A/N: Today is the day for trying new things, apparently. I'm a little nervous. Just FYI.
Hope you... well, hope you don't stone me for it, at least. ;) Maybe even enjoy it?
"Rule number four," Buffy says quietly, holding up five fingers without even turning to look behind her. Ziva doesn't quite nod, but her agreement is clear. Buffy looks at each of the NCIS agents in turn. "Don't be a hero. Stay here, stay together, and don't try to interfere unless you're damn sure that I'm unconscious, because if I'm not and you get vamped trying to be white knights, I'll have to stake you, and I really hate killing people I used to know. Ka-peesh?"
No argument here. The eyes have faded into the darkness, but he's under no illusions that they've wandered off to impale themselves on tree branches or brood about what they've done.
He doubts that vampires are big on reflecting about their misdeeds anyway, so brooding? Probably not a likely outcome.
Ziva doesn't say anything, just looks at them evenly and then follows Buffy, both of them striding toward the trees. Abby clenches her fists in frustration and the flower on her chest lets out a little sputtering stream. Gibbs is more or less physically stopping Tony from chasing after them, and for the life of him McGee can't remember why they thought this would be a good idea.
Gibbs almost drags Tony a few feet away from them and hisses something in his ear. They turn away and McGee can't see their faces anymore. Buffy telling them to stick together rings in his ears and he wants to tell them to come back, but from the way Tony's shoulders are set defiantly he looks in need of a good Gibbs-slap to snap him out of his stupid.
"This sucks," Abby says bleakly, "What's their plan, to run into the woods and pretend they got lost on the way to grandmother's house? That's just stupid, even if Buffy is some kind of super mystical warrior and Ziva's not exactly a delicate little flower."
"They can take care of themselves," McGee says with a confidence he hopes will become truth if he fakes it often enough, freezing as something whips through the trees a few feet from where they're standing. "Maybe we want to back up a bit though?" The street light above them flickers and dies as someone – something? – screams in the distance. "Or, maybe we want to, uh, back up a lot? Like, to the car?" Abby's staring at him in a way that Tim really doesn't like. It's almost as if she's afraid of him.
He hits a wall in his attempt to retreat, except they're still in the middle of the parking lot and he doesn't remember them driving through a – oh. Brilliant.
He's not normally the swearing type, but now seems like the perfect time to embrace his inner sailor.
"Fuck."
"Such a dirty mouth," a silky voice says, far closer to his ear than he'd like, and the most disturbing thing is that each word is an icy puff of unscented air on his neck, not warm and blood-soaked like he'd imagined, "Whatever will the stars think, hearing you speak such filth in their presence?"
The hand that's not wrapped around his neck dances up his back, working up over his shoulder blades and snaking down over his chest and not for the first time tonight he wishes he'd thought to bring a spare pair of pants, but for an entirely different reason.
"Tim…"
Abby is squirming in the grip of a meaty-looking vampire with – of all things – the Marine Corps insignia tattooed on his left bicep, though Tim highly doubts that their NCIS connection is going win friends and influence people in these particular circles. And speaking of Marines…
Shit. Gibbs and Tony are in a similar predicament, though from the look on Tony's face he's not so much frozen in fear as planning a grand overthrowing of certain undead captors or maybe figuring out which movie best fits this situation.
"Don't fret," his captor says, her hand settling on his shoulder and radiating ice through his body. "Good little boys will live to see another tea party, and there shall be sweet things for all. Sweeties and cake and pretty little packages with satin bows." Unexpectedly, the cold hands loosen their grip and McGee stumbles forward only to feel her hand grip the back of his jacket. "Be careful where you put your feet, little duckling."
He looks down expectantly. Gravel and broken glass and wayward trash. "There's nothing there," he says stupidly, watching Abby squirm in Marine Vamp's grip, her eyes furious and terrified all at once. His hand moves from her hip up, bunching the black tank and exposing pale skin, and McGee is suddenly filled with rage even as he realises that rushing the guy is probably not going to help things.
The woman lets out a growl of displeasure that's completely at odds with her speaking voice, and moves into Tim's line of sight for the first time, cuffing Abby's captor over the back of the head with a pale hand.
"No touching," she reprimands sharply, her voice a little frayed at the edges, like the lace tablecloth his mom used to spread on the table when company came. From a distance you think it's too full of holes; too tattered to withstand more than the slightest pressure, but if you try to tear it you find out that not only is it stronger than it looks but it might just cut your fucking fingers off.
He's got the scar on the inside of his pinky to prove it.
Tim can't help thinking that if Wednesday Addams was real and grown up – and undead, not to mention obviously a little insane – she might look a bit like this. Dark hair, pale skin and a black dress that seems to just… float around, not settling on one particular curve or another.
