This is my first time writing a fanfiction, so please don't rip if there are a few (or alot) of mistakes in terms of editing. I'm still getting the hang of getting my documents all peachy from word to fanfic, so let me know.
I hope you enjoy!
P.S. I DO NOT OWN NCIS, OR ITS CHARACTERS.
Warning: Contains Language (Better late than never, I suppose)
Pre-Chapter A/N: I HIGHLY recommend listening to John Coltrane's "Too Young To Go Steady", when it is referenced later in this chapter. Kinda will show my inspiration, and hopefully it will take you to the emotion of the moment in the story.
Here's the youtube link, .com/watch?v=nHT7KFBJEaw
McGee was hyperventilating. When Ziva got down to the basement, he was crouched below the workbench, his hands tightly gripping it above his head with all his might. He hadn't heard Ziva enter. He didn't care.
"McGee."
Her voice broke him out of his panic. In an urgent, jerky motion, he rose, pulling her into one of the tightest hugs she had ever experienced. It wasn't 'Abby suffocatingly' tight, but just enough. He buried his face in her hair. It was his momentary fortress. She fiercely gripped him back, the two clenching each other's shirts in tight fists, as they both, bonded by torture, sobbed in each others' arms.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, and only a second, they released. Their faces were wrought of exhaustion, but absolution, as if this had been a major milestone in the continuing recovery of their battered bodies and spirits.
Without hesitation, McGee took several steps backwards, then turned his back to Ziva. With shaking hands, he unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it gently on the workbench. He then worked his undershirt from beneath his belt and pulled it over his shoulders. Ziva gasped as a new set of tears began to fall.
She never knew. No one knew. Wast his from Sharif? Of course it was. Oh poor McGee! He didn't tell anyone! Why didn'the say anything? No wonder he went to Tony and asked if he had been alright. Tim assumed the same had happened to him.
Ziva closed the gap between them, as McGee leaned against the wall, staring at his feet. He felt his partners presence behind him as he watched his tears make perfectly round dark spots on the floor.
Her hands, slowly and tenderly, alighted upon his back, and began to trace the pathways of scars. Many of them had healed quite well, and perhaps in some years time, would fade away. But many, would always adorn the gentle man's back. McGee shivered a little. This is not how he had envisioned the first time Ziva touching him... He had hoped… He didn't know what he hoped for…
Expecting loud cursing and venting frustration from the basement, Tony politely interrupted Gibbs. Tony stood, quietly stepping softly down the stairs. His eyes widened at what he saw. Quickly, he waved Gibbs over, who joined him on the stairs, still a bit frustrated at Tony's interruption, but forgetting once he saw McGee. They weren't surprised at Ziva tenderly caressing McGee's back, but what was on his back.
It looked like some twisted checker board from Alice in Wonderland, deep reds, blues, blacks. Tony didn't care that McGee wanted to be private. He knew what needed to be done.
Striding confidently into the basement, both McGee and Ziva turned, surprised that anyone would dare interrupt.
"Tony I don't-" McGee began sternly, when DiNozzo swept him into a hug. McGee's hands stuck out awkwardly from under Tony's underarms, not sure if forgiveness was possible at this moment.
McGee's heart and want for a brother guided his actions.
No longer feeling self conscious about being seen with his shirt off, his wounds exposed, Tim wrapped his arms around the man who truly was, whether he accepted it or not, his best friend. Tim didn't care whether Gibbs saw it as a sign of weakness. He held his best friend, and cried, knowing that maybe, just maybe if Tony had known what happened to him in Somalia, he would have asked. Maybe.
Gibbs had made his way to the workbench and began pouring bourbon into the mason jars. He pulled two additional ones from a drawer, filling the 4 glass receptacles with 3-4 shots of the liquid. With a content smile, he handed one to Ziva, and slid the other two to the edge of the bench for when his two boys stopped hugging. Once they did, the four agents, stood silently, respecting the power of the moment.
Before any of them could say anything, McGee's phone rang. He bashfully pulled it out of his pocket and frowned, not recognizing the number.
"McGee?" he spoke into the receiver.
"Hello Katîb, it has been too long, no?"
McGee froze at the deep accent of the middle eastern man on the other line. "Katîb? I have long awaited to hear your voice. Again" Sharif spoke calmly, with a hint of entertainment.
McGee, not sure what to do, and wanting some way to let his concerned team know waht was going on, switched his phone to speaker, and softly placed it on the workbench.
"I'm here." McGee replied.
"You sound tired, Katîb. Do you sleep? Or do your nightmares keep you up? Nightmares of me." Sharif chuckled and McGee's veins turned to ice.
