Love Bytes

Written for the NFA Hopeless Romantic (Tim) and Give Crossovers Some Love Challenges
Rating:T for innuendo and adult humor
Characters: Tim, Tony, Ducky and a crossover character, or sorts ;)
Genre: Sci-Fi/Fantasy/Romance (well, sorta)
Summary: Tim's new project has some rather unforeseen consequences.

Disclaimer: Don't own, no infringement intended, and all that

This fic, oddly enough, was inspired by a conversation with McMhuirich about a Death Note crossover. While this is not a crossover with that universe, that conversation did remind me of something else, and something from that 'verse was used as part of the plot for this story. You don't need to know it to understand this fic, though. I hope. Special thanks to akaeve and thecookiemomma for the betas.

Some inspiration was also drawn from the 200th episode of NCIS as well ;)

"What in the hell is that?"

Tim groaned. "Why do I even bother to lock my door?" he muttered before looking up at the speaker. "What are you doing here, Tony?" He didn't wait for an answer before returning his attention to his current project.

"I was just checking to see if you wanted to go out for a drink, and you didn't answer my question." Tony moved closer and peered over Tim's shoulder to get a better view of the collection of metal, wires, and plastic before repeating his question. "Seriously, what isthat? Frankenstein's typewriter?"

"It's a word processor."

"A word processor? Why would you…?"

"A friend of mine found it stuffed back in the attic of a house he bought. He thought I might be able to use it for parts or something. Right now I'm just trying to see if I can even get it to work."

"But why? You always have the latest technology. Why bother with…that?"

"I like a challenge."

Tony shook his head and took a closer look at the brand name on the battered casing. "'Wang'?" Suddenly he smirked. "Ah, I get it. You just want to be able to tell your online geek friends that you have a big—"

"-Tony!"

He gave Tim an unrepentant grin and headed for the kitchen. "You got any beer, Probie?"

Tim let out a sigh of frustration. "No. And I don't want to go out for a drink. I'm not looking to be your wingman tonight, Tony."

"You need to get out more, McShut-In. How else are you going to meet women?"

"I haven't had much luck meeting any when I've gone out, either. Besides, I don't think bars are the best place to find…compatible companionship."

"'Compatible'? You really do need to step away from the computers, McGee. Get out and just have a good time."

"No thanks."

Tony returned from the kitchen with two cans of Diet Coke and handed one to Tim before cracking the other open and taking a sip. "Ugh. How can you drink this stuff?"

Tim set his own can aside and started to fiddle with the machine on his desk. Tony's continued silence started to worry him and finally he turned to look up at the other agent. Tony was staring at him, a serious expression on his face.

"What?"

"What do you want, Tim?"

"Peace and quiet?"

Tony head-slapped him. "In a relationship, McSmartass. You mentioned 'compatible companionship'. What does that mean…to you?"

Tim sighed. He knew Tony wouldn't give up until he gave him some sort of answer, and then would probably either find a way to mock him for it, or try to help him find it, depending on his mood.

"I believe there is someone out there for everyone and we will find that person when we least expect it. When we're not even looking, really, but there is someone with whom we can truly connect on a very…deep level."

"Soul mates?"

Tim saw a twinkle of amusement in Tony's eyes and sighed. "If you want to call it that. I think it's more like two pieces of the big puzzle that just fit together perfectly, or maybe…like two units of DNA, and one has the right number places to form bonds with the other."

"I think you've been spending too much time around Abby."

Tim chuckled softly. "Yeah, I guess that did sound like something she'd say. But I do believe that, somewhere, there is someone who fits with me. Whether I'll ever find her or not is the big question."

"I never figured you for being a hopeless romantic, McGee."

Tim shrugged and started to work on his project again before replying. "We all have our quirks, Tony."

"Quirks…" He seemed to consider this for a moment and grinned. "Right now my quirks are saying I need a beer, and I think you need to join me. Or would you rather spend the night playing with your-"

"—Tony!"

