A/N: I wrote this after Precious Pup requested a story about Tim in the bathtub or in a towel. Now, I'm certain she was wanting something more...titillating than I decided to write, but I don't write titillating. :) So, this oneshot is about Tim...and he's definitely in a towel and in the bathtub at certain points in the story, but there's no sex. There isn't even any kissing and it's not graphic. Now, that I've completely lost your interest, here it is.
Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS (real or fictional)...which is unfortunate, because I'd really like to.
Mud, Blood and Lemon
by Enthusiastic Fish
Mud.
Dirty.
Sticky.
Smelly.
Grimy.
Mud.
The kind of mud that sticks to every part of you and manages to get into crevices you didn't even know existed.
Head to toe.
Mud. Muck. Guck. Goop. Sludge. Slime. Ooze.
There were many many words for the substance that was currently covering Tim from head to toe. This wasn't just any mud that was covering him. It was the kind of mud that results from standing water...the kind you find on ditch banks, or in the forest after a long period of rain followed by hot muggy days. It smells. It attracts bugs. It has who knows what kind of things living in it.
Mud.
That was pretty much the only thought in Tim's head as he rode back to NCIS. Why is that I'm the one to face plant in the mud? Why did our suspect decide to jump at me? Why not Tony or Ziva...or even Gibbs?
He was continually finding new places the mud had managed to seep into. For instance, he had never paid such close attention to all the twists and turns in his ears...but he did now because they all had mud in them. His hair was probably a few shades darker from the mud in it. His jacket was ruined...again. His shoes and socks were covered in the stuff. In that, at least, Tony and Ziva were no better off. They had been running after the guy as well. ...and Tim at least had the satisfaction of knowing that the cuffs on the man in the back seat were because of him, not Tony or Ziva. Rather than simply wallowing (what an appropriate word), Tim had engaged in mud wrestling in his efforts to keep the man from getting away...which also accounted for the amount of mud he had on himself.
Mud.
Once they reached NCIS, Tim helped process their suspect. He took off the worst of the clothes, but he had taken his gym clothes home for washing...and besides, he was so dirty, there seemed little point in getting everything else he owned dirty. He did clean off his face and hands...but everything else had to wait. There was too much to do.
Tony and Ziva were walking around in bare feet...more than likely against regulations, but they didn't care much. Tim kept his shoes on. They were the least of his problems. His body ached from the takedown, and his clothes began to stiffen. Instead, he suffered through the rest of the day, feeling the itchy sensations as the mud dried and began to peel off in disgusting muddy green flakes.
Finally, Gibbs actually looked at Tim, working hard on his report, and noticed the current state of his attire.
"McGee!"
"Yes, Boss?"
"What are you still doing here?"
"I have to finish my report, Boss."
"Finish it tomorrow."
"I'm nearly–"
Gibbs cut him off. "Finish it tomorrow. Go home."
"Yeah, Probie, you reek."
Tim rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Tony. I really appreciate that." Still, he stood up and left, grateful for the chance to finally get clean. Clean! Really and truly clean! He understood what Tony meant as he drove back to his apartment. He had to roll down the windows because the smell was getting to him. He couldn't wait to take a shower...a bath...to soak for the next few hours. What bliss!
As he stepped into his apartment, Tim began to mentally make a list of the things he needed to do. It was a short list.
Get clean.
That was it. He didn't need to do anything else tonight besides get clean. With eager anticipation, he went into the bathroom, stripping off the disgusting clothing as he did so. He looked around, wanting to find something...something to add. He turned on the water and let the tub begin to fill up. Then, he changed his mind and decided to take a shower and get rid of the worst of the mud first. He could luxuriate in the bathtub afterwards. Yes...it would be a great night.
However, it was not to be.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
The elevator doors opened with a ding and Tim walked out, trying to hide his face. It didn't work.
"Morning, Probie!"
"Morning, Tony," Tim mumbled. He walked quickly past Tony's desk.
"McGee, what's that on your head?"
"Nothing, Tony."
"Really? Doesn't look like nothing."
"Nothing, Tony," Tim said and sat down, sinking his head low in front of his monitor.
...not low enough.
Tony leaned over and whistled. "What happened to your face?"
