oOoOoOo
Old Town Alexandria
August was rapidly becoming a memory as the long and lovely rays of summer began to cast shadows over the moderate traffic pattern outside of D.C. McGee was pleased the month was nearly behind him. He said farewell to stitches and crutches a few weeks earlier. The dates for his psych eval, physical eval and shooting exam were also in the rearview mirror. He knew his scores for his firearms test (3rd highest score of his career), and he knew that his doctors had pronounced him fit for duty. All that remained was for Dr. Wolf to file his write up letting NCIS know that McGee was not a nutcase who would crack under the pressure of the job. Each of these added together resulted in one thing: He would be recertified as a full-time special agent again in a matter of days.
It felt good. He felt good. The only question left on his horizon that evening was where the he was going and why he was going there. Thus far, answers were few in number so he turned to his companion, the one who was actually driving him, to start his inquiry again.
"So we're going to Alexandria," McGee observed from the passenger seat of his car. "Do I get to know why yet?"
"Not yet," Abby replied.
She had essentially abducted him from the NCIS parking lot as he finished his work week. It took very little cajoling and a few veiled promises of topping their previous date (in which he brought her to the Keebler Observatory at Randolph-Macon College to have a private viewing of the heavens). This evening was one of her planning and she insisted she needed to drive. He relinquished the keys, but now 20 minutes later as they arrived in the historic city, he was still at a loss for what they were going to do.
"Why is it that I'm not driving my car again?" he asked.
"Do you know where we are going?" Abby asked. He then shook her head. "So that makes it kind of hard for you to get us there, doesn't it?"
He considered pointing out the obvious that she could simply tell him, but the determination (and mirth) in her voice and expression was fierce. It was apparent to him that continued requests to regain control of their conveyance was pointless.
"Do I get a hint?" he asked.
"No," she smiled. "You put a blindfold on me before we got to the observatory, but if I did that to you here, people would think I abducted you."
"You kind of did," he noted.
"It's not abduction if you came along willingly," Abby countered.
"Actually, the federal definition in Title 18 of the U.S. Code contains the possibility that the seizure of the person can be gained through deception, decoy or inveigling," he offered knowledgeably.
Memo to self, she thought with a smirk, don't argue crime definitions with a federal agent.
"Well, you're not Special Agent McGee right now," Abby side stepped the debate. "You're just Tim McGee, who is happily joining me for a surprise. Hey, was it technically kidnapping when you blindfolded me?"
"No," he said confidently.
He smirked as he answered, having wondered about legal ramifications and questions before asking her have her eyes covered during their trek to the location of their first official date. It was a calculated risk taking her to the observatory. Some might find it a dull excursion, but to McGee it was anything but boring. His grandfather taught him about the stars when he was young, and the skies had wooed the poetic and literary parts of his mind ever since. He did not know when they first arrived if Abby would find as much magic and majesty in the celestial heavens as he did and was pleasantly surprised when she had because that date was also a test.
He admitted that shamefully to himself afterward. He thought if he chose something near and dear to his heart and she balked at it or found it dull and arduous, he would know that the smooth ride of apparent contentment they were enjoying with each other was simply a flimsy summer fling. They saw each other often on weekends and after work—so much so that she was spending more nights at his apartment than at her own—but he sensed that the new/honeymoon of their liaison was about to wear off. Pulling out something uniquely geeky and completely indicative of who he was at his very core to share with her had been a chance to challenge her assertion that her feelings for him were not a passing fancy this time around. When she proclaimed their outing at the observatory was astounding and nearly left her speechless, McGee was left feeling nervous.
All indications were that she meant what she said. In the weeks since spending an evening gazing at the Helix Nebula in the Constellation Aquarius, she still gushed to him about it as though she had received a priceless gift. In her words, she felt like he had given her the entire visible universe, and she felt humbled by it.
"I can't give you the whole sky like you did for me," she said, beaming again at the memory. "So I went in the opposite direction. You went big, the marco-picture, when you planned a special date. I'm going more micro. We're getting away for the night. This is a little we-time, a little away time, a little just you and me time."
"Okay, but I don't have anything with me other than what I wore to work today," he said, spotting flaw in her plan.
"Not true," she revealed. "When I was at your place on Tuesday evening, I grabbed a few things for you and tossed them in my bag. Your stuff is in the backseat along with my bag."
McGee twisted in his seat to see her small roller board resting on the seat. He turned back to face her with a puzzled expression.
"When did you get the keys to my car to put your stuff in here?" he asked.
"I didn't," she shook her head. "I used your satellite app to remotely unlock the doors. Oh, don't get all bug-eyed. You're the one who created the program and put it on my phone after bragging what it could do. It's better than me breaking in using a slim jim."
"True," he nodded.
There was a playful insanity that radiated from Abby that he found intoxicating, but was also a mild side effect that sometimes resulted in him getting brief but undeniable headaches. The insanity part came into play when he realized that he enjoyed the pain. To him, it was a precious ache.
