were an integral part if his life?

She shook her head to chase away the wishful thinking. No: he was just being polite.

He probably didn't expect her to write his number into her personal organiser, or to annotate it with a heart icon. He most certainly didn't expect her to memorise it.

She picked up the phone hesitantly. This was no emergency but it had been two days and he still hadn't called or dropped by for his coat. She steadied herself: this was a perfectly legitimate reason to call him and he had given her his phone number. There was absolutely nothing to be nervous about.

She started dialling then stopped. Maybe she had the number wrong. She rustled around in her bag for her PDA and checked. The number hadn't changed; it was exactly the same as in her memory. She picked up the phone again and typed the numbers slowly making sure every digit was correct.

Then it was over and the ringing began. She held her breath counting each tone: one, two, three….

"McGee."

Her heart stopped.

"Ahh, hi, ahh," she panicked as his name flew from her mind, "Tim."

"Yes?"

She panicked again: he didn't recognise her voice. What if he didn't remember her name?

"It's, Jodie…."

"Oh hi, Jodie what's up?"

He remembered! He knew her! Somewhere in his mind, a special part of his memory was reserved especially for her!

"Um, nothing really. It's just that you left your coat here on Saturday."

"Oh thanks!"

He heart leapt: he sounded genuinely pleased. Maybe he had left it on purpose just so she could call.

She leaned over and picked up the coat again so she could hold it close. With his voice on the phone and his smell filling the air, she could almost taste him.

"I got a call from work just after I left you and I've been flat out ever since. I've been wondering where I put it."

Yes! It was work.

"Are you still open at 17:30?" he asked.

"Sure, I've got nothing on." She paused awkwardly; glad that he couldn't see the deep red blush invading her skin. "I'll be here," she corrected.

"Great – I'll pop over after work."

"Ahh, great, thanks. I'll, ah, see you there, ah, here…" she was floundering. She cursed herself for not rehearsing a speech.

"It's a date," he joked. "See you then."

He was gone: sucked into the ether and out of her grasp. She dropped the phone back onto its cradle and hugged his coat closer. She could have stayed there forever but another customer entered and, regretfully, it was back to work.

She was just doing the books when he walked in the door: 5:30 pm, punctual as always. She had taken the time to neaten up: do her hair, touch up her makeup, brush her teeth and change into her heels…..

For a moment she could only stare. This was a new Tim McGee: wild and free. Sure he was in work clothes, she expected that, but she had never seen the 5 o'clock shadow and the smell….it was his smell. Not the freshly washed morning aroma she was so familiar with but a day at work sweat smell that spoke of the real him. The Tim McGee his body reverted to after he had tamed it each morning. She inhaled deeply, immersing herself in the new sensation and committing it to memory. Now she had summer, winter and wild in her repertoire.

"Hi," he started.

She blinked, startled. "Oh, hi," she smiled. "I'll get your coat."

She had stored it in the back room after 'the call' for many reasons: 1) so no one would steal it, 2) so she could sneak back and smell it between customers and c) so he would have to wait just a little longer for her to retrieve it.

"Here," she said standing close enough so that she could smell his breath – hot and food laden.

"Thanks," he said.

He took the coat and, for a moment, their fingers touched. Sparks flew up her arms and through her chest.

"I'll see you Saturday, 10 am in six weeks," he smiled.

Then he was gone again, back into the real work with his coat but now she had a little bit more of him: a new smell and a new connection. She sketched the appointment in her calendar and collected her things. A new day tomorrow, new customers, but tonight: new memories to keep her warm.

Walking down the street back to his car, McGee pulled out his iphone and entered the reminder at 10:00 am on Saturday in 6 weeks time: "hair cut w/ Jodie".

There is an image that goes with this but won't let me show it:

IMG http / i118. photobucket. com/ albums / o119/ OzGeek/ TScalendardays. jpg / IMG