She's both the least and most frightening thing he's ever seen in his life, and yet somehow Tim gets the feeling that if they were here to hunt, they'd all be bleeding out on the ground by now – and where the hell are Buffy and Ziva anyway, because it's been almost… huh. Only eight minutes.
Time flies when you're being groped inappropriately by a crazy she-vampire.
"What do you want?" he asks, perhaps a little more forcefully than he intended, backing straight into Abby when – he's going to call her Wednesday, for lack of an actual name – advances on him. Water soaks into the back of his jacket and suddenly he wishes Wednesday would try her spider-fingers trick in that very spot.
"This is definitely a red light situation," McGee says before he can help himself, and something that might be a snort comes from Tony's direction. It's about as close to a 'Good job, Probie' as he's going to get in this situation.
"The duckling has sharp teeth beneath that soft beak," she mutters, looking him up and down in approval. She cocks her head toward the treeline. "Someone is hiding, and they are very good at it," she says thoughtfully. "You should ask yourself why they hide, and whether you want to wait for the full count before you go seeking or cheat, and pretend you are standing still with your hands over your eyes. Mister En-See-Eye-Essss."
She hisses out the last letter like it burns, and for a moment her tongue flickers and she looks alarmingly snakelike. It disappears when he blinks, and she goes back to looking just slightly disconnected from the rest of the world.
"I hate riddles," McGee says with a sigh, and tries not to shudder when she steps forward – too close, too close – and looks up at him with wounded eyes.
"There's music in my head." She steps backward – oh thank god – and twirls on the spot, skirt spinning wildly. "Music and dancing and death. There are things here that don't belong, things with sharp teeth and horns and death pulsing green through their bodies. They will sing their little song and the barriers will fall like soldiers on the front line, one by one with a rattle and crash and pop pop pop chrrrrr."
Considering vampires don't really do guns, she sure does a decent job of impersonating one. "I don't understand what you mean."
That hurt look is back again, and Tim decides he likes it better when she's singing and dreamy. Insane vampire is far less scary than petulant pouting vampire, if only because she keeps out of his personal space.
"Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match," Wednesday sings, stepping toward him with a gleam in her eye and rising on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. "She's damaged inside, can you see it? They both are, but the music never stops and so they put on their masks and continue to dance." She glances toward the trees again, and now McGee can hear the faint sound of someone pushing their way through the undergrowth. "If the Slayer wants to know how the song is meant to end, she will find him and bring him back to me."
She snaps her fingers and Marine Vamp scowls, but loosens his grip on Abby. She springs away and almost knocks McGee down. "Don't try anything," he warns.
"Did you not hear my speech about dying peacefully in my coffin? That doesn't include a desire to dig my way out of it a few nights later," she hisses back, practically hugging him, but she's warm and fruity-smelling and not at all creepy – and also, remarkably calm under the circumstances. Tim's not about to do anything to mess with that.
There's a scuffle on his left as the vampire holding Gibbs licks his lips and bends down toward the older man's neck, and Tony pushes up and uses his captor's torso as a kind of brace to kick out with his legs. His foot catches the vampire in the hip but rather than let go, Gibbs and vampire go over like dominoes and scrabble around on the ground.
Wednesday hisses in fury and practically picks Eager Vamp up by the scruff of his neck.
"Come!" she says forcefully, and they obey, but not before Tony's vamp turns around and knocks him flat with a punch so hard McGee can practically feel the agent's nose shatter. "Naughty boys who do not listen to Mummy will be… punished," Wednesday assures him, and it's the strangest thing, but he almost believes her.
Almost.
"Tony!" Abby screams, and at that moment Ziva and Buffy burst from the trees, dirty and scruffy and with a few minor cuts and bruises. Seeing the disappearing vampires, Buffy streaks past him in an impressive display of speed, stopping at the edge of the parking lot and carefully looking around in all directions before wheeling around and hurrying back to the ragtag group.
"I'b fide," Tony protests as they hover around him, shrugging off Gibbs' hand and struggling to stand on his own. There's blood all over his shirt. "See? Ready for round two." He sways. Buffy is quick to slip in under his arm and steady him, and is it completely wrong that in that moment McGee's sort of wishing he was the one with a probably-broken nose?
Yeah, perhaps a little bit.
Buffy looks furious, and it takes McGee a moment to realise that she's furious at herself. Maybe a little at Wednesday, because in all fairness it's not like they were standing on the side of the road with bared necks and 'bite me' signs. Clearly, they were being watched, and (if insane vampires are to be trusted) maybe they still are.