Tim flushed. However, the large bruise gracing his forehead, the stitches on the left side of his head, and the stitches over his right eye distracted Tony from noticing.
"Nothing," Tim said. "Just drop it, Tony."
"Who did you insult to get this, McGee?"
"No one, Tony," Tim rolled his eyes...or he rolled his right eye. His left eye was half-closed.
"McGee, what happened to your face?" Ziva asked as she approached.
"He says nothing," Tony answered.
"Nothing happened. It's nothing, okay?" Tim said, blushing more brightly under the scrutiny.
"It's not nothing. Who hit you?" Ziva asked, ready to do battle.
"No one! No one hit me!"
"We have a break-in out at Anacostia," Gibbs announced walking by. His pace slowed as he reached the trio at Tim's desk. Then, he stopped and stared. "McGee, what happened to your face?"
"He says nothing, Gibbs," Ziva said.
"He says no one did anything to him," Tony added.
"For heaven's sake! Nothing did happen!" Tim shouted.
"I doubt that bruises and stitches spontaneously appeared on your face, McGee," Gibbs said. "Who did this?"
"No one, Boss," Tim said, earnestly, secretly wishing that he had just stayed home like the doctor had recommended.
"McGee, if you're worried that..." Gibbs said.
"No one hit me! I promise!"
"Then, what happened?"
"Nothing!"
"You're lying, McGee," Ziva said.
They were all standing so close. They all looked concerned...and Tim just felt so embarrassed.
"McGee..." Tony said. Tim knew he was about to be all sincere...and while that would be nice, he couldn't bear it.
"I got hit in the head by my showerhead!" he shouted finally, standing up quickly.
There were three confused faces.
"What?" Gibbs asked.
Tony was trying to decide whether or not to start grinning. Tim could see it in his eyes.
Tim's face was so red that he was surprised he wasn't glowing. He stared at his feet. "I was showering last night and my showerhead exploded. It was all rusted through and the screw was stripped. It flew and hit me in the head...knocked me out."
Now, Tony's expression was torn between horrified fascination and outright hilarity.
"Your...shower...attacked you?" Tony asked, nearly grinning.
"Yeah...I guess you could put it like that."
"What did you do to it?"
"I turned it on, Tony. I was a little dirty last night, you know."
"Wait, if you were knocked out, how did you get to the hospital?"
Tim shrugged. "I have no idea. I woke up there." He suddenly looked up, stricken. "Oh, no! Someone saw me naked!"
Tony couldn't hold it in anymore. He let out a loud guffaw. Ziva was smiling as well, but she was more successful at looking it pitying.
"I am sorry, McGee. It is not funny."
"Right."
A small snort escaped. "No, really. I am sorry that you were injured...and that..." Another snort. "...that someone saw you naked...that many someones...must have..." She broke out into peals of laughter.
Tim turned his gaze back to the floor. It was a nicer view.
"McGee...why...don't you just take it easy today," Gibbs said, his voice sounding strangely strangled, as if even he was trying not to laugh. "We'll check out the break-in. You can finish up your report."
"Yes, Boss." Tim didn't look up again until the laughter was cut off by the closing elevator doors. Then, he sat down at his computer and winced. His head still hurt, even with the very nice pain meds they had prescribed him. However, that didn't bother him as much as the sudden worry about who it was who had found him and got him to a hospital. He owed them a debt of gratitude at least, but considering his state of undress at the time, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to know who it had been. Focus on the report. That's more important, he told himself severely.
That didn't work. Then, he got an email.
Tim, are you feeling okay?
It was from Abby. A thought, slightly better than his former thought, began to percolate in his head...although it still made him blush.
He sent a quick email back.
How did you know?
There was no reply. Tim didn't get a chance to go down either. Cynthia commandeered him to fix her computer. The IT people were backed up. She was appropriately sympathetic about his "war wounds" and didn't even laugh when he admitted his battle had been with his bathroom...and that he had lost. Then, Gibbs, Tony and Ziva had returned and he had to help them with the evidence. When he had finally made it down to the lab...Abby was gone. It was strange since she didn't usually take early days. Just the opposite actually.