The silly grin was back. "Fine, McPartyPooper. But next time, we're going out, geek project or no geek project. Gotta give your perfect woman the opportunity to 'bond' with you."

Tim just rolled his eyes. Knew I shouldn't have said anything. "Fine. See you tomorrow, Tony."

Tony gave him a mock salute and left, finally giving Tim his peace and quiet. He locked the door and went back to his desk to examine what he had accomplished so far. The processor itself was a mess, and although it had the outer shell of a known brand, it seemed to be a conglomeration of just about every type of circuit and wiring available nearly thirty years ago. Tim even thought he recognized some parts from an Erector set and a Lionel train transformer. He briefly wondered what could have possessed someone to build such a thing, and smiled fondly as he remembered his own early attempts at creating a working computer from scraps. The smile faded as his current situation returned to the forefront of his mind and he sighed. Maybe Tony's right, I do need to get out more. Besides, I'm probably never going to get this thing working anyway. He paused to study the jumble of electronics. But it's a challenge. You've had tougher demands from Gibbs. With renewed determination, he set to work.

As he worked, he thought about the conversation he had just had with Tony, and what he had actually admitted out loud. He really did believe in "true love", and if that made him a hopeless romantic…well, there were worse things. He had seen evidence of the phenomena in his family, with his parents (even though his father was overly strict and demanding, the deep love his mother held for the man was obvious in everything she did) and his grandparents on both sides. He had seen evidence of it in other places as well, although it had sometimes taken awhile to realize that he was seeing it. There was one example in particular that both amazed him and saddened him, and that was his boss.

Tim had been completely shocked to learn of Gibbs' loss. The man had always projected himself as invulnerable and, while not uncaring, seemingly above the whimsical notion of soul mates. To learn that Gibbs had found his soul mate, and had loved her so deeply that any future attempts at finding love were disastrous, had haunted Tim in a way he couldn't articulate. He had begun to wonder if the concept of true love was as positive as he had first believed. If it existed, not only was it potentially humbling, but also potentially painful. He had considered that pursuing such an idea was foolhardy, and that it would only expose him to more pain in his life, something which he hadn't really needed. To answer the question of whether or not the pursuit of the ideal was worthwhile, had had simply continued to observe.

What he had concluded, despite his own futile attempts to find a 'compatible companion', was that when such a match was made, the positive did in fact outweigh the negative. He did decide, however, that the odds were against obtaining it. Still, he wasn't completely ready to give up, even though he had voiced that opinion to his teammates on several occasions. In the meantime he had other things to occupy him and keep his mind off his potentially hopeless situation.

Finally, after several hours, a few nicks and a scraped knuckle or two, he had something that at least resembled the original machine. He plugged it in and then flipped the on/off switch. A long-lost message from the original owner appeared on the screen.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, UNCLE RICHARD! JON.

Tim shook his head and smiled. Someone had built this as a gift for an obviously well-loved relative. He wondered what his father would have thought if he had attempted such a gesture. Not much, I imagine. He'd just tell me I could do better.

He hit the EXECUTE key and the message disappeared, replaced by a blinking green cursor in the top left corner of the black screen, prompting a grin from the formerly frustrated agent. Maybe it wasn't a complete lost cause after all.

He debated what to type before he glanced around his apartment and sighed. What a mess. He put his fingers over the clunky keys and typed 'My apartment is clean and organized.' And sarcasm is a wonderful thing, he thought. He pressed the EXECUTE key and the statement hung there on the screen. Guess it does work.He pressed the EXECUTE key again and reached up to switch off the machine, glancing over his shoulder as he did so. He froze in shock at the sight that met his eyes.

The snarls of wires and pieces of electronics that had been scattered over his desk and the floor were gone, and neatly labeled boxes were stacked on the shelf next to his desk. His eyes slowly roamed the room and he saw that his bookshelves were tidily filled with his books and manuals, alphabetized and arranged, it seemed, by subject matter. The shelves themselves were free of dust and practically gleamed.

What in the hell…?