The team stood in a tense semicircle around the phone as Gibbs quietly pulled a marker from a mug on the workbench and began to write the date and time of the call, as well as the number on the envelope Kort had given Tony.
"No, Sharif." This produced much excitement in the man.
"Ooooh Katîb, you figured my name! I knew you were strong. Intelligent as well. I am fully recovered from when you shot me, you should know. A good shot, no? Not good enough, Katîb."
"U-um ok." McGee stuttered. No! God Damnit Tim! You will not be afraid of this man and what he did to you. He will pay for these scars! Show some backbone!
Tony frowned, as he saw McGee's upper lip begin to quiver.
"Where are you Sharif? I am looking forward to seeing you again." McGee mustered Tony's confidence, Ziva's intensity, and Gibbs' stoicism.
"Well, my friend, memory. Is where you can find me."
And just as soon as it had begun, the call ended. Sharif hung up the phone, leaving the team in silence. Gibbs, slowly but steadily, wrote, in large letters at the bottom of the envelope 'MEMORY', and circled it a few times.
He focused on that word. Memory. That powerful word. A word that could create and destroy. A word of recollection and nostalgia, as well as regret. A word that can, if used improperly, ruin a life.
MEMORY
A word for Gibbs, that reminded him not only of the past, but also what was taken from him for the future. His beautiful daughter, and the only woman he truly loved with all his heart.
A word for Tony, that included things that may or may not be true. One of pain and insecurity; of a mother who wasn't there, and a father who chose not to be. A word of missed opportunities, and temporary remedies.
A word for Ziva, that was synonymous with her father, and most of her family. A word that reminded her of her weaknesses, her frailty, her mortality, and her fears. A word that she shut out of her life, like a story book from when she was a little girl.
A word for Tim, That was a lie (depending on who was thinking about it). A word regarding beatings by one who should have been a role model. Of introversion and timidity; of rejection and heartbreak; of a knife carving his skin like canvas.
Knife? Knife? Wait, something about a knife… Saturday night? I was using a knife… I remember it in my hand. It was wobbly… I remember the clanking of it falling. Repeatedly. I kept picking it up. But it kept falling. Why did it keep falling? When was I using-
"Alright team." Gibbs spoke, finally able to tear his eyes away from the circled word on the envelope. "Everyone is staying here tonight. Still. Everyone get some sleep, we're gonna need it." And with that, he picked up the envelope, and headed upstairs.
"Woo! Finally sleep." Tony laughed, but then threw McGee a concerned look.
"We'll talk soon Tony. Not tonight." McGee told the older man, understanding and a chance for forgiveness in his voice. Tony smiled, nodding respect, and followed Gibbs upstairs.
"Ziva, hold on." Ziva, who had been behind Tony, turned smiling to McGee, who was pulling on his undershirt. As soon as he had it on, he smiled warmly at her, not being able to resist one more hug with Thee Ziva David. They embraced, Tim rubbing Ziva's back.
The ex-mossad officer felt something warm growing inside her. As she always had when that feeling arose, she pushed it down. But it kept rising. The strong woman, never having experienced a man quite like Timothy McGee before, tried desperately to keep her emotions in check. She grit her teeth, willing herself not to cry, and succeeded. But oddly enough, she knew it wasn't simply her desire to cry that she had to halt. She couldn't do it. She couldn't hold on. She couldn't stop her mind from racing.
How long have we been hugging? Why are we hugging so much? Why does he feel so… comfortable. McGee? McGee? Tim? Timothy? No Middle-Name? Why does he…? Oh god! No. I can't! He's… what is he? I can't let myself…
Her thoughts were interrupted by by a loud snorting sound from McGee. Ziva, startled, pushed back from him questioningly.
"McGee! Did you just… smell my hair?"
"Yes, Ziva. I did." He replied with a sheepish grin.
"Ummm so, why? Does it smell bad?" Ziva wrapped a handful of hair around her face to smell it. Smelled like her conditioner. Lavender.
McGee had a goofy smile on his face, blushing to the tips of his ears as he looked at his feet, kicking imaginary pebbles on the ground. The Deja Vu. McGee knew where it was coming from now. Despite the potentially very serious predicament that he was now in, he couldn't help but smile at the memories coming back to him. He just hoped it wouldn't change anything. Or maybe it would. No, Tim would like it to change everything.
Xxx Flashback xxX
The door slammed, and Ziva sat up on McGee's couch. She had been close to passing out from all the alcohol, but woke with a start when, about an hour after McGee's departure to bring one of the girls from the parking lot home, he returned. He had a disheveled look about him; sadness was in his eyes. Slowly, he walked in, avoiding Ziva's gaze. He was no longer staggering so heavily, just a severely imbalanced. Ziva moved over on the couch, giving her partner room to sit. As he did, he let out an exacerbated sigh, running his hands through messy hair.
