My Brother, My Friend by ceilidh
A/N: Hello again, all, and welcome to - yes, you've guessed it, another 'missing scene' story. And yes, I know I've already written one for Twisted Sister, but when I finished Troubled Brother, this plot-bunny started hopping around my head, and it's now multiplied (as bunnies do) into several separate stories.
This is the first instalment and, hopefully soon, I'll get the rest posted too.
Just to set the scene, this story follows directly on from Troubled Brother. It's several days since the events of Twisted Sister, and - well, let's just say that not everyone is coping with the fall-out.
Spoilers, of course, for Twisted Sister, and a brief reference to Probie. As always, I hope you enjoy - please R&R if you do!
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My Brother, My Friend
Chapter One - Protective Custody
Prologue
Post-case paperwork. If there was one constant bane to a federal agent's life, this had to be it. Little wonder, then, that Jethro Gibbs gladly accepted any distraction from it that he could find.
With three constantly squabbling kids around, of course, life in the bullpen was rarely dull, or quiet – today's entertainment causing him to smile and shake his head, as only a long- suffering father could.
Tim McGee, federal agent, computer genius, all round Mr Nice-Guy, and now best-selling novelist, was trying to fend off his latest 'admirers'
Well, maybe not 'admirers' as such. Two colleagues who wanted to lynch him was more like it – his cellphone, held nervously in front of him, offering little protection as he struggled to answer it.
Ten seconds later, the threat of 'wedgie-death' by a Mossad assassin was the least of his worries – the frivolity around him stopping, instantly, as Tim's voice rose by several, unassisted octaves.
"She's what?!? When? What happened? Is she okay?"
Listening for several moments, Tim then nodded and hung up, his face now as white as his shirt. If he was aware of Tony's hand on his shoulder, or Ziva's quiet concern, he was too shaken to show it. And long before two anxious glances reached him, Gibbs was already striding to Tim McGee's desk.
As the parent in him so poignantly knew, only one kind of call could turn you so instantly pale as this – his reaction the only thing he could say as Gibbs grabbed Tim's coat, and practically threw him into it.
"Call us when you can. Now, go!"
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Her classmates had the usual selection of bed-time comforters. Cuddly toys. Date-books. Boyfriends. And if they could see where, and how, she was spending her night, they'd have a bitching field-day.
Sleeping in your brother's bed, while he was in it? Just hours ago, even she'd thought 'eeeew!'
Right now, though, wrapped in warmth, and love, and safety, she just gratefully thought 'mmmm-'
Usually, of course, when she stayed with him, he'd gallantly forsake his home-comforts for hers – uncomfortably scrunched into the confines of his sleeping bag, while she stretched out in cosy, king-size luxury.
But as she felt a strong arm tighten, in gentle protectiveness around her, Sarah McGee smiled – sensing that her equally trashed-out brother was as grateful for this break from the norm as she was.
And if she'd been freaked out by that collapse during her lecture, she knew it went ten-fold for him. She could still guiltily picture the panic on his face when he'd received the call that every big brother dreads.
'Agent McGee? This is Dean Baker, it's nothing to worry about, but… well, Sarah's taken ill, she's fainted in class, and…'
Twenty minutes later, he'd swept into Waverly's sick-room, that panic still etched deep into his eyes.
If a murder rap against your sister was bad, hearing she'd collapsed during her lecture ran a damn close second. And as he'd wrapped her against him, she'd guiltily noted that he was as shaken by it as she was.
So yes, to hell with the freakiness. Right now, both of them needed the comfort of a big, snuggly bed.
And, more now than ever before, Sarah needed this simple, but so comforting, contact between them. If just for tonight, she needed him to hold her. She needed the security that only he could provide.
She'd never really appreciated it until now, and she knew her rebellion against it had often hurt him. But as she gratefully hugged him back, Sarah knew she'd been blessed with the best comforter of all.
When you were angry and scared, still so terrified by your own memories that you fainted in class – yes, there was no safer place in the world, no better place to be, than snuggling up to your big brother. And if that big brother happened to be a federal agent who carried a gun – oh yeah, so much the better.
To Gibbs and his colleagues, he was a mix of names and curious, increasingly unflattering nicknames. To her puzzled surprise, though, he was never Tim – always McGee, or McGeek, or McGoo, or probie.
But for his still traumatised little sister, Tim McGee now held just one, pricelessly unique title. He was her perennially protective big brother, the best friend she could ever ask for, who –
"-you okay? If you're cold, I can get another blanket-"
– could still fuss and fret over her, every bit as anxiously, as he'd done back in that college sick-room.
