A/N: It turns out that I have quite a few little oneshots sitting on my computer. Feel free to prod me into posting them. And also I seem to want to write ficage when I should be dealing with my dissertation...
Gemcity's Girls
A true friend is someone who never stops believing in your dreams, even if you have.
Ducky looked up as the doors to Autopsy swished open. To his surprise, Jethro was not the one to disturb his day.
Timothy stood in the doorway, looking very depressed. Ducky had a funny feeling as to why this was – Abigail had been down earlier threatening to kill Lyndi Crawshaw, Timothy's editor. Apparently Ms Crawshaw wanted a new chapter of the next Gemcity novel by the end of the month; an impossible deadline given the current caseload.
All this meant that poor Timothy was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Ducky wasn't sure which one of these was Jethro, but suspected he would be more unforgiving than the editor. Yet Timothy did not have the strength to stand up to either of his two bosses.
It was definitely an awkward position to be in.
Ducky smiled as Timothy slowly made his way in, almost as if he was not welcome. The doctor decided to speak first as it looked as though the younger man had lost the use of his tongue.
"Timothy, my dear lad!" he greeted him enthusiastically. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Timothy looked so lost that he decided to take pity on him.
"Sit down," he ordered, wandering over to his teapot and starting the familiar routine.
As the tea was being prepared, Timothy decided to speak up. "I don't know why I bother writing any more, Ducky."
The doctor handed him a mug of steaming tea and wisely said nothing.
"I mean, back when I started, I wrote for myself, for my own pleasure. And now people pick over every word I use as though there's a hidden meaning behind it, and they demand even more out of me. I'm tired, I'm stressed and I don't know why I bother."
Ducky smiled softly when it was clear Timothy had finished his rant. "Why did you start writing?" he asked quietly.
"Because I enjoyed it," the agent smiled. "Because I had all these ideas in my head and I wanted to get them written down."
"No one is forcing you to write except Ms Crawshaw," Ducky pointed out. "If you want to stop, that is your decision. But if you still want to write, if you want to get back your enjoyment…" He paused.
Timothy leant forwards. "What are you suggesting?"
Ducky lowered his voice. "I'm sure Ziva would love to meet your editor."
Their laughter filled Autopsy and the tension lifted.
Abby Scuito tottered through the lobby and followed Ziva onto the elevator. Sometimes she hated her three inch high platform boots. They made following an assassin very difficult.
Even though Ziva had slowed down temporarily, allowing her to keep up without breaking an ankle. The only one who was going to end up injured would be Timmy's mean editor.
Why would anyone want to stress poor Timmy? He was an excellent writer, occasionally needing nudges and encouragement, but he didn't need Lyndi Crawshaw breathing down his neck. He had another job to deal with! And who named their child 'Lyndi' anyway?
The elevator flew upwards. Clearly no one abused the emergency stop button here, judging by the smooth ride. Ziva tapped her foot impatiently and Abby resisted the urge to giggle.
She had no idea if this was normal behavior for the assassin in the field. Confined to her lab all day, she did not get to see the Israeli in action. From all she had heard, Ziva could look after herself. And this time she had a chance of seeing it for herself.
Despite it being far more likely for Ziva to show off her vast repertoire of torture skills.
The Goth wasn't sure whether she wanted to use her endless forensic skills to dispose of evidence today or not. Ziva usually scared the living daylights out of everyone she wished to; yet from what she had heard, Ms Crawshaw was a difficult person to deal with.
The elevator announced its arrival on the correct floor. Ziva stepped off first, confidence in every step. Abby simply followed, smiling to herself at her friend's seemingly innate knowledge of where this office was located.
Ziva David flung open the doors to the office and marched straight in, ignoring the protests of the poor secretary.
Who was this woman to think she could worry McGee? That was her job, occasionally Gibbs' but certainly not this harpy. Tony was also allowed to torment McGee, however much she tried to rein him in.
Poor Tim.
"What's going on?" the woman demanded. "Todd, call security."
"We're with NCIS," Abby piped up, wisely choosing not to mention exactly how they were with the agency. 'Mossad liaison officer and forensic scientist' did not sound quite as good as the implied 'special agents'.
Lyndi glared at them, but decided to take them at their word. One nod at Todd dismissed him and they were alone.
"If this is about book number three," she began, sitting down in her chair and looking all business.
"I do not care about the plot," Ziva interrupted. "I care about Tim." The slight confusion in Lyndi's eyes made her correct herself. "Thom."
"All authors need a certain amount of prodding," the editor began, as though she had repeated this speech a good many times before.
Ziva decided she did not care for the speech. "Prodding is fine. Forcing chapters out of him is another matter entirely!"
"He's really busy at the moment," Abby interjected. "Like, super-busy. El jefe has his nose to the grindstone. And surely his writing would be better if he wasn't under such pressure?"
"If you do not get off his shoulders…" Ziva warned, leaning over the desk so her face was inches away from her enemy.
"Back," Abby corrected quickly.
"… then Officer Lisa will show you the eighteen ways to kill a person with a paperclip."
Lyndi Crawshaw gulped.
"Eighteen?" Abby checked. "I've figured out eleven. Can I have a hint for the others?"
Ziva leant back, satisfied she had made her point. A soft smirk playing on her lips, she left the room. Abby linked arms as they walked to the elevator together.
"Now," Abby beamed. "How do we persuade Gibbs that Timmy needs a break?"