Truth or Consequences

"Truth or consequences," Tony said again.

McGee heaved a weary sigh. Like a bad smell, this game seemed to persist no matter how hard he tried to dispel it. It was all pointless, anyhow. The sad fact was that they had worked together for so long now that there was simply nothing acutely embarrassing, tragically neurotic or even mildly disturbing that they didn't already know about each other.

McGee shifted his back against the tree trunk that served as a backrest for both him and Tony and stared at the open grave that lay before them. This wasn't the first time they had ended up spending the night guarding a gravesite. Quite frankly, he couldn't see why they were needed at all. Who was going to sneak over in the middle of the night just to dig out the skeletal remains and personal effects of some long dead petty officer? There was a neat little border of yellow tape to stop them, why did they also need a couple of guards?

Well, apparently, they did. It would all be over in the morning. He could make it. He could even stand this game so long as Tony didn't ask about …

"Abby."

A grimace spasmed across McGee's face, a fact the moonless night's pervading darkness managed to shield from Tony's eyes, greedy for just such a reaction. McGee sighed again, pulled his knees up to his chest and rubbed the tips of his fingers across his forehead. He was tired, too tired for this game. Unfortunately, all indications were that he had hours more to go. His hand dropped from his forehead and scraped across the surface of the two blankets lying beside them on the ground. He yearned for their caress yet they had both agreed that that staying cold was the best chance they had of staying awake.

"How often do you dream about her in that Marilyn Monroe outfit."

McGee's eyes squeezed shut in reflexive embarrassment: how many indeed? He fought to prize them open again. "A couple," he hedged finally.

"You're fading, Probie," Tony warned, "stay with me."

"I'm fine," McGee mumbled lazily.

"Tell me about the dreams," Tony threatened. He lowered his tone dramatically. "Or face the consequences."

McGee smiled dreamily in the security of the darkness. Comforting warmth cocooned him and he drew a deep contented breath. He looked over at the open grave they were guarding, the roughly hewn edge barely discernable in the gloomy light. He wondered again about the logic behind guarding a hole in the ground. Surely a few well placed electronic sensors and infrared cameras would do the job and he and Tony could get some well-earned sleep. Or maybe Abby, currently straddling the gravesite in her Marilyn Monroe outfit complete with peroxide wig and vibrant red lipstick, could act as sentry.

He did a double take: "Abby."

"Yes, McGee," said Abby in an unusually husky, sultry voice.

McGee swallowed dryly. "What are you doing here?"

Abby smiled as her white pleated skirt billowed around her, powered by some ferocious updraft supplied by the gravesite. McGee reasoned the petty officer must have a great view, or a great set of lungs for a pile of bones. She made a half-hearted attempt to tame the dress but soon gave up and simply let the skirt rise to show the worlds smallest G-string with a tiny skull and cross bones printed on it.

McGee's heart rate increased as his eyes roamed over the soft contours of her body taking in her delicately rounded shoulders and perky breasts – a perfect handful, he knew. Abby smiled demurely, lowering her eyes to direct his gaze to her breasts. Not that she really needed to, his eyes never strayed long from those glorious mounds but now he could see the nipples standing straight up, straining against the flimsy material just as they had that night in the lab. Then, inexplicably, the entire dress blew off leaving Abby standing almost naked hovering above the gravesite.

"Ever done it in a grave, Timmy?" asked Abby.

"Ahh, no - but I'm sure you have."

"Come," Abby invited.

McGee felt his entire body convulse with desire. He tried to move but couldn't. Something was stopping him – no someone. Abby was so close he could almost touch her. Struggling frantically, he flailed his limbs trying to break free. Abby was still there, still waiting for him and Tony was pulling him back.

"Tony," he complained. "No, Tony. Tony!"

"Hey!"

Abby evaporated to be replaced by a stubble ridden Tony face. Harsh cold night air bit his skin. Groggily, he tried to get his bearings. He was lying on a leaf-mulch bed covered in one of the warm woollen blankets. Someone was sitting beside him – and it wasn't Abby.

"Tony?"

"Look I don't mind you having erotic dreams while you're meant to be guarding a gravesite with me," Tony snapped, "but I'll thank you leave me out of them."

"What makes you think…"

"Either you were trying to scratch an itch on your back or that writhing was something more. It had better have been something more: you still owe me a truth."

McGee gave up. He was too sleepy to argue.

"It's your fault," he said. "You put her into my head."

"Who?"

"Abby. "

"Abby?"

"… in that dress."

"I'll do you a deal, Probie," said Tony. "Tell me the dream and I won't tell Gibbs you slept on duty."