A/N:

Thank you again for being so patient with me and of course for the wonderful reviews!

Ok, so Bones fans… after tonight's episode, I really can't wait to get back to Ossuary… Angela and Wendell… nope, just doesn't do it for me. (Yeah, I know, they've actually been an item for an episode or two, but tonight's just synched it for me how much Angela and Hodgins were meant for each other.)

And last but not least… since I can't remember ever seeing Tim's parents on screen, I decided to have a bit of fun with casting. In the roles of Amanda and Mike McGee (Timmy's parents), I've cast Mary McDonnell and Eric Pierpoint. The former is pretty well know, the latter not so much so, but they're both terrific actors.

Chapter Ten

24 October, 2009

"Children are not our property, and they are not ours to control
any more that we were our parents' property or theirs to control."

Richard Bach

Abby looked at herself in the mirror. So far, she'd tried on six different outfits—six of her favourite outfits. She didn't like the way she looked in any of them. It was worse than when she was meeting Jack for the first time. "At least I could just be myself with him," she grumbled at her reflection. Of course at the time she hadn't known she could be herself, but she'd had Ducky's advice to fall back on, his conviction that they would like each other. And of course he'd been right.

"Abbs?" Tim called from the other side of the bedroom door; she'd sequestered herself away over twenty minutes ago, shooing even him out of the room while she was getting dressed. "Abby?" he repeated when she didn't answer straight away.

"Yeah—almost ready," she lied. She wasn't almost ready. She wasn't ready at all. She'd braided an unbraided her hair almost as many times as she'd changed clothes. Finally she just took her pigtails and bunned them both up, creating a pair of little balls on top of her head.

"Mom and Dad'll be here any minute," he reminded her, entirely needlessly.

"I know!" she snapped back at him. "I just need another minute, Timmy," she promised in what she hoped was a less snarly tone. It wasn't his fault she was nervous. And she shouldn't be nervous. Ducky and Jack and Gibbs were right, it didn't matter what Timmy's parents thought, he loved her, that was all that mattered.

And Gibbs loves me…and Jack and Ducky, too, she told herself silently. So what if Timmy's mother kept looking down her nose at her the whole time they were talking to them on the webcam last time?

She pulled off the black shirt she'd been wearing and put on her favourite white blouse instead. It was the same blouse she'd gone to meet Jack in. It was cute, classy… and it looked really good with the full red and black pleated skirt and black crinoline. She shimmied into a pair of thick black hose and put on her new favourite pair of good solid boots. She'd learnt the value of good solid boots working for Jack.

Abby touched up her make up one last time and emerged from the bedroom to find that she'd completely missed Jack and Ianto's arrival. She threw her arms around her boss's neck. "Thank you for coming," she held onto him tightly for several long seconds. "Both of you," she added over Jack's shoulder, in his husband's direction. Ianto was setting the table in the dining room, just beyond the arched doorway that separated that room from the lounge.

He looked up at the sound of her voice and smiled that wonderful warm little smile of his, the one that always told her everything would be all right, no matter how bad things seemed—after all, if she could handle aliens, she could handle in-laws, right? She wasn't actually so sure, but having him and Jack here helped.

"It's our pleasure," the Captain's voice was soothing in her ear; he held on tight until she was ready let go.

In the lounge, Tony stepped closer next to McGee, "You know," he said in a low tone, "if Abby was my girl, I might be jealous, even if my boss was… you know."

Tim regarded him for a moment. "He's not 'you-know', Tony, he's…Jack," he said after another moment's hesitation. There really was no other way to explain Jack to somebody who didn't know him. Even knowing him, Tim didn't always understand him, but one thing he did know was that his initial assumption about Jack's intentions toward Abby had been completely off the mark. "Besides, she's not your girl," he added with a sly little grin, "she's mine, and I'm not the jealous type."

"I'm just saying…" Tony began.

The doorbell rang.

"Oh God," Abby moaned.

