Chapter Four
Summer Training
Play resumes with Tony DiNozzo, shirtless and confident (for that reason?), at bat and an agreement from the Palmers to save the balance of their game for home.
Siobhan, at the mound, is distinctly aware that it's the ill-considered words of this man who faces her from 60 feet away that have gotten her into this mad day. Though she'd volunteered the instant she learned that Timmy had, this game has already developed into more of an eye-opening occasion than it'd needed to be.
Not the least of this is because of her embarrassment at wearing the uniform Abby had devised with the aid of a Playboy catalogue and a devious mind. She's the only one who'd determined to use the protection of a bra, not about to indulge as her sisters have. In all fairness, she has to admit that they're more motivated, and possibly with good reason, to bring the men in their professional lives falling from the sky in flames, but this is an aspect of the contest she hadn't relished.
Granted it'd seemed like a fun idea at first, a chance to get outdoors and play with Timmy – a smile tugs at her lips at this unintentional double-entendre – but it'd been more fun for Siobhan when she imagined what the game would be. But her sister team mates have turned this into something to prove and she couldn't scuttle it - she couldn't - so now she faces the instigator of this challenge and prays for forgiveness – for him.
He's standing before Peggy Uchitel and Ducky, preening like a rooster, his eyes delving down Peggy's gaping shirt at every opportunity and Siobhan takes a particular satisfaction in the screwball she puts low and almost outside, just catching the outer corner below his impotent swing.
x
DiNozzo is slightly surprised. Though he's watched the redhead for a full inning, he'd originally half-thought she'd be an underhand lobber, her repertoire limited to the 'change-up' she'd used to undermine the Probie.
Then again, there's quite a bit to be impressed with about this flame-haired woman, and Abby's choice of uniforms displays that to its best advantage. He rather wishes that she, like the other women, had dispensed with a bra – he'd love to have seen her form when she pitched without one – but she's even cautious of the view in her windup, her kick being quite modest indeed.
Normally he has a very strict rule about how he deals with married women ... and this married woman is married to his partner ... and she's a priest ... but a man can't be blamed if he dreams, can he?
Besides, she voluntarily wears the uniform Abby devised to bring the men down - or is it up? - in flames. And though it's been very effectively doing its job, it's backfired spectacularly with the Palmers who probably won't talk to each other for a month. But in agreeing to wear this Victoria's Secret's version of a uniform, the priest's not completely innocent, and if she can play the distraction game...
He swings the bat, flexes it around in an arc behind him, making his chest muscles ripple sharply. He takes a deep breath, expands his chest to his limit and gives her a more than suggestive leer, earning a deep frown instead.
x
"You like to live dangerously," Uchitel observes. He's already shot a full quiver of lecherous innuendo at her, not unexpected but impressive for two minutes, but when he turns his attention to a married woman she considers him to be flirting with doom rather than the woman.
"I keep my life full of life," he assures her, prepared for and just catching a slider enough to foul it off. Next time he'll have Mrs. McGee's measure. "Live hard, fight hard, love hard and have a beautiful ending." He gives both women a suggestive hip grind he considers as provocative as their clothing.
"Anthony," Ducky cautions, displeased by his display, but DiNozzo gives no attention to the man, all his focus on the woman 60 feet away from him. If she can distract him, he can distract her with equal impunity, throwing out his chest, flexing his arms and giving his hips a particularly expressive snap the Probie would probably kill him for if he were watching the plate rather than the mound.
'He's probably wondering,' Tony thinks as she sets up for the next pitch, 'why she looks so pissed.'
When the ball leaves Siobhan's hand it looks like a screwball, but in the last instant it curves right - really right - almost going behind "Hieeeee!"
Not quite right enough, though it's deflected considerably further as he stands stiff, the pain so sharp he's not sure he can move. He sees Siobhan standing wide-eyed, hands pressed to her mouth, her face ashen.
