First off, I'd like to apologize for the amount of editing errors in last chapter. I know how grammatical and spelling slip ups can detract from a story. I was in a hurry to get it online, and totally missed some big ones. I hope this chapter is a little cleaner.
Contains language.
Chapter 8
'Step daringly, towards realization
For you've now seen, through feel
Marvel at your origin, and its revelation
And know that this is real'
Ziva made her way over the dunes leading to the oceanside. The agent felt an unsettling anxiety of what she may find there. She almost didn't want to find Tim. A part of her wanted her phone to ring, with Tim's cheerful voice asking why she wasn't at work, even though they had the day off. But then, the other part, was reveling in the moment. It wasn't because she enjoyed Tim's angst, or his depressed confusion. The other part of her, wanted to discover the mystery of what was going on. It wanted to find out who the woman on the beach was, and why Tim was acting the way he was.
Maybe it was the many years at NCIS that had grown inside her, tapping into the puzzle solving persona that was Special Agent Ziva David. She felt slightly guilty at the feeling, knowing full and well that the desire to solve the mystery, also inherently allowed her to accept Tim's painful situation. She wasn't a sadist by any means, except for maybe towards Tony at times. But still, her closest friend was in pain, and however much one side of her wished the situation was nonexistent, that wasn't the truth. That wasn't reality. All Ziva could do, was what she did best; act the detective and solve. Be the friend, and comfort.
As the sounds of the waves grew louder, her heart jumped. Ahead of her, in a haphazard line, was a black object. A shirt. McGee's shirt. About 15 yards beyond that was a belt. Beyond that, another article of clothing. She stooped to pick up the shirt, the smell of her friend overpowering the salt air for a moment as she gathered it up.
She made her way slowly towards the water, her nervous heartbeat drowning out the sounds of the sea. At the water's edge, just beyond the gentle touch of the waves, was another piece of clothing. She dropped the garments she held into a heap, then walked to the last piece. A gasp escaped her lips.
It was his underwear. McGee was naked. Shy, quiet, sweet McGee was naked somewhere. If it hadn't been for her worry, she would have doubled over laughing. Instead, the agent simply picked the briefs up, an eyebrow raising as she examined them, then scanned the sea. He couldn't have gone swimming, could he? Her head swiveled as she cast gazes up and down the beach. Then, her eyes caught sight of something in the water, heading out to sea.
It was a dark inhuman object, bobbing slightly, but making steady progress away from land. Ziva shaded her eyes from the rising sun, squinting to get a better look. Her eyes widened as she realized what it was.
The lone seal paddled strongly through the breakers a good 50 yards down the beach. It stopped for a moment, casting a glance back towards a section of the beach, then dove underwater. Ziva gripped the briefs in a fist, and ran down the beach towards the same large rocks she had seen McGee go with the woman the day before.
She rounded the boulders and gasped.
Lying on his side, was a very naked Timothy McGee. Ziva walked cautiously towards her friend, a small amount of relief building as she saw his body move slightly from breathing. His back was facing her as she approached. She could hear him mumbling in his sleep as she crouched next to him, her free hand reaching out slowly.
Her fingertips alighted upon his shoulder, and she held in a gasp as McGee, still sleeping, reached up and took her hand, pulling it to his mouth. Ziva felt him kissing her knuckles.
"McGee!"
"Ngah?" McGee snorted as he returned to the land of consciousness, whirling about and knocking Ziva to the sand. He sat up rigidly and stared. What Ziva saw in his nearly black eyes, was a look that nearly broke her heart. He didn't seem to recognize her. Though fully awake, he stared.
To McGee, all he saw was a form. He knew it was a woman, but all that mattered at this point, was that it was not who he had just been with. Or was it? No, no it wasn't. McGee sighed, then his eyes widened as it all came back to him. He looked down into his lap and and his sand covered body, then back at Ziva.
"Jesus Christ, Ziva!"
McGee's hands flew to his crotch to cover himself. He also crossed one leg over the other, then realized that was not a very flattering look (if he could be less flattering in the first place) and uncrossed them, settling with his hands to cover himself. Without saying a word, Ziva handed him his underwear, then watched as he shuffled, attempting to put them on.
"I will close my eyes if you want to wash off the sand before you put those on. It may be less painful."
McGee nodded, waited till she closed her eyes, then stood, blushing intensely. Ziva waited a few moments, then opened her eyes, watching the naked form of McGee walk unsteadily out to waist depth. But, the man didn't make any movement to put on the underwear. He stood, facing the vast ocean, and just stared. She saw from behind as, after a few moments, his chin drop to his chest, then his head shake. He put on the underwear, and Ziva closed her eyes again once he began heading back.
"Ok, all set."
Ziva's eyes opened once more. McGee sounded… cheery?
"McGee?" she asked as she stood, facing her now scantily clad teammate.