Until today, she'd have nailed him for it. She'd fought him on it, for as long as she could remember. Now, though, she smiled up at him and shook her head while curling herself just a little bit closer – her own body ironically betraying her, though, to eyes that saw everything, and missed nothing.
Watching her settle against him, Tim frowned slightly as he tucked the duvet back over her shoulders.
She didn't really need it, of course. From its subtle hum of heating, his bedroom could never be cold. And there was enough of him, and a full size duvet, wrapped around her to keep any threat of it at bay.
No, Tim knew that shudder he'd just felt run through her couldn't be from the night-chill outside. It had come from fear, the trauma of what she'd been through, the horrors of what might have been – the tearful whisper that now escaped from his chest silently breaking the anxious heart beneath it.
"His face, Tim. I – I just keep seeing his face-"
Closing his eyes in quiet sympathy, Tim quickly re-opened them to avoid his own mental torment. One year on, and John Benedict's death still held a cruel grip on both his memory and his conscience.
He'd deal with that haunting guilt later, in his own private way, but right now he had other priorities – wrapping Sarah against him, needing to comfort himself now, as much as he needed to comfort her.
"I know, Sarah, I know… sssh, it's okay, it's all over. It's alright, Sarah, it's gonna be okay-"
Even as he quietly said them, Tim knew these words of reassurance were still cruelly hollow. From still raw experience, he knew nothing he said right now could stop these tears on his shoulder.
Even if she couldn't, or wouldn't, admit it, Tim knew that his little sister, his Sarah, was scared.
No, scratch that, she was terrified - shaken to the core by something she should never have faced. She'd seen Jeff Petty brutally killed in front of her, and had almost taken the rap for his murder.
It was something that should never have happened, and Tim was still quietly furious that it had.
There wasn't a malicious bone in his body, but when Madison Kline had smirked at him, so smugly – hell, if Sarah hadn't slapped that damn grin from her face, he'd have gladly done it instead.
Even with Tony's steadying presence beside him, it had taken all his self-control not to react – the professionalism of his training crashing against the bitter fury that he'd felt towards her.
She'd set his little sister up to be raped, and framed her just as ruthlessly for murder, and – no.
Closing his eyes again, Tim kept them closed this time as he breathed deeply, regaining control.
'No, McGee. For God's sake, for all our sakes, do not go there. It's over. Let it go-'
Easier said than done, of course, especially as Sarah continued to cry helplessly against him.
Gradually, though, the torrent on his shoulder slowed to a shaky trickle, then stopped completely. And, to Tim's relief, the fear, and the tremors that came with it, were starting to ease too.
As exhaustion started to take its place, he could feel her head growing heavier against his shoulder – and Tim smiled as he rested his chin on top of Sarah's head, and gratefully settled in for phase two.
She'd stopped crying. She'd stopped shaking. And that meant she was ready to be rocked.
From years of practice, from toddler-monsters under her bed right through to her current demons – oh yes, if there was one thing that Tim McGee was good at, it was rocking his little sister to sleep.
Not too fast, and not too slow. Just this soothing movement, smooth and steady, from side to side. And, Tim now gratefully noted as he felt Sarah relax against him, it was already starting to work. The crushing exhaustion which had caused her collapse was finally working in her favour now.
A few more minutes, and it would be sufficiently close to allow her to sleep, allow him to sleep, and –
"I could murder a pizza right now-"
– then again, Tim dryly corrected himself, maybe not. And trust his little sister to see things differently. If there was any way to throw him for a complete loop – yes, he knew his Sarah would find it.
To his more serious relief, though, she was settled enough now to find a smile for him, too – a teasing lift of his eyebrow returned with a light, 'say-it-and-I'll-murder-you…' slap on his chest.
Grinning back at her, Tim gave her an equally proud, freely returned hug, before climbing out of bed. He'd been too worried about her to notice it before, of course, but – yeah, he was kinda hungry too. And what else was the midnight hour for, but the timeless tradition of midnight-munchies?
She'd been too upset to eat when he'd brought her home, and he'd known better than force her to try. As all that thankfully passed, Tim knew they could both eat now, and manage to keep it down.
Pizza, though, at this time of night? Especially with her taste, or lack thereof, in toppings?
He had some pickles in the fridge, and peanut butter, too, but – damn, he was fresh out of Tabasco.
'Aw, gee, what a shame-'
Still grinning at that last thought, Tim then quietly laughed aloud as he searched on through his larder. His sister's taste in pizza was thankfully out – but what he'd found instead would be very much in.