"You were right, Agent DiNozzo," Uchitel tells him gleefully. "You have a beautiful ending."
'It'll be purple for a month,' he considers, walking very carefully to first base, sure every woman's eyes are on him - and his blossoming wound. McGee distaff still looks utterly devastated, but a glance at the other one ... he does not like that grin.
x
Gibbs, feeling merciful, assigns Mark Clinton as pinch runner for his wounded teammate. For a team Captain, he hadn't been particularly attentive, conversing with Lew Reznik, the first base coach, until the agent's expression made him turn to the plate, catching only the aftermath and having to depend upon Reznik's recounting to learn the reason therefore. Confident DiNozzo's not an innocent victim, he considers the priest's alternative to his 'wake-up call' an appropriate variation.
DiNozzo, though temporarily relieved, doesn't seem inclined to sit down. Gibbs sends McGee, unlikely to come up soon if ever in this inning, in search of a bag of ice, considering himself well advised to keep DiNozzo distant from both McGees for the rest of the afternoon.
He already has one problem teammate to worry about, but the tall, lanky Palmer seems remarkably contented as he takes his place at the plate.
x
Jimmy sets up, but though he'd heard a lot about Special Agent Uchitel's taunting of the others, he's determined not to fall for it, focusing all his concentration on the redheaded pitcher in light pink ... in the very little ... she really looks... He turns from her, back to Uchitel almost behind him but he has an excellent ... very excellent ... very, very excellent view down her open shirt at her very lar–
He turns all the way away, looking down the third base line - at Director Shepherd as he's never - ever - dared - to imagine her.
He feels his face heat, certain the blush spreads across it like a shining beacon and he looks back to the mound. The priest is actually waiting for his attention, but he can't look at her. He's never ever imagined her like he's seeing her now, he's only ever seen her not dressed like a priest half a dozen times in the past near year and she's really a gorgeous– No! she's first a priest, then she's McGee's wife and his impure–
He looks beyond her – and Abby bends over, puts her hand to her lips and blows him a kiss!
'Oh God!' He turns to the only safe place on the entire field, and at first base 'Chelle is doing a slow, sensuous dance involving a lot of very familiar moves; her fingers tickle the printed eye on her left breast, the iris bulging in sharp relief, he can see from here that her...! Then her right hand strokes down her torso, down, down!
He clenches his eyes shut, violently hefts the bat, opens his eyes and Mrs. Rev. McGee is grinning at him. She winds up, releases, he swings as hard as he can–
x
He's actually amazed the hear a soft 'tock', feel a tiny vibration, and see the ball sail in a brief arc to bounce fair along the right line. He starts to run, actually chases it, knows it's hopeless. 'Chelle tosses down her glove to catch the bounce barehanded but he can't stop. Maybe she'll let him slip past? Yeah, right; after all the abuse he's heaped on her, he might as well just run in and take the tag.
All this goes by in less than one second. Michelle runs in, catches the ball, rushes him and leaps up, her bare legs clamp about his hips, her arms about his neck and she tags him with her lips!
Halted by the force of the collision, hearing the cheers and raucous cat calls from stands and bleachers, his hands automatically support her under her rump as she makes sure that he's very thoroughly tagged.
x
Gibbs, watching from the dugout, can only shake his head and wonder just when the game is going to resume.
"Between her and Abby," Reznik says beside him over the noise, "they're just rewritin' the whole friggin' rulebook."
x
Fortunately the tag ends soon enough that Gibbs doesn't have to go out and separate the combatants with a fire extinguisher, and Ken Templeton can have his turn at bat. Jimmy takes a seat on the end of the bench, looking more contented than anyone has the right to be.
Gibbs checks the scoreboard; the women lead 3 to 1 in the top of the second with one out and Mark Clinton running for DiNozzo on second beside Abby. Clinton could only legally claim one base on the play, ruled by Ducky as a 'Sacrifice', though truth be told he could have rounded the bases twice during that play. Palmer, seated at the end of the bench in a world of his own, is too contented a sacrifice for Gibbs' taste.