"Ziva, do you think that there's a purpose t-to the thingss that happen to us? Do we go (hiccup) go through humiliation, an' waiting, an' heartbreak for reasons, a reason?"
Ziva gave Tim her full attention. He was opening up to her. This was private McGee, and he was letting her in. Her heart began to race as she jumped to conclusions.
"You know, is there somefthin wrong with me? I mean, women complain about 'chivalry being dead' then when they haff an opportunity with a chiffelrous guy, they don't want me. Isss dumb."
"Yes Tim it is. Not all women are like that."
"Like who? Give me a name an' I'll marry her right here!" Tim blurted, calling Ziva's bluff. Her eyebrows narrowed, and she dropper her eyes to her lap. Suddenly, Tim looked into the air, a surprised look on his face.
"Did you put music on? Coltrane!" Ziva only smiled coyly.
John Coltrane's "Too Young To Go Steady" emanated soothingly from McGee's record player, filling the room with warmth and comfort. This song, above all the countless songs he owned on vinyl, relaxed him the most.
"Ziva, I'm sorry, but can I… w-will you dance with me? Juss a slow dance." He rose to his feet, somewhat unsure of himself, but nonetheless, held out his hand to his partner. She smiled up at him, a tinge of disbelief, but a shine in her eyes he'd never seen before. Cooly, just like Coltrane himself, McGee led her to the largest open space in his apartment, which was conveniently right beside his record player. He pulled Ziva against himself, gently wrapping his arms midway around her hips as she reached up and over his shoulders. Smoothly, as the music bled sweet notes throughout the apartment, the two sway, Ziva's cheek against McGee's chest, his cheek atop her head. If it weren't for the overwhelming comfort that McGee felt, his head would have been spinning from the alcohol. But, miraculously, he maintained his composure.
It was a moment that lasted eons, and milliseconds. The room was dim, as the two agents moved, their shadows sweeping across Jethro, who looked up from his doggie bed wonderingly. The canine breathed deep, sighing heavy like his owner, realizing that the two people whom he enjoyed the most in the world were dancing. In his simple mind, he smiled, tail slightly wagging as he observed the casual, yet quite surprising spectacle.
As the song faded out, and the telltale static of a record at its end, the couple stopped swaying, but didn't release their hold on each other. At that moment, McGee became self conscious. Almost sensing it, Ziva released him, big brown eyes of wonder looking up at the gentle man.
"Thank you, Mah-Gee."
"Y-you're welcome Zeev."
A moment of silence passed, and McGee became nervous, his mind, although thoroughly inebriated, raced.
Oh my god, I just danced with Ziva! We were close. We held each other. What does that mean? Nothing, Tim. It's just a drunk dance. Just a drunk dance. I will remember this till the day I die! Oh my god, I just danced with Ziva!
Ziva, sensing the man's mental gears churning, decided it would be best not to allow him to dwell on what just happened, even though it would remain one of her fondest memories. She blurted out words, yet wished the dance could have lasted forever.
"Mah-Gee. You are a f-feder-eral agent. You must know how to throw a knife!"
Before he could object, she grabbed his hand, pulling him into the bedroom, closing the door. She led him to the window, then turned, removing a knife concealed from somewhere unknown. After a few deadly and precise throws of the knife into McGee's wall by his door, she grabbed his hand, showing him the proper way to move his arm, flick his wrist, spin the blade.
After a few unsuccesful attempts (and near falls as McGee tried to pick the blade up), he began to get the hang of it, the blade sinking deeper and deeper into the drywall with each stroke. McGee nodded with confidence, staggered over to the blade, and pulled it from the wall. Turning as he spoke, he found Ziva right behind him.
"Z, I think I'm-"
Her lips passionately locked with his. McGee let out a sound of surprise. It was like a muffled whimper, that turned to an equally passionate "hmmm-mmm". He tossed the knife to the ground, wrapping his arms about the woman's small frame.
Typically, and inhibited, his mind would have been screaming in resistance. It would have told him how wrong this was. How he was taking advantage of a drunk friend. A drunk best friend. His mind would have told him to think about what he was doing, the repercussions this action would have, Rule 12. His mind would have told him that he was taking advantage of her because she trusted him with comfort after Somalia. It would have told him that he was a bad friend, and a bad partner for cupping his hands underneath her bottom, lifting her easily, and placing her on the bed as they undressed. It would have told him that he didn't deserve to see Ziva naked. It would have told him that he should put the condom back, take a deep breath, think about things, hold on, talk about it, pump the brakes, put on a movie, play jenga.
