Christmas Yet to Come
by channeld
a drama with some fantasy elements
featuring Tim and the team
pairings: none
K plus rating
written for the 2010 NFA Secret Santa fic exchange
Prompt Given: McGee goes through a major life-altering change to where the team is pulled apart and they have to find a way back together even if a member or several are absent (character death maybe?) But I'd like an eventual happy ending (at least something good has to happen at the end, everything doesn't have to be perfect)
Author's note: Because there is magic at Christmastime, in the spirit of all things good, there is a little magic in this humble tale, too. I hope that you, dear reader, take it in the manner in which it is offered, and let the magic enlighten you…as it does Tim.
Thanks to Charles Dickens for inspiration, as well as a few other sources which you may pick out.
# # #
disclaimer: I still own nothing of NCIS.
Prologue
Late November2010
Marine Corps Base Quantico, Virginia
"Get back! Get back! She's gonna blow!"
"Ye gods; I've never seen anything like this!"
"Feel that heat? It's incredible!"
"Everyone got out, right? Right?"
"Think so. We got three small kids here, and their mother, and what looks like an uncle or grandfather…The adults are out, but they're breathing…"
"Still an oxygen mask on that little boy. He was trying to get his older sister out; she froze, according to the younger sister."
"Brave kid."
"He saved her life."
Tim listened to the rescue workers' chatter with half of his brain. Ziva, Tony and Gibbs had long since pulled back; letting the firefighters do their stuff, now that the fire trucks had arrived. The newly-built base housing unit at Quantico, with only one of the townhouses occupied, was a loss. How had it happened? Was it related to the meth lab found in the unfinished unit two doors down? Most likely. Was everyone out? Yes. That was good. Tim itched to be doing something useful.
"Why is a grandfather here?" Ziva wondered. "He cannot be living in base housing. Unless, by some stretch, he was declared a dependent."
"Probably was visiting," said Tony.
The fire was an angry, nearly out-of-control orange that would have been pretty as a bonfire, but was horrible as something that destroyed a family's possessions. But at least everyone was out
The Marine member of the household, Sgt. Robert Grant, was in Iraq. The MCRT had come to do a standard investigation on how meth was circulating on the base. The explosion and fire were unintended, to say the least. The people in the house had gotten out on their own.
"Come on," Gibbs beckoned as he moved toward the MCRT truck. "Nothing more for us to do here. We may come back in the morning."
Yet the next morning at NCIS brought dismal news. In the ruins of the burned townhouse a body had been found.
After a week, it was positively identified by dental records as the wife of Sgt. Grant—and the mother of the children, and sister and daughter, respectively, to the woman and man they'd seen.
"The children said nothing to us at the time," Ziva said, numbly, as their worst fears had been confirmed. "Why did they not cry for their mother?"
"They did, I think," Tony sighed. "I heard them crying…I didn't think anything of it. I thought they were traumatized by the fire."
Tim sat down hard. Nearby, other employees of the squad room were setting up an artificial Christmas tree; two putting the braches in place while two more tested strings of yellow lights. "I could have done something. Maybe." He wasn't sure. He did know that he'd had an urge to run in and search the burning building, and yet…
"No dead heroes, McGee," Gibbs said sharply, and accompanied that with a head slap. "Or weren't you paying attention at the lecture last month?"
"Yes, boss," Tim mumbled. The lecture had seemed like nothing more than the usual be alert training sessions that agents had to attend now and then. Long ago, Tim had realized that all of these lectures were a combination of policy plus someone's opinion. That didn't make them right or wrong in the great scheme of things. They were just an idea. Most were probably good ideas, having made it through various chains of command at Human Resources and even, sometimes, the Director's office, but Tim's private opinion was that they were suggestions as a way of life. This latest lecture on safety in the field emphasized the facts that risk taking = bad and being around to work another day = good.
Tony's snide remark back then had been that it was a monetary thing: the agency didn't want to keep investing money in new recruits if they were going to throw their lives away. There might have been something to that.
It all did seem logical to Tim, as he watched the tree decorators open the boxes of ornaments. Agencies were no place for heroes and dreamers. That was the stuff of stories. In real life, it was the sensible plodders, going on day to day, who powered the treadmills and hamster wheels that made the agencies run. It didn't sound romantic, but it kept people safe and made the most impact.
Seven days later, the older man—father to the dead woman—and his other daughter (the woman who'd gotten out alive) were arrested on charges of meth production and manslaughter, in addition to numerous smaller charges. Sgt. Grant, on compassionate leave for his wife's funeral, now had to deal with the fact that his father-in-law and sister-in-law would be serving prison sentences. It made the mind reel once again; the horrible things that families could inflict on their own members. All for a little money.
Still, NCIS was not in the position to mete out punishment. JAG was the next step; NCIS' part was over, for now. It was time to put feelings for that aside and move onto the next case. One could mourn the dead, but Life was for the living…and Christmas was coming.
To be continued...