The thought makes him scan the parking lot suspiciously, looking for any sign that someone's observing, even though the agent in him knows that there are plenty of ways to watch someone without having to worry about personal proximity. Though he's not sure how your average vampire would know that, or know that they were NCIS agents. And speaking of which – Gibbs and Tony aren't the type to be easily subdued, which just goes to show how much they're out of their depth here.
Ahead, Ziva and Abby have taken over supporting Tony, and it's only then that McGee realises Buffy is walking quietly beside him. He figures she might overlook his lack of finely honed observational skills, given their recent near-death experience and all.
"You okay?" she asks without meeting his eyes.
"Confused as hell," he replies honestly, "but nothing's broken, except maybe my pride."
"If that was who I think it was, then confusion is sort of her modus operandi," Buffy says. "Doesn't help that she's – as Faith describes her – completely batshit crazy, but hey, I've been there. No rocks will be thrown from this glass house."
He wants to ask what she means, but now really isn't the time. "Tony okay?"
"He's debating with Abby whether the punch was more like 'Fight Club' or 'Rocky', so yeah, if I had to hazard a guess I'd say he's not too damaged by the experience," she says through a poor attempt at a smile. It makes her face look wrong somehow, like she's well-practiced at faking it but just can't quite make it stick this time.
The bitter tone still colours her voice, a sign of 'killed a cop, harboured a maybe-murderer, stole Abby's cupcake' levels of blame. Though perhaps the last one is not so dire as the others, even if a certain ex-Mossad assassin was threatening to murder him at the time.
"Stop it," he says suddenly, and Buffy looks at him in surprise. "Stop blaming yourself. You've been on our turf and you know what we do. If you've been listening to Tony you know how many people probably hate him – uh, us. Because we catch criminals, and put them in jail, and that pisses people off sometimes. And, uh…" he trails off, because it suddenly dawns on him who he's talking to and his confidence stalls mid-flight. "We wanted to come – hell, we pestered you to let us come – and if Wednesday had wanted to kill me she could have done it with a snap of her – whoa…"
She could have killed him with a snap of her fingers.
He's thankfully distracted from this thought by the task of fitting four people into Ziva's Mini. It's not so much about not wanting to ride with Buffy as it is that Abby refuses to leave Tony and keeps shooting measured looks at Buffy – not quite angry, but achingly close – and Ziva refuses to let anyone drive her car (and also does not want to leave Tony, though she's not quite as vocal about it as Abby). Gibbs just doesn't seem to care which car he rides in at first, but he looks from McGee to Buffy once, twice, and then gets in to the car and shuts the door without comment.
It's all a little silly, really, because they'll go to the hospital and the doctor will give Tony painkillers and set his nose, and he'll be high as a kite for awhile but otherwise fine. McGee knows too well how Abby gets when one of them is in danger or has been threatened (unless that someone has hurt an animal in self defence in which case he, not the animal, would be the bad guy). And as for Ziva – well, he's long since given up trying to crack that hard Mossad shell that she hides anything remotely personal or emotional away in. Though she's not quite so inscrutable these days.
"The first time I saw a vampire," Buffy says finally, her eyes fixed on the tail lights of the disappearing car, "I was fifteen, and more shallow than Tony on one of his insecure days. I completely freaked out, screamed, tried to run – the whole shebang. Now, not so much. It's all plunge and move on, mostly, which makes Giles happy because the lesson finally sunk in and he's all swelled with teacherly pride."
"Fifteen," Tim says disbelievingly, thinking of himself at that age. Mathlete. Computer nerd. Mostly scared of his own shadow. He and Buffy are the calcium carbonate and camembert of adolescent experiences, complete polar opposites in more ways than he has words to describe… and yet he can't stop staring at her lips.
Damn his respect for authority and rules and not being Gibbs-slapped into the next millennium. Damn it to eternal fiery damnation, and it can take Rule Twelve and that Paula Abdul song with it.
"You did good, Tim," Buffy says, putting her hand on his forearm, and he tries very hard not to grin like a complete idiot. Forearms are friendly, right? There's no lines to read between here. Nope. No reason to…
Oh, to hell with it.
Technically, they're still in Buffy's world, and she said herself that normal rules don't apply, and the way she's staring at him wide-eyed and suddenly a little shy makes his internal voice of reason rip up the mental rulebook in outright defiance, set fire to it and start dancing merrily around the flames, chanting about doing unspeakably perverted things to local LEO's.
The sudden heated crush of her lips on his makes the inevitable wrath of Gibbs seem as insignificant an ant raging at an elephant, because suddenly he feels about a hundred feet tall.
Thanks to everyone who's taken the time to review so far - you really make my day. ;)