Tim blinked a few times, certain he was imagining things, but the images remained the same. He pinched himself and determined that he was very much awake. He turned back to the screen and saw the words he had typed, a statement now completely and impossibly true.

No way…

"OK, Tony," he called. "Joke's over. How did you do it?" The apartment remained utterly silent except for the fans in the word processor which were gradually growing louder. He got up and searched the apartment, noting that the changes were not isolated to his computer area. The whole place had undergone an "instant makeover". Finally he returned to his desk and starred at the green-tinted black screen.

Maybe I'm just going crazy…

He raised his hands over the keyboard and took a deep breath, steeling himself for the next test. 'My refrigerator has a six-pack of Tony's favorite beer on the bottom shelf', he typed, knowing that the statement should be completely false. As soon as he hit EXECUTE he ran to the fridge and yanked open the door, and there on the bottom shelf sat a six-pack of beer from a microbrewery that Tony had been practically gushing about ever since he had encountered the product during a trip out west. Tim knew the product wasn't available in this area, and he knew he had not purchased it himself, despite Tony's adulations.

Tim quickly shut the door and dashed back to his desk. He stared at the words for a minute and then hit the DELETE key. The words disappeared from the screen, and he returned to the fridge and opened the door one again. The beer was gone.

What in the hell is this thing?

He returned to his desk and reached up to turn the machine off but after a moment's hesitation, he let his hand fall back to the desk. He closed his eyes for a few moments and then opened them, still sure he had imagined everything, but his apartment looked the same: scrupulously clean and organized. Tim collapsed into his desk chair and stared at the machine which almost seemed to be mocking him.

What do I do…?

If the machine was truly capable of what he suspected, it was extremely dangerous. Tim had read enough science fiction and been forced to watch enough of Tony's movies to know that even the smallest changes in timelines or insertion of objects that did not belong could have disastrous results.

Still, Tim could not help think of all of the things he could fix; of all of the people he could bring back that had died too young, or had been sacrificed in the name of protecting the greater good: Erin… Kate… Jim… Paula…

Shannon.

Tim suddenly became aware of the acrid smell of overheating electronics and saw the word OVERLOAD blinking on the screen. He immediately switched the machine off and sat back, pondering the implications of everything that had just happened, of the power he now possessed in the form of a pre-PC-age relic.

I should destroy it. It's too much power, too much temptation, and if it fell into the wrong hands…

He rose from his chair and stumbled to his bedroom as his lack of sleep caught up with him. He checked his alarm clock and groaned when he saw that he'd maybe be able to get an hour of sleep before he'd have to get up and go help Abby. She'd managed to rope him into joining her in one of her many volunteer projects for weekend, and lateness would not be tolerated.

Tim sat down on his bed and sighed. An hour is better than none.He lay down on his bed and closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would come quickly, but it didn't. His mind whirled as he debated what he was going to do with a machine that had the potential to end the world.

The word processor remained in place, and off, for an entire week. Tony had commented on his "project" on Monday, and Tim had simply told him it didn't work (which was followed by a warning by Gibbs that someone should be working) and, after a few more comments, the older agent had let the matter drop. A new case had kept them busy for the week, and by Friday they were all exhausted. Tim barely had any time to himself, but the question that had arisen the previous weekend had never completely left his mind. He hadn't mentioned it to anyone else, either, but finally he decided he needed an opinion of someone he trusted.

Autopsy was silent when Tim stepped through the sliding door but when he moved deeper into the room he saw the regular occupant sitting at his desk with his back to the door.

"Ducky?" Tim called, and the M.E. turned in his chair to greet him.

"Timothy! What brings you down here this late? I thought Jethro would have sent you all home by now."

"He did, but, uh, I wanted to talk to you."

"What about, my dear boy?"

"It's…kind of a philosophical question."

"Well I must admit, I enjoy such discussions, but the late hour could be detrimental to my attempts to maintain my highest levels of mental acuity."

Tim sighed. "I'm sorry, it islate, I'll…I'll come back another time."

"Not at all. If it was important enough to bring you down here at this hour, it is important enough that I try and assist you in answering your question."