This is going to be a long afternoon.
x
Ken Templeton glances down at Uchitel. "Nice to see they made up."
"You have no idea," she assures him and flutters the front of her shirt behind the loose chest protector. "God, this sun is hot."
Templeton's smile is more ironic; if she's starting with this ploy then she has no idea either - but for form's sake he looks, even if she has nothing that could interest him or his partner Larsen. They're each discreet, and it's good they work with Mel Kelman who keeps their discretion, and even Abby had helped out with his cover, but if Uchitel knew she'd probably lace up the shirt.
He focuses on Mrs. McGee out on the mound, but after seeing DiNozzo's fate he doesn't play the game the other agent had. He can read in her body language that she's still shaken by that incident; she'd given up Palmer's hit far too easily. He almost wishes he didn't have to undermine her confidence further, but also knows he has to strike quickly before she pitches enough strikes to get it back.
His first swing connects, a grounder just past the mound and toward Abby, but Mark Clinton, pinch running for DiNozzo, dives back to second and distracts her with a failed tag attempt, and that distraction slows her and allows Templeton to dash past Palmer an instant before the women can complete the play.
x
Abby jogs in from second to the mound. "Hey, you okay?" She won't actually say that Siobhan's sent three men to first with as many pitches.
Siobhan keeps her eyes on the batters' box as Patrick Larsen takes his place. "I'm fine. No prob–" She stops as Abby's hand on her arm pulls her back into the conversation.
"You know," Abby says kindly, "getting rid of your glasses doesn't help if you still can't look at someone and lie through your teeth." Before the Lasik treatments, the woman used to remove her aids, blinding herself if she were forced into an untruth, a defense all her close friends knew but never admitted that they did.
Siobhan finally looks her in the eyes, caught. "I didn't mean it!"
"Tony had it coming. He was being a bastard."
"I know! I didn't want to hit him but he made me so mad. He knew he was embarrassing me; that's why he was doing it. And he just made me so mad. I didn't mean to hit him, I just ... hit him."
"How'd it make you feel?" This feels like something she thinks the priest should ask, or perhaps Ducky.
"Terrible. Embarrassed. Humiliated. Ashamed. I want to go apologize..."
"Aaaannnnd?"
Siobhan turns her humiliated gaze to her. "It felt good."
Abby slaps her shoulder. "You'll be fine. Now look," she points at the batter's box, "that's the only guy you have to care about. Forget DiNozzo, forget Palmer, forget Clinton, forget Templeton–"
"That's a lot of people to forget," she quips, but it comes out shaky.
"Never mind. Look," she points at Larsen. "Aim." She grabs Siobhan's throwing arm. "Kill!"
Seeing Larsen watching, undoubtedly wondering why she's pointing to him and what she's telling the pitcher, Abby blows him an elaborate kiss, turns, gives an even more elaborate wiggle and claps her hands with the white ones embroidered on her shorts before sauntering back to second.
Siobhan, seeing the man's grin, knows it's not what Abby would have wanted had it been any other man at the plate. They, and others, know and play the cover in public.
Well, she doesn't, not like that.
x
Pat Larsen, seeing McGee is finally ready for him after the pep talk - strategy had gone through the men's team almost as soon as they'd realized how rattled the priest was - he sets himself, digs into the furrow at his right foot, hefts the bet and glares at her, determined to make her kiss that 3 - 1 lead goodbye.
He reaches back with his left hand and slaps the same spot that'll give DiNozzo so many hours out of his chair, gratified to see McGee, who'd started to get her focus back, hesitate.
"Shouldn't flirt with a married woman," Uchitel quips, hoping to distract him as he'd tried with Siobhan. "It's a sin."