If ambrosia was the food of mythical gods, then buttery popcorn was the food of sleepless mortals. And when you were as thoroughly tired and wired as this – yeah, you needed one hell of a lot of it.
Set neatly on Tim McGee's lap, a fresh bowl of Redenbacher's finest was taking one almighty hit – most of it, Tim noted in quiet satisfaction, heading more towards his little sister's mouth than his.
This might not be the most nutritious way to get her blood sugar back up to a healthier level, but – yeah, Tim thought through a happily relieved smile, what the hell did it matter? It was working.
Her colour was better now, and she'd stopped crying. More encouragingly still, she was ready to talk.
Well no, Tim dryly corrected himself, she wasn't ready to talk, she was ready to do what she did best.
Scooping up another handful, Sarah studied it for a moment, then squinted suspiciously up at him.
"This is low fat butter, right? I don't want to go into school tomorrow looking like cousin Mattie-"
Pulling a face back at her, Tim then grinned as he helped himself, while he could, to what was left.
"It is. And don't worry, you won't… hey, I didn't lose all that weight to just pile it all back on again-"
There was a sisterly insult in there somewhere – but to Tim's relief, his little sister couldn't find it. Instead, curling back into a snug huddle of brother and duvet, Sarah nodded in distracted agreement – her reply, when it finally came, throwing him on one of the biggest loops he'd ever known.
"You see faces like Jeff's all the time, don't you?" she said at last, glancing hesitantly up at him – encouraged by the calm smile she found there to find a new, and crucial, understanding between them.
"I – I mean, when you're called out to crime scenes… well, you must also see much worse, and… Tim, how do you deal with it? How can you see it, day in and day out, and not let it get to you?"
Recovering himself, Tim then smiled back at her while answering her with the same, gentle honesty.
"Because I have to, Sarah. I've been taught and trained to be objective, to just get the job done, and… well, Gibbs, Tony, Ziva, they all see the same things, too. We face the same horrors, and we all get each other through it-"
Realizing he was on the verge of lecturing her, something he knew she didn't need, Tim paused – re-gathering his thoughts, and his composure, before quietly voicing the regret that still haunted him.
"I'm used to it, Sarah, but you aren't, and… well, I just wish you hadn't gone through this-"
To his surprise, she didn't just smile at that, she shook her head too as she took his hand – repaying countless years of his support and protection in quiet words of both pride and apology.
"No, Tim, I – I think it's good that I did. I've never realized, until now, what your work involves. You see death, and its most horrific causes, every day, and… well, I'm sorry, Tim, for what I said.
What you do, and how you do it, is much more than stating the obvious, and making pretty pie charts. It's hard, and it's complicated, and… well, now I know there's no way in hell that I could do it-"
Still blinking back at her, stunned by this tribute, Tim then smiled - returning it with the same degree of grateful pride.
"Oh, I don't know… the way you worked out that timeline was pretty impressive," he said at last – visibly relaxing with the relief of finally being able to tease her.
"Tracking your actions was just what they taught me at FLETC… and my cap kinda suited you, too-"
Sarah's eyes lit up at that – and when a hopeful grin followed, Tim knew what was coming next.
"Yeah, they're pretty neat for college cred. So you… um, think you can get me one?"
Laughing too much to answer, Tim then sighed and nodded, knowing there was no point in arguing. He'd rarely, if ever, been able to say no to her. There was little point, he dryly reflected, in starting now.
Instead, quietly cherishing this new closeness between them, he drew Sarah into a brotherly hug – slipping back into the role that, for all its trials and tribulations, he wouldn't give up for the world. And judging by the way she hugged him back, she wouldn't be rebelling against it now, quite so much.
To both his proud relief and private gratitude, she then curled herself into his side again – another of those familiar, precious signs that the crisis was past now, and she was ready to sleep.
Watching her settle, and once sure that her eyes had closed, Tim smiled and gratefully did the same. At last, he could get some rest! He was in enough trouble with Tony already, but if he were to crash out on that stake-out tomorrow – yes, his surrogate brother, best friend, and frequent bane of his life would make sure he'd never forget it.
Asleep within minutes, he was oblivious, this time, to the movement of Sarah's head against his chest – equally unaware of the frown on her face, and the concern in her eyes, as she quietly studied him.
He was her rock, her protector, who'd raised big brotherhood, and keeping her safe, into an art form.
Who'd keep him safe, though, in a career that held so much horror? That could so easily kill him? Who could keep her irreplaceable big brother safe?
As she watched him sleep, Sarah McGee knew there was only one person, someone she barely knew but who would still understand her fears, who could fully answer that question.