"I am sure everything will be fine," said Ziva; she almost sounded convincing.

But Abby could see in her eyes that she didn't really believe that everything would be 'fine'; she flashed over a tight little smile anyway, just as Ianto was finishing up with the table. It was picture perfect. "Thank you," she said when he joined them in the lounge. She knew that the fresh flowers in the centre of the table must have been his doing. Timmy wouldn't have thought of it and she'd been too nervous…

"No worries," Ianto told her smoothly.

Tim opened the door and greeted his parents, stepping aside to let them into the flat; he did his best to ignore the look of disdain that flickered across his mother's face as she glanced around at Abby's décor—the black velvet drapes and black velvet sofa, the dark walls and gothic themed paintings, mostly reproductions but a few original contemporary pieces as well. He knew Abby would never believe him if he told her that his mother had given his place in DC the exact same baleful glower every time she visited him. He just kissed his mother's cheek and took her and his father's coats. (She was wearing a light peach suit, a pressed cream blouse and pearls. His father was dressed more casually, jeans and a pull over, but that was normal for them; after his father had retired, he'd said he was done with 'uniforms of any sort.')

"It's nice to see you again," Abby said to them with forced enthusiasm, sounding painfully awkward despite the warm smile Tim's father was giving her. "How was your flight?"

Tim hid his grimace by turning towards the coat rack against the wall by the front door.

"Timothy never told you?" his mother began, her tone matching the look on her face. "I don't care for flying."

"Oh—I—" she floundered.

"I think the entire notion of getting married overseas is—"

"The trip was fine, Abby," said Tim's father, effectively cutting his wife off. It was apparently not a new discussion.

"I would hardly call that attendant 'fine', Mike," she told him. However, instead of detailing her experience to make her point more clear, she glanced passed Abby at the rest of the entourage. "You didn't tell me you'd invited half of Wales to breakfast," she forced a slightly brighter smile as she took in the faces of the strangers standing there waiting for introductions.

"Tony and Ziva are staying with us for a couple of days," Tim explained as he rejoined them in the lounge.

Abby handled the formalities, "Mr and Mrs McGee, I'd like you to meet Tony DiNozzo and Ziva David—we used to work together at NCIS." She paused while they exchanged hellos and handshakes, and butterflies flapped around in her stomach. "And this is Captain Jack Harkness," she said next. "He's our boss. And this is Ianto Jones Harkness," she went on, feeling like a total dork, "I guess he's sort of our boss, too. Ianto is Torchwood's Senior Archivist and office manager," she explained, the butterflies in her stomach turning into pterodactyls as Jack stepped forward and opened his mouth.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both," was all he said, however, as he shook hands with Tim's mother and then his father. "Tim has been an invaluable asset to my team—Abby too."

"A Captain is it?" Mike McGee inquired.

"Yes, Sir. United States Air Force, retired. I hear you're a Navy man. A Commander wasn't it?" he glanced at Tim, although it was his father who answered:

"Retired Commander," he said modestly. Then, as if on a roll, he turned to Ianto, still smiling. "Senior Archivist is it? So you're Tim's supervisor?"

"Something like that, I suppose. We don't stand on a whole lot of formality at the Institute," the young Welshman told him, his tone and smile never wavering.

"Tim never really told us what Torchwood does, exactly…?" said Mike.

"It's a bit boring, really," Ianto lied with ease. "Most of our days are spent organizing paperwork and sorting through old records, digitizing them. Making sure other people have remembered to dot their i's and cross their t's," he gave Jack a look.

The Captain just shrugged in response, managing to look innocent to anyone who didn't know him well enough to know better. Tim's mother either didn't notice or didn't care:

"When Timothy told us he'd taken a job at an institute in Wales, it did seem as if it was something of a step down from NCIS," she said, flashing a darkly accusatory glare in Abby's direction—clearly she blamed her future daughter in law for what she believed was a demotion. "But… Harkness and Jones Harkness?" she questioned the two men standing in front of her. "Are you related?" she seemed to be searching them for some familial resemblance, yet unable to find any.