But his heart said, "I love you" as they gave in to throes of passion, her innocent, vulnerable, beautiful brown eyes looking up at him during their lovemaking. His heart said, "No matter that you're drunk, you've loved her for some time now. The way she makes you feel. And not just that she's an exotic, dangerous assassin/coworker, but a fellow human being, with which you've shared much. You love her, Tim" his heart said.
For one of the few times in his life, Timothy No Middle-Name McGee gave into his heart, pushing his troublesome mind out of the room, to sulk in the living room.
Xxx End Flashback xxX
McGee tensed as Ziva looked at him wonderingly, her lips pursed.
"You remember don't you?" She whispered, leaning against the workbench, a confident smile on her face. McGee simply nodded, fearful as to where the conversation would lead to next. His mind took over.
Was I bad? Did I last long enough for her? Was she embarrassed? Did she feel taken advantage of? Was it just casual? Is she ok with it, but won't want anything else? Does she still see me as just a friend? How am I gonna fix the knife marks in the wall? Did Jethro see? Oh god, we didn't! What if it's awkward at work? What if Gibbs knows? Oh, who am I kidding, he probably always does. Him and his ESP. Damnit boss, get out of my thoughts! I am going to really develop feelings, I always do when I sleep with someone. This is not good. It's just going to lead to heartbreak. It's just going to lead to heartbreak. Just like Abby! I've slept with two coworkers. Oh shit, Tony! If he finds out, he'll feel so backstabbed. He'll feel betrayed. A relationship I mean. Oh god I-
"McGee!" Ziva softly slapped his cheek. As if woken from a coma, McGee blinked, glancing around.
"Sorry, I just-"
"Was over thinking things, yes?"
Ziva's saw hurt in his eyes. Over thinking things. That must mean that she sees it as casual, nothing serious. Nothing to over think about. It was just sex.
But it wasn't to her, either.
"Oh god, Ziva, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to take advantage of you! I'm not like that. Not like, guys like that. I just, I was really drunk."
McGee tried to read her mind, tried to backtrack and cover his basis.
"It didn't mean anything Ziva." He blurted, and saw her frown. It killed him to see her frown.
"Didn't mean anything, McGee? You are a terrible liar." She pushed the pain of his confession away, hoping that he was, in fact, lying. And she was rewarded. McGee looked at his feet.
"Yeah, you're right." he said softly. "I guess it did mean something to me. But if it didn't to you, that's totally ok! I mean, nothing needs to change! It will just be normal, everything will be fine. We'll just forget it. Again"
She loved it when he babbled nervously. It was one of the quirks of the man that attracted her to him. As well as his thoughtfulness, his ferocious loyalty, his intense work ethic, his protective nature, his gentleman qualities.
"I will never forget that night, McGee."
"So. Then… What do we do now?" He still looked at his feet. Ziva stepped forward, till they were inches apart, and raised his face with her fingers. His deep green eyes met soft, beautiful brown ones that he'd die for. Almost did. That he was tortured for.
"I believe, if I know you, that you are not the type for a one night stand. Especially with a coworker. So what do you do when you find yourself in this situation with other women?"
McGee thought for a moment, about the humiliating past experiences he'd had.
"Well, normally I'd ask the girl on a date. But usually she just says she's busy, or she's got a boyfriend already (he shuddered at that specific time), or I'm not her type to be dating, or that she's leaving the country, or that she needs to get a haircut, or that-"
"Then ask me out on a date." Her smile was strong, as her aura seemed to give him strength.
"Ummm ok. Ziva David, will you, umm," oh god, that sounds like I'm proposing to her! Real smooth Tim!
"Will you- Would you like to go out to dinner with me sometime? After the case of course."
Her eyes danced as she pulled him into a hug, kissed his cheek, and whispered in his ear, "I would love to, Tim."
"You two done down there? You need to get sleep!" Gibbs barked from the stairs.
The two separated quickly, looking down. "You're gonna need it, I made some phone calls. We're going back to Somalia."
Both agents gasped, fear replacing their surprise.
"Boss?"
"You wanna rid yourself of those demons? I called Kort. Pulled some strings. Sharif is in Somalia. Get some rest, we're leaving tomorrow."
Ziva and Tim watched as Gibbs plodded back up the stairs, then turned to each other, unsure what to say. After a few moments, McGee grit his teeth, a look in his eyes like one Ziva had never seen before.
"Let's finish this."
A/N: I apologize to Tiva lovers, but just felt that this direction is the way the story was headed.
And Tony and Tim on the mend! Woohoo!