"Yes, Ziva?" his eyes were dark, but there was a certain look of satisfaction in them, as if he had almost forgotten about his depression the past couple days.
"So… did you come here to tan?"
"Something like that."
"Who was here with you?"
McGee shrugged.
"Was the woman here?"
"No woman was here with me."
Ziva raised an eyebrow, detecting his odd choice of words. She searched her partner's eyes, feeling distinctly that this was not Timothy McGee she was talking to. First of all, he seemed happy. Or at least, comfortable. And second, and possibly more importantly, he was not attempting to cover himself, even though he was now slightly clothed. The McGee she knew would sooner buried himself in the sand then stand in front of her confidently in his underwear. The water made the briefs cling to his body, and Ziva, in all honesty, had a hard time not looking down.
Then, she saw as the darkness in his eyes began to leave. Ziva's skin crawled as she visibly noticed the darkness depart, and the sparkling green eyes of her partner return. And McGee doubled over, vomiting in the sand in front of him.
"Tim!"
The young agent's body shook as he emptied his stomach, then turned violently to the sea.
"Who are you! What do you want? Why me? Why?" McGee screamed into the waves.
"You're ruining my life! Can't you just leave me alone? LEAVE ME ALONE!"
McGee vomited again as he gasped for breath. Ziva ran to his side and threw an arm over his bare shoulders.
"Tim, what is happening?"
The power of the moment caused the Israeli to yell as well, her concern for her friend overpowering discretion. Her friend finished his dry heaves, then turned rapidly, clinging fiercely to Ziva. The woman didn't know how to respond except simply wrap her arms around him as well, as he mumbled into her shoulder.
"Why, Ziva? Why me? Why can't I be normal?"
Ziva shook her head, feeling McGee's stubble scrape along her cheek.
"I don't know, Tim. I don't know." McGee sniffled into her shoulder.
"You saw me naked." Ziva couldn't help but smirk.
"I did."
"You won't-"
"Tell Tony? Absolutely not."
"Thanks Zee."
"You're welcome, Tim."
"Can we leave now?"
"Yes."
Tim nodded into her shoulder.
She led him along, her arm around his shoulders as they walked. All the way, Tim looked out to the sea. He nearly stumbled over the pile of his clothes, then stared at them in confusion before realizing what they were. Without a word, he picked them up, then smiled at Ziva. The woman frowned, confused by the expression. She wasn't used to McGee smiling, especially after what had just happened and his venting at the sea.
"Tim?"
"Thanks Ziva."
"For what?"
"For caring." McGee knew he was repeating himself, but felt it needed to be reiterated.
She smiled at him as he turned and began to walk towards the car on his own. She stifled a quiet chuckle at the sight.
Tall, pale, lanky, soaked McGee, walking only in his underwear in the morning sun. She could never tell Tony.
Every time Admiral McGee returned the object to the safe, his heart hitched. Not only for what it was, but what it represented. It represented a possibility of loss and gain. It represented closure and something new. The old man got unsteadily to his feet, then turned off the light.
Walking determinedly, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand, dialed a number, and placed it to his ear. It went to voicemail.
Hi, you've reached Timothy McGee, I'm away from my phone…
"Hi… Son, it's me. I… we need to talk..."
The old man paused to cast a headlong glance towards the dark closet.
"… can you call me back as soon as you can. Not an emergency, but it's urgent."
He snapped the phone shut then checked his voicemail. The old man's heart stopped when he heard the deep voice in the recording.
"Benji! How you been you old cuss? It's Darius, if you couldn't guess. Look, I know we haven't spoken in a while, but I had the strangest thing happen. Met a woman here in Holy Loch, says she knows you. From years ago. Weird, right? Anyway, call an old friend back when you can. Take care Benji!"
The Admiral's hands shook as he dropped the phone to the floor. It bounced against the hardwood, the sound echoing throughout the apartment.
Even though he would never admit it to his team, Gibbs loved days off. As expected, he would spend ours in the basement, working on whatever new carpentry project came to mind. In USMC sweats, he stared at a large, organized pile of left over lumber from his last endeavor. His mind shifted from this option, then that option, before finally settling on something. The choice intrigued him, though, given that his mind had settled on a creation that was more art and less construction. He'd never really considered himself an artist by any means, aside from the children's toys he'd help build for Christmas.
He craned his neck, spying a large square block of nearly black wood. It was three feet tall, and two feet wide and long; made from Rosewood. Gibbs had read that when aged, the dark wood, if finished and polished correctly, would darken further. The blue eyed man nodded in satisfaction, but when he went to move, a burning within his gut stopped him. He knew the feeling well, but usually only experienced it during a controversial moment during a case.
Gibbs sipped his coffee as the churning in his gut remained.
His thoughts were brought immediately to his youngest agent.
Hope you're enjoying this! I know I am. And thanks so much for the reviews so far!