"OK. Thanks. I was wondering…do you believe that things happen for a reason?"

"For a reason? You mean…fate? Destiny? Something of that nature?"

"Yes, that, and, uh…if someone finds the person they are meant to be with forever, and it doesn't happen that way… what would happen if they were given a second chance? Or maybe…if what happened to end their…relationship… What if it could be reversed?"

"For your first question, I suppose it depends on how permanent the ending was. For the second…that's a little more difficult to answer. What is the mechanism for the second chance or for the reversal?"

"Let's say that there was…a device that could…change reality. Fix things that went wrong, or change things that hurt a lot of people. What would you do with it?"

"An interesting question… If I may ask, what brought this up?"

"I'm, uh…thinking of getting back into writing and it was an idea I had for a book." Tim attempted to be glib, but he suspected that Ducky saw right through it.

"I see… Well, I am sure you are familiar with many of the ideas put forth concerning that subject. To change what one considers to be important can have drastic effects on a much wider sphere of influence than the person initiating the change could ever imagine."

"Even if it was just a small change?"

"How small?"

Tim scrambled to think of something and decided something fairly close to what he had already considered would be easiest to explain.

"Well, for example, what if…someone who…who was killed before a relationship got a chance to start. What if that hadn't happened?"

Ducky gazed up at Tim with a sad yet sympathetic expression. "I sense a bit of a personal connection to this question, Timothy…"

"OK, fine, bad example. What if… what if Gibbs' wife hadn't been killed?"

"From one extreme to the other, dear boy. As for the first… there is never a guarantee that who we believe is the right person for us at first glance truly is, and it does not help us in the long run to dwell on 'might have beens'. As much as we believe that one small change does not matter to anyone except ourselves, we make connections throughout our lives, and one lost or one formed can change the whole conformation of not only our connections, but others as well. You second question actually provides a very good example of this. How much of your life would have changed if Jethro had not lost his wife? Or the lives of so many others?"

"I…I'm not really sure."

"Of course you are, even though you are loath to admit it. Would Jethro have joined NIS? Would you have been given a spot on the MCRT? Or would Tony? Or Kate? Or Ziva? Would you even have met Abigail? Or myself? Would Gibbs even still be alive? Would any of us?"

"OK, OK, I get it. Sorry, I guess I just needed to have someone else say…"

"Say what you had already decided. What you already knew."

"Yeah."

"Whether we like it or not, we are all the product of our experiences, both the good and the bad, and these experiences do not only affect us, but others as well. Holding some romantic view that we can simply fix things in the present that have already well passed us by is, to put it bluntly, hopeless. I do not see you as a hopeless person, Timothy, be it in romance or life."

Tim managed a weak smile. "Thanks, Ducky."

"Anytime, lad. Now, I think it is time to head home. Enjoy your weekend, Timothy."

"I'll try. I suspect Tony's going to drag me out to some bar in an attempt to socialize me."

Ducky chuckled. "He means well."

"Yeah, he does."

"And I know you do as well. I hope our conversation has helped your 'story' take shape."

"Actually…I think I'm going to scrap the whole idea. Maybe one day something else will point me back in that direction, when the time is right."

"I do hope that time comes, but if it doesn't…"

"Something else will. The right thing."

Ducky patted Tim's shoulder and left. Tim stood for a moment, going over what Ducky had said.

We're all important…every one of us, but we all have our parts to play… so let fate do what she will. It's not my place to change it.

His phone rang and he answered it as he headed for the elevator.

"McGee. Oh, hey, Tony. Tomorrow? Well, I need to take that word processor to the dump. What? Yeah, I have seen Office Space, why?" He listened to his partner's description and grinned. "Yeah, that sounds like fun. See you tomorrow."

The End

As for the Office Space reference, in that movie a bunch of guys take a printer that has been vexing them out to a field and beat the crap out of it with baseball bats. You can imagine what Tony was suggesting ;)

The crossover story was Word Processor of the Gods, by Stephen King, which was published in the collection Skeleton Crew.