A/N: To those who read my other WIPs: I realize I have 2 more unfinished stories. This one, however, is written for the Myths & Legends Challenge on NFA. So I have a deadline to respect and so this one needs to be finished first. It's nearly completed anyhow. I hope you enjoy reading it.
Farewell to the Place
Soraidh Leis An Ait'
Farewell to the place
(Ishbel MacAskill)
Chapter 1
He was running as fast as his legs would allow. He'd been doing that for several blocks, now. But his suspect was an athlete. He had to be! The man seemed to possess flying feet!
Running was one thing; maintaining a sprint for an approximate duration of 20 minutes was another.
Where was the rest of the team when you needed them? Oh yes! Of course... Ziva and Tony were chasing another guy when the suspects had bailed out of their vehicle after a head-on crash which had ended a high-speed pursuit. The men had continued their flight on foot.
Tim chanced a quick glance over his shoulder. Where was the team leader? Ah! There he was! His eyes had just caught the sight of a shoe appearing from around a corner. Gibbs...couldn't quite keep up with the fast pace.
The suspect had taken McGee and Gibbs through almost every garden and backyard, sending them jumping or scaling fences in his attempt to evade capture.
Special Agent McGee was huffing and puffing by now. His chest was hurting and he was flagging. He'd long since given up thinking about keeping a steady breathing rhythm. He'd been training hard over the past year, ever since he'd been recommended to shed some pounds at the last periodical health examination. He was so proud at his achievement of recovering his old lanky frame from his youth. His runs had equally served to accumulate a comfortable dose of stamina and helped him pass the compulsory physical fitness tests.
Yes, he'd set off with mucho gusto after their suspect. He'd found he felt this new confidence that he'd get his man. And, what better chance to show off to his team his brilliant athletic performance?
Only...
What Tim hadn't anticipated, was the other man's own prowess and ability to keep eluding him.
In sporting events, this steeple chase would be compared to an exciting and nail-biting match between two worthy opponents. However, as the pursuit progressed and saw Tim struggling to keep on the other runner's heels, he wasn't that sure anymore of a positive outcome.
And yet, the distance was closing, even if the going got tougher as the runners soon found themselves in a bustling section of West Chevy Chase.
Oops! Another thing one didn't have to worry about at an athletics contest were such obstacles as signposts and pedestrians – he barely managed to skirt a mother and her toddler with the grace of a toreador dancing and prancing around a bull in the arena – and...and...cars?
CARS!
As his quarry veered to the right and across the street, Tim followed suit suddenly finding himself in the path of an oncoming vehicle. His eyes widened in a mix of abject fear and surprise, and, too late to jump out of the way, he twisted his upper body to the left with both his hands shot out sideways in an attempt to stop the car. It was a futile gesture born from a reflex. There was no way the driver could stop the car in time or avoid the crossing man.
As for Tim, the image of the driver's horrified eyes was the last thing he saw before white hot searing pain assaulted his body at the impact. His senses experienced an overload as he was being scooped up and tossed airborne for what seemed like 10 feet to come down again and slam into the windshield with a sickening thud before rolling off the hood, his head violently connected with the ground.
Then, the overwhelming shock to his body and the ensuing pain won out and he felt himself mercifully pulled under the black cloak of oblivion.
- -.-. -. . .
Uist – The Outer Hebrides (Scotland)
4 months later.
"Well hey, there." Tim greeted the gray grazing the scrawny tufts of grass that dotted the machair.
He slowly ambled closer so as not to frighten the animal. It was clearly quite domesticated, for it lazily lifted its head as it kept on munching, making scrunching noises.
Pricking its ears forward, the pony patiently waited for the lonely man to approach.
Tim stooped to grab a fistful of grass and inched closer, muttering soothing words under his breath.
"Eeeeeeasy booooyyy. Such a goooood boy. Got some grass for you. Brrrrr..."
The pony stretched its neck to investigate the gift and, deciding it was safe to accept it from the soft spoken man, it lipped the grass and chewed it while Tim moved his hand to the animal's neck and started patting and stroking it.
As he talked to the animal, his fingers played with the forelock. Still whispering to the animal, he rubbed the poll and the jaw and let the pony muzzle his hand.
The animal pushed its head against his side, bringing him slightly off balance, but then Tim's equine friend poked its nose against Tim's hand again while its ears danced a lively choreography. A calm and positive mutual bond of sorts seemed to have been forged between the two as they stood there, surrounded by nothing but the beautiful machair on one side and the vast ocean on the other. By all appearances, they could just as well be alone in this universe.
Then, the spell was broken, and, giving the pony a final pat, Tim moved on.
A beautiful day.
He took a deep breath of the silty air and gazed up at the clear blue sky and across the deep blue ocean as his thoughts took him 3,000 miles across this expanse of water. He let the wind ruffle his hair; let the sun caress his face...
He hadn't felt this relaxed for a long time. He was amazed how he'd settled down to this – for him – alien pattern of ease the moment he'd set foot on this island. His nerves had been in tatters when he left DC. He'd been in the dumps when he got the news his sick leave had been extended due to him still being plagued by the headaches. They hadn't even allowed him in part-time and staying at his apartment had only served in driving him insane with boredom.
Ducky didn't need to do this, but he'd done it anyway.
Tim ruefully smiled at the recollection.
One bad evening, which saw Tim stooping in reverence to the porcelain god as a result of one of his debilitating headaches, Ducky had been there, looking after him. As Tim, with Ducky's kind help, had dragged his frail body to the bedroom and slipped under the covers, Ducky had sat with him and surprised him with his brilliant suggestion.
- -.-. -. . .
*flashback*
"What would you think of joining me to Scotland, Timothy?"
For about 10 heartbeats, there was no answer.
Ducky waited. He'd learnt to deal with Tim by being patient in moments like these.
Then, his ears picked up a listless and a weak voice from the bed. "Why?"
"You know I spend my holidays in Scotland visiting my family. Obviously, you need a change of scenery, too. A vacation, of sorts. It will do you a wealth of good, Timothy."
A discontented grunt was the only reaction Ducky got. Tim's logic dictated him that, if he was well enough to go on a vacation, he was good enough to do his job. What better logic was there?
The good doctor, however, wasn't one to give in so easily to McGee's sometimes warped reasoning and so he went on.
"Since you remain silent, I take that as an affirmative. So that's settled then."
Tim looked up with an expression that was rather petulant and, at the same time, surprised. Ducky didn't bother to acknowledge Tim, though.
"I will book you a seat on my flight. I don't expect you to follow me around like a faithful dog, Timothy, so you are free to go and roam wherever you want to, once you get there. You probably don't want to be stuck up with an maundering old fool like me."
At that, Tim opened his mouth to disagree...
"Ducky..." ...and stopped when his eyes met Dr. Mallard's twinkling ones.
At that moment, Ducky knew he had the young man where he wanted him.
Satisfied, Ducky took a sip from his tea.
Mission accomplished.
*end flashback*