The Fruit of the Dead

By ChannelD

Written for the NFA Operation: Arcane Challenge
Rating: T
Warning: small amounts of horror
Genre: AU, suspense
Characters: The team but principally Tim, and some characters thought up by great minds long before my time and therefore not OC by me
Pairing: McAbby

The requirement of this challenge: "is to write something...well...strange.
preferably supernatural (vampires, werewolves, witches etc.), mythical or generally just laugh-out-loud"

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Disclaimer: I own nothing of NCIS (but I wish I did).

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Mid November, 2007

"Papaya today." Ziva opened her small thermal lunch container after she'd shrugged out of her coat in the squad room. Of course, since they'd been nattering on breakfast issues all week, in these brief minutes at the start of the work day, it should have been called a breakfast container.

Tony pounced, hopeful. "Nothing that's not good for you? Ziva, I'm disappointed." He lifted the papaya, as if in hope of finding a gooey donut underneath. Ziva slapped his hand away.

"Oh, GMTA!" Abby exclaimed, coming into the squad room with a bounce, gently tossing a pear from hand to hand. "I'm on a fruit kick this week. The real deal is so much better than fruit-flavored cereal!" She sat in Tim's chair, since he wasn't there yet, and set the pear down on the center of his desk, admiring it.

"Even though you don't get a toy inside?" asked Tony, about to bite into his chocolate chip muffin. "Hey, what'd you bring for breakfast today, Probie?" he called as Tim came in.

"Instant oatmeal," Tim announced, shaking the sleet off his coat as he hung it up. "Just add skim milk and brown sugar, and heat it up, and breakfast is good to go." He smiled in anticipation, and then stepped out to the little break room down the hall to use the microwave. There were still ten minutes before they had to start working.

He returned with a steaming bowl, waved to Abby to stay seated, and stood for a moment at the window as he ate, looking out at the bleak day. Unusually cold for November, it was. The wind raced and bayed around the Navy Yard buildings as cold rain, joined by sleet, battered the windows, demanding entrance. Over the always-on ZNN channel on a screen, reports came in of the unusually fierce weather patterns in much of the northern hemisphere: record snowfall, terrible ice storms, plunging temperatures, sleet even down into southern Florida and Greece. It made the blood pound; anxious, fearful, just to look at the weather map.

Winter's coming in too early, thought Tim. Hope we don't get any field calls today!

The others seemed mostly oblivious to the weather, since they were now inside, warm and dry. Only Tony appeared to look up and frown at the weather when Tim turned, but then Tim realized it was more of a are-you-sure-you-want-to-be-standing-there-when-Gibbs-comes-in? frown. Tim hustled back to his desk.

Gibbs appeared right on the hour, just as Abby got up and Tim sat down. Tony grinned. "And what did you bring for breakfast, boss?"

"Are you still playing that stupid breakfast game?! I brought coffee. I don't need anything else. And when did you people stop eating at home, anyway?" Gibbs thundered. "Abby, don't you have work to do? Don't you all have work to do?!"

"Uh, just getting on it, boss."

"Me, too, Gibbs…"

"Working hard, boss."

Abby looked at Gibbs in surprise; stung by the unexpected attack from her historic supporter. "I, um; I have a meeting with the Director. I just stopped here on my way—" At his hard look, she abandoned her excuse. "I'm going now." So saying, she headed up the stairs, her pear forgotten.

Gibbs settled in at his own desk, feeling but ignoring the looks his team exchanged with each other. I don't care if they think I'm overly grumpy today. Not that he ever cared much. They didn't see that horrific weather-related car accident I saw on the way in… He tried to push it out of his mind; the crumpled vehicles, the glass, the blood, the families that would now be mourning. At least my people all made it in safely.

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Not long afterwards, they all looked up as footsteps pounded in from the east and west corridors, and a half dozen people in the dark gray uniforms of NCIS Security tore through the edge of the squad room and up the stairs toward the Director's office.

There had been no alarm, no shouts, no distress call that Gibbs' team had heard, but they weren't about to wait for one. Without a word spoken, they took off after Security.

Cynthia sat with her chair flat to the wall; sheer fright on her face. She saw Gibbs' team, recognized them, but only looked toward the closed door to Jenny's inner office, a warning in her eyes. After ascertaining that Cynthia was unhurt, Gibbs lead his team's charge in.