Gibbs was merciful once more and let him leave early. Tim was glad and let the elevator close with Tony's jibes about not fighting with his apartment ringing in his ears. He looked forward to a quiet night...hopefully. His landlord had promised to have the shower fixed by the time he got back that evening.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
The lights were on in his apartment when he got there. Tim figured that his landlord had forgotten to turn them off when he left. The door was locked and he let himself in...hoping that the shower was fixed. He wasn't sure how long it would be before he stopped wincing every time he turned it on.
He paused. There was a scent in the air. It was familiar...
"Lemon?" he said aloud.
"Hey!" The voice came from the bathroom.
Tim walked toward the voice, recognizing it, but wondering what in the world she was doing there.
"What's going on, Abby?" he asked.
"I figured you'd need some de-stressing after the last twenty-four hours," she said, grinning widely.
"How did you know?"
She just grinned again, in such a way that made Tim flush again.
"It was you?"
No reply, just that wicked smile that was guaranteed to make Tim's face redden.
"Why lemon?" he asked finally.
"Because it's good for you."
"I like lemons, Abby, but..." He stopped when she thrust the label at him. "...digestive problems, lack of energy, fatigue, infections, flu, obesity, rheumatism, depression, stress and as a general tonic." He looked up. "Wow, this must be the miracle cure we've all been searching for."
"Sarcasm is so unhealthy, Tim," Abby said smiling. "Ignore all that if you want. Doesn't it smell nice?"
Tim nodded. "Yes, it does," he admitted.
"Then, you should take a bath. No showers for you for awhile, I think."
"I must admit that I agree with that assessment."
"Then, hop on in!"
Tim blushed again. "Abby!"
"Are you trying ignore both the fact that we used to go out and the fact that I saw you naked just last night?"
Tim blushed more brightly. "No, but..."
"Tim, you really need to relax! You're much too stressed. Take a bath. I'll even wait out in your bed."
"Abby!"
"Tim!" she echoed. Then, she smiled again and left him to his bathroom.
Tim looked after her with an expression that couldn't decide if it was gratitude or frustration. Then, he looked at the gently steaming water in the bathtub.
It did smell very good. Trying to ignore Abby's presence in his bedroom, Tim took off his clothes and stepped into the bath. He wondered how Abby had managed to get it to the perfect temperature, not too hot, but still steaming. Lovely. He inhaled the lemon scent and leaned back, closing his eyes and relaxing his tense muscles. A long slow sigh escaped his lips as his body unknotted from the stress and pain of the last twenty-four hours. He nearly fell asleep. Perhaps he did fall asleep because the next thing he knew, he heard Abby's voice gently telling him that he would drown if he stayed in there any longer.
Reluctantly, Tim pulled himself out of the bathtub and wrapped a towel around his waist. He realized that he didn't have any clothes in the bathroom with him. Oops.
"Abby?"
"Yes, Tim?"
"You're still here?"
"No, I'm throwing my voice from my apartment."
Tim grinned.
"I didn't bring any clothes in here with me."
"Really? How...absentminded of you." She sounded much too innocent.
"You're not going to leave my bedroom are you."
"Nope!"
"You're not going to close your eyes either, are you."
"Not a chance."
Tim sighed, but figured that he at least had a towel this time. Abby was sitting on his bed, wide-eyed and interested. As he walked to his dresser, her eyes followed every move. She made a show of looking him up and down and Tim blushed again. He found his pajamas as quickly as possible and went back into the bathroom, holding his towel securely about his waist. He dressed and returned to the bedroom.
"Thanks, Abby. I really appreciate it."
"No problem, Tim. I figured you might need it." Gone was the teasing grin, the leering looks. Now, it was just Abby, being a friend. ...a bit more invasive than most of his friends, but still a friend.
"You want to stick around for a while? Watch a movie?"
Her smile was gleeful. "Yeah, I'd like that, Tim."
He sat down beside her on the bed. Tim didn't know if the lemon had magically cured his aches and pains, but he wasn't feeling them in any case. He turned on the television and Abby cuddled beside him, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her waist. He flipped through the channels until he came to Jaws. Abby chuckled but didn't protest his choice. It wasn't romantic, but this wasn't a romance. It was something else...something that didn't have a name, but was important all the same. So, together they watched Steven Spielberg's mechanical shark and Roy Schieder's Martin Brody...and fell asleep in each other's arms.
From mud...to blood...to lemon...and to love.
FINIS!