"Just curiously," he wondered, "did it occur to you that were you breaking the law at all when you took my stuff and then gained access to my car? As a Federal Law Enforcement Agent, I feel compelled to ask."
"You do feel that compulsion, don't you?" she grinned. "I love that about you. So, does this mean we're going to play interrogation? Okay, so here's my answer: No, because I wasn't committing any crimes. I had permission to do both."
"I gave you permission?" he asked.
"In a way," Abby nodded.
"What way?" he demanded then pulled himself back and reminded himself that this was not a real interrogation and he wasn't actually mad so much as surprised. "I mean, what made you think that?"
Abby smirked as she watched him mentally try to fold up the agent's persona and put it away for the evening. She had seen him interrogate suspects before. His style was not usually the brow beating, physically ominous presence that Tony or Gibbs brought to the room, but McGee could be intimidating when it suited him. She doubted he would ever show that side to her, but also thought she might like to see a hint of it… just for fun… once or twice.
"I told you I made plans for us tonight," Abby stated succinctly. "I told you I needed to take care of a few things to arrange it and you said…"
"Do whatever you need," he recalled as he nodded. "I have to watch my language around you."
She asked then laughed generously as he held his hands up in surrender.
"Just sit back and relax," she said. "We're nearly there. I booked us a room and that's all you need to know."
That room ended up being at the historic Morrison House. They checked in, with Abby sharing a discrete whisper of thanks with the desk staff, one of whom winked and called her Abs signaling they knew each other. Their room was nicer than most hotels McGee ever got to stay in. The NCIS budget was not known for covering luxurious accommodations, and growing up on naval bases, even with a father who was an officer, plush was never word used to describe his surroundings.
"So, what do you think?" Abby asked with a hopeful grin as she threw her arms wide gesturing to the room. "It's kind of stuffy, but that also makes it kind of quirky in its own opulent way."
The room was large and held a king sized bed and antique furniture. From the mere weight of the heavy oak door on the room and the fact that the sounds from the busy street below were stopped dead in their tracks, it was apparent that there would be no external disturbances.
"It's not that far from home, and they allegedly make the best chocolate chip cookies in all of Virginia," Abby announced. "We should order some from room service later."
"Sure," McGee shrugged. "So, uh, what are we going to do while we're here in Alexandria? What do you have planned? Or did we come all this way to order cookies in a room where George Washington stayed?"
Abby approached him and laced her fingers through his while gazing into his eyes.
"We have a few choices," she explained. "The VGU is in town at the Marks Center tonight and tomorrow. I got us tickets. I remembered you mentioning early last spring that you wanted to go, so I called a friend who got me a pair of passes."
McGee blinked. He had forgotten all about Video Gamers United convention in the intervening months. Prior to Afghanistan, it had been one of the few things on his calendar for the summer. He grinned that even back then she had listened and remembered.
"It's your choice if you want us to go both tonight and tomorrow," she continued as she draped her arms over his shoulders. "Or we could do something else this evening. I thought maybe we might celebrate—there's a lot we should, after all. You passed your firearms test; you had your meeting with Dr. Wolf for your psych eval; and your doctors officially ruled you are physically fit for duty. Oh, and you and me and have been a we for seven and a half weeks."
He grinned at that but looked at her oddly.
"Since when do you care about obtuse anniversaries?" he wondered. "You're the one who always says…"
She pressed her finger over his lips to stop his objection.
"I care about them when they're important," Abby answered. "We can also have an early celebration for you getting your field agent status reinstated. You said it's just a matter of paperwork making it to Vance's desk, right? All of that together means that you are fully recovered, which brings me to the last thing we could be celebrating."
She grinned at him with her lips and her eyes, feasting on his continued innocent expression of non-comprehension.
"Which is what?" he asked with a shrug. "What's the last thing?"
Abby looked pointedly from him to the bed then back again while smiling hopefully.
"Oh," McGee nodded as he felt an idiotic grin pulling on the corners of his mouth. "That."
"Yeah, that," she nodded. "You got the all clear to do whatever you want. No more restrictions. So, I thought, I'd give you the choice for the evening. We can get dinner then go to the convention, or we could take tonight and do…"
"Whatever?" he asked eagerly and elicited and laugh from her that only ceased when he pressed his lips to hers.
He vaguely heard her ask him if wanted to grab dinner first. While McGee was sufficiently hungry from having missed lunch, the answer that came from his mouth was a solid and quickly spoken "No" followed by Abby freeing the buttons on his shirt.
An hour later, darkness filled the room as Abby stretched languidly under the sheets beside him. She smiled at how quickly they had gotten to the heart of the reason for their stay. She nuzzled his shoulder which prompted him to blink his eyes open then wrap his arm around her and pull her close again.