"Jethro! Stop! Don't move; don't make any attempt…" Jenny's voice was commanding; although fear was drifting in it, still the strength of command won out. Gibbs and his team slowly drew back their hands from their gun holsters.

The room was an amazing sight. Not just that the six Security members were all crumpled on the floor; still alive, one hoped. Not just that Jenny and Abby were standing slack-jawed, and struggling not to cower. No, the most incredible…and fearsome…of all was the blonde woman in the center of the room, wearing a high-girded white chiton outfit, an ancient-looking, flowing affair vaguely toga-like, complete with a rich blue himation cape. She was sitting cross-legged, but she was…floatingabout five feet off the floor.

"Now, who are these intruders?" the woman said disdainfully."I do hope this will be the last of them." Her voice carried a faint, unidentifiable accent.

"These are, uh, some of my employees. We call them 'special agents'. They, uh, do the, uh, police work for my agency." said Jenny.

"Do they?" the woman's gray eyes opened a little wider. "Then I have come to the right place, for it is police, or detective work I need. Will you not introduce us, Director Jennifer Shepard?"

Clearly, Jenny's face showed that, given her choice, she would not. But it also showed her fear. Whoever this magical intruder was, she obviously had the power to k-o six Security brutes. One would have to tread lightly here. "Yes, um…Ziva David, Tony DiNozzo, Jethro Gibbs, and Tim McGee. People, this is…I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

"My name is Demeter. And I have come a long way, through the ages, searching for people who can help me get my missing daughter back."

Most of the others looked puzzled, but Tim spoke, beating Ziva to it. "Demeter? Your daughter wouldn't happen to be…Persephone, would it?" His eyes shown with wonder.

She turned those ocean-gray eyes to him, and they lost just a little of their coldness. "Yes, that is right. So the old tales are still being told in these times, are they? That is good."

Tim turned to the others. "In Greek myth—uh, history," he amended hastily, "the beautiful young goddess, Persephone, was kidnapped by Hades, the god of the underworld, and taken to his kingdom to be his bride. Her mother mounted a rescue effort. But because Persephone ate some pomegranate seeds while there, Hades declared that she would have to spend part of each year there with him."

"And that's why we have fall and winter," Ziva spoke up, finding her voice, while eyeing Demeter with apprehension. "While Persephone is in the underworld, Demeter roams the earth above, mourning, forbidding the plants to grow. When Persephone returns, so does spring."

"It is ever so," said Demeter. "Yet still my daughter is a prisoner for half a year. I have sought help in many lands, in many times. Now I come to you, En-Sea-Eye-Ess," she said the unfamiliar letter sounds slowly, carefully, as if they were words. "You will rescue my beloved little girl."

"Now, wait a second," said Gibbs. "I don't believe in—"

"Watch your tongue, mortal Jethro Gibbs!" Demeter commanded. "'Ere you find it parted from your mouth. I understand fully that your little mortal lives' mission concerns sailing men in this time. But I have greater need of you now than does some forlorn ship's crew. Ha! By all the power of Zeus, ye shall bow before me ere ye take on one more case. Cast your eyes on the windows! Behold the power of Demeter!"

"We're supposed to believe that a little taste of early winter is your doing?" said Gibbs, over Jenny's soft warning of "Jethro!"

Demeter's eyes bore into him as suddenly the rain became snow; huge, invading flakes, sweeping, swirling insanely; the park across the street no longer visible. The snow coated everything, piling up faster than the warmish ground could melt it. There was a loud CRUNCH! as a car skidded off Sicard Street and hit a sign.

Tony closed his gaping jaw. "All right. Let's say we believe you, uh, ma'am. How do we get to the, uh, wherever it is, so we can rescue your daughter?"

"Leave that to me," said the goddess, and closed her eyes as she placed her hands together.

"Tim! No!" Abby cried, and grabbed his arm.

He turned toward her. "Stay back," he said. "It'll be okay." But she didn't let go; her grip tightening even as he tried gently to pull her off.

"It's the underworld," she said. "How do you know you'll come back, Tim?"

"I know what I believe in, and what I don't believe in," he said in a whisper. "And I believe—"

Demeter opened one eye, and smirked. With one nod of her head, the center of the room filled with diaphanous light of multicolored specs; a small whirlwind that, when it popped out of existence, left the room intact, but with Demeter gone. Jenny choked to see that it wasn't just Demeter who was gone: so were Gibbs, Tony, Ziva, Tim, and Abby.

And she had no idea, no idea at all, how she could follow them.