"You might say that," Jack smirked. He reached for the younger man's hand. "We're married. Almost three years now," he added with a fond smile in his Welshman's direction.

"Civil union," Ianto explained to the confusion that further darkened Mrs McGee's otherwise attractive features. "It's the same thing as a 'marriage' when you get right down to it," he said with a smile. "I have to put up with all of his bad habits and he has to put up with mine… although his outnumber mine considerably," he teased.

"Hey—" Jack began.

Ianto just chuckled. "Can I get anybody a coffee?" he asked. "I put a fresh pot on just before you got here," he added in the direction of the newcomers.

"Ianto's coffee is the best," Abby told them, her smile brightening for real.

"I prefer tea," said Tim's mother.

The Welshman remained unflustered. "I'll put on the kettle," he told her. "It won't take long at all." He looked to Tim's father, "Coffee or tea for you, Sir?"

"Coffee would be great, thanks."

"Perhaps I can offer you assistance in the kitchen, yes?" Ziva asked hopefully. Anything to get out of the lounge.

He nodded, seeming to understand exactly what her real motives were, but not objecting in the least.

"How do you do it?" The Israeli whispered to him, in the kitchen.

"What do you mean?"

"You are so… calm."

Ianto just smiled. "Practice," he told her.

"I suppose you must get a lot of practice at home," she glanced out towards the lounge where Jack was laughing entirely too loudly at something; Tony's ears had become pink.

"You have no idea."

"You really didn't need to go through all this trouble, Timothy," his mother said, as they settled in around the dining table, just a little while later. "We could have gone out to eat."

"I wanted to do something special for you," he told her.

"This certainly is some spread," said his father. There was French toast, fresh fruit, sausages, juice, and coffee and tea.

"Yeah, who knew Tim could cook," Tony chimed in.

"I taught both of my children to cook, Tony," the other's mother informed him curtly. "I also taught them how to darn a sock, sew on a button and iron a shirt."

"My Mam—my mother," Ianto clarified, "taught my brothers and myself those same things as well. Nerys too, of course. She's my sister."

Jack gave him a questioning look.

"I didn't say we all absorbed the lessons, Cariad," he understood perfectly the other's question. Domestic, Cade was not. For that matter, neither was Nerys. It was a good thing Mickey had picked up a bachelor's survival skills over the years. However, all he said aloud was that despite his Mam's best efforts, he was rubbish in the kitchen. "Fortunately, Jack is quite a good cook, even if he does tend to leave a disaster in his wake."

"Watch it, Mister," his husband retorted.

"That's quite a large family, Ianto," Mike McGee observed—he smiled though, at the obviously good natured banter the two had exchanged.

"Yes, Sir, so I've been told," the younger man smiled too, even as he shot Jack a look, almost daring him to make a comment. Given recent discovers—Alice, Steven—his husband was hardly one to talk about big families. He just hoped she came around eventually…

"Do you two…erm…" Mike seemed unsure how to phrase the question he wanted to ask.

"We have two children," the Welshman answered it anyway. "Jack's son from a previous relationship and our daughter, Seren."

"Your…?" Tim's mother questioned him.

"You have a son?" Tony wanted to know.

"His name is Jason," said Ziva. "I met him a few nights ago. He is a lovely boy," she added in Jack's direction. He beamed with pride at her compliment.

"You've got a kid?" Tony was still stuck on the idea of Jack being with a woman (or so he presumed) long enough to have had a son. "How…?"

The Captain just shrugged. "I'm sure you'll figure it out sooner or later if you think about it hard enough," he winked.

Tony looked from McGee to Ziva and back again. "I don't get it."

"Guess maybe you slept through that part of sex ed," Jack shot back. "I could give you a refresher—"

Tim cleared his throat and Ianto kicked him under the table at nearly the same moment. Jack looked from one to the other, feigning innocence.