"Never," he assures her honestly and hefts the bat. Siobhan and Peggy go through signals, agree on a pitch and Larsen puckers a long kiss at her. It's enough to make the woman hesitate again, perhaps confuse her, certainly to throw off her rhythm. She must start again but Larsen is ready to blast anything she can finally throw out of the park.
The ball comes in, he puts everything into his swing, the loud crack says he's gotten everything behind this ball and he breaks out of the box – and the cheers are nearly drowned out by a piercing shriek.
x
He's heard such a scream before and it's always bad. He turns left and it's worse than he'd imagined for it's his own boss. Melanie Kelman clutches her crotch, falls to her knees as her scream dies. She doubles over, her head on the grass.
He veers off. Clinton and Templeton also abandon their courses. Already running flat-out, he and Ken reach their wounded Team Leader before either Abby or Jennifer can.
Melanie is curled in a kneeling fetal position, forehead pressed to the grass and apparently so hurt she can't make a sound.
"Mel, I'm sorry," Patrick exclaims, the crowd growing around them. Ken and Mark are on either side of her, Pat in front and together they try to help her to kneel up, lift her face from the grass.
"Let me through," Ducky's voice cuts in behind them. "Mister Palmer, my medical bag is in the Morgan. Gentlemen, please assist her to lay down."
The men ease her onto her back, she still covers her crotch with both bare and gloved hands. Her eyes are squeezed tightly shut, lips drawn back from clenched teeth. She's not breathing. Then her body relaxes, her face smooths and she pulls the ball from her glove and tags each of the shirtless men surrounding her.
"Out, out, out; one more than I need actually," she grins at them.
x
"Wha–?" "MEL!" Both her teammates are astonished, relieved and vastly annoyed. Jimmy, attention diverted by the third base umpire, halts.
"Remember," she admonishes her people as the others back away, chagrined, "never assume because it looks like something that it really is." She raises the ball before them. "This could just as easily have been a .45."
"Damn it," Templeton's relief makes his outrage sharper, "this is a baseball game, not a Training Exercise!"
She pats his cheek to take the sting out. "Everything's a Training Exercise."
"I thought you were hurt!" Larsen's glad she isn't and mad enough to wish she were – at least a little.
"Come on," she's actually disappointed at him, "did you really think I couldn't catch an 87 mile an hour ball at 76 feet?"
"Well anyway," Templeton growls, unwilling to admit he had so he focuses on the game, "the tags don't count. Play was suspended."
"I'm afraid, Agent Templeton," Ducky says, "that the incident transpired so rapidly no one actually called 'Time'. I fear I must rule it an 'Unassisted Triple Play'."
"You would," he gripes as he and Larsen stand up and help Melanie up, not that she needs it.
x
The surrounding men and women separate to their respective dugouts, most of them snickering, none particularly concerned yet about the 'four outs' in the top of the second. Still seven more innings to go. In moments Kelman, Templeton and Larsen are alone on the diamond.
"Okay," Templeton says, not quite a gripe, "you got us. Lesson learned. Just one thing: if ever guns are in play, never do this again."
"Deal." She turns to Larsen on her other side; he's still scowling. Granted there's friendship, but she's still the boss, and answers to neither of them in how or when she sets their Exercises; though she did trick them and had played upon their sympathies. But it's not anger she reads in that scowl, it's "What?"
"I'm just considering..." he looks her over in her brief attire, "...what the penalty is for taking a Supervisor over our knees for a well deserved lesson."
She reaches up, trails a finger down and across each of their cheeks and throats as she starts back toward the third base dugout. "More than you ever want to find out."
She puts an extra dimension into her saucy walk. Part of it, as they watch her, is their camouflage, but there's so much more dimension; she's quite willing to publicly aid their camouflage even as Team Leader, to carry on the spirit of the afternoon and give them 'something to look at'.
Ken and Pat look to one another, shrug and head back to the other shirtless men in the first base dugout.