Tim's mother cleared her throat as well. "So… Tony… Ziva… are you involved in the wedding?" she seemed to be struggling to make small talk.

Tim suddenly found his plate very interesting (for his part, Tony did a fair job of not looking uncomfortable with the subject of who was and wasn't in the wedding party— although that may have had to do with his being more uncomfortable over other things, things like Jack Harkness offering to give him a refresher course in sex ed… Jack having a kid… that was definitely more disturbing than the way the Captain kept hitting on him.)

"Ziva's my maid of honour," said Abby brightly. "Gwen, Sara and Wendy are standing up with me too—and my cousin Sadie, but only because I had to ask her. I mean, not that I don't love her," she said, prattling on a bit about the Sadie's wedding and the horrible pink bridesmaid dress she had to wear and how totally cool Ziva and the others were going to look in black…

Tim's mother put down her fork and looked at her son. "Timothy? Is there anything you'd like to add?"

"It's Abby's decision, Mom," he told her.

"Is there a problem?" Ziva wanted to know; she looked from Abby, who seemed truly startled by Mrs McGee's sudden ire, and then to Timothy, who seemed to be doing his best not to look at anyone, least of all his fiancée.

"We talked about this," his mother was going on. "You told me—"

"I told you it was Abby's decision, Mom."

"Leave it, Amanda," advised Mike. "Tim's right, it's her big day—"

"It's their big day, and I will not leave it," she snapped at her husband before returning her gaze to her son. "We talked about this. Abby?" she looked at his fiancée.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she told her helplessly. "Timmy? What's going on? What did you and your Mom talk about that I'm supposed to know about that I don't?"

(Jack and Ianto exchanged glances…they both saw that things were getting ugly fast, but neither knew how to fix it.)

Amanda McGee cringed visibly when Abby called her son Timmy. "He's not three—" she shook her head, as if to clear it. "I'm sorry. I simply presumed that we had this settled," she said calmly to both her son and her future daughter in law.

"Had what settled?" Abby wanted to know.

"Abby, it's nothing," Tim tried to say.

"Amanda, you're making a mountain out of a molehill," his father flashed an apologetic look to the rest of the people around the table; they didn't know whether to excuse themselves or just sit quietly so as not to interrupt.

"I am not making a mountain out of a molehill," said Amanda, her indignation growing. She turned to Abby. "When the bride doesn't have a sister, it's customary for her to ask her fiancée's sister to stand up as maid of honour, that's all. Was that really so difficult to say to her?" she demanded of her son. "Besides, under the circumstances…" she glanced uncomfortably at Ziva.

"What circumstances?" Abby wanted to know.

"Mom!" snapped Tim.

"Well it hardly seems fair to ask a Jewish girl to stand up with you in a Catholic ceremony, Timothy."

The silence was deafening.

Jack cleared his throat. Next to him, his partner tensed.

Tony blinked—he was sure he was hearing things. McGee's mother hadn't really just said what he thought she'd said…had she?

"I don't mean," Amanda McGee floundered. "I'm just saying…I'm not being anti-Semitic! For crying out loud, Mike—"

"I think you've said enough," he told her, clearly mortified by the turn of the conversation.

"I just meant that you'd be completely out of place," she said, turning to Ziva. "Unless you've been in a Christian wedding before—?"

"I have not," Ziva told her the truth in a very, very quiet tone. She wasn't making eye contact with anybody at the table.

"There, you see?" said Amanda to her husband—to Abby. "It's completely unfair to everybody to ask someone to stand up with you who doesn't understand the ceremony."

Without excusing herself, Abby left the table. Jack went after her, then Tim. Ziva followed on their footsteps.

"So…how about those Celtics?" Tony asked Tim's parents—and Ianto, who he realized was still there. He'd begun to clear the table. Tony blinked up at the stoic young Welshman. "Need a hand with that?"

A/N:

And that's pronounced "Seltics" not "Keltics"–they're the basketball team from Boston…