"I could go for a peanut butter sandwich right now," she murmured and received a chuckle in reply. "I could. It's on the room service menu. I saw it on the website when I did my research on this place."
"You researched hotels with peanut butter sandwiches on their room service menus?" he asked as his thoughts remained pleasantly vague and stray.
"No," she said snuggling closer to him, resting her head on his chest to listen to the steady thump of his heart. "I just happened to see that detail. So how are you?"
"How am I?" he repeated. "What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I asked," Abby said. "Do you feel okay? That was kind of a strenuous physical therapy session we had. Just curious if you're feeling okay."
McGee chuckled as he tried to coalesce his thoughts into an intelligible answer.
"I haven't felt this good in a very long time," McGee sighed then hesitantly asked her the same question. "Uh, how are you?"
"Hungry, Tim, weren't you listening to me talk about a peanut butter sandwich?" she replied then tilted her head to see him in the darkness. "Oh, you mean… Well, I'm feeling pretty fantastic over all—you know, other than wanting room service."
"Good," he said feeling his face blush and feeling thankful the room was too dark to show it as she nuzzled his neck and kissed his cheek. "I was worried. At first, when you saw the scars… I guess it was a shock to you. I can see why. I don't really see them anymore, but to someone else they must look horrible. I'm used to them, but I didn't think about how you might react. I should have warned you."
Abby propped herself up on her elbow and fixed him with a careworn expression as she tugged the sheets down slightly to show the vicious red line etched into his flesh. She placed her hand on it gently.
"It's not the scar or how it looks that startled me," she assured him. "It was just being reminded of how badly you were hurt. I saw all of it when you were still unconscious in the hospital. How it looks now is spectacular by comparison. Do you know why?"
"Because it's not bloody and oozing now?" he ventured.
She offered him an exasperated expression that let him know his blunt response was not the right one. She chalked the reply up to it being simply a demonstration of his naïve default setting of full honesty that made him seem occasionally cluelessness or unable to read a situation. It might not make him the smoothest talker in the planet, but it surely made him one of the most honest and sincere; she then smiled in an understanding and appreciative way. It might occasionally frustrate her, but one of her unwavering hopes was that this was one aspect of him that would never change.
"No, they look better now because we can mention it in the past tense rather than the present tense," she corrected him. "When I first saw what happened to you, all this was new and still dangerous. Now, it's a scar. It's older and safe because you healed; it's just history."
He nodded, appreciating her honesty and her assessment. It was better than his mother had been able to do. She had not been able to be in the room when nurses changed the dressings on his bandages during his recovery. He doubted she would ever find anything but feelings of terror associate with any mention of the permanent marks.
"I was worried you would be turned off by the sight of it," he confessed while some doubt remained in his voice and his expression.
"Not even for a nanosecond," she answered him truthfully. "Did I seem turned off at any point since we stepped foot in this room?"
He considered mentioning that she had a not very pleased look in her eyes a moment earlier when he said the words bloody and oozing but refrained from uttering that observation.
"Um, I'll have to say no," he smirked as he rubbed a spot on his neck that felt like the bloom of a hickey.
"That doesn't sound very confident," Abby replied as she nibbled on his ear. "Do I have to find a way to convince you?"
"Well, now that I think about it, there might have been the teeniest room for a sliver of doubt…," he began but did not get much farther in his strategic and devious attempt at conniving as she pulled him close to her. "Do with me what you must."
"Oh, I fully intend to," she vowed.
oOoOoOo
Squad Room
Monday rolled around sooner than McGee expected. Sure, it was just 24 hours after Sunday started, but his weekend felt altogether too short. For the first time since returning to DC, he was not eager for the week to start or to go to the office. Saying good morning and then goodbye to Abby as she left his apartment almost sent him into a funk until he realized there was a chance that the paperwork restoring his Special Agent status would be on Vance's desk and waiting for a signature that morning. A little hopeful voice deep in his mind—one that sounded a lot like Abby—said there was even a chance that the papers were already signed if the director had worked over the weekend.
That possibility perked up his morning and made the drive into DC fly by despite the traffic that made him 20 minutes late. He did not care. He could practically feel his badge in his hand once again, and that brought a rare non-Abby related smile to his face as he entered the squad room and approached his desk.
Tony, lonely as he was the only one from the team present thus far, took note of McGee's late arrival and excited expression with suspicion.
"Pleased with yourself about something, McTardy?" he remarked.
McGee huffed at the question and the nickname. Not even Tony was going to drag him down. There was tension between them, not unlike the friction he felt around Gibbs, but McGee hoped when he was actually a fully functioning member of the team again that would improve.
Unimpressed by his first volley being ignored so easily, Tony cleared his throat and redirected at his target.
"Forget where the office is?" he wondered. "Over sleep? Get delayed while getting me coffee?"
"No," McGee said flatly.
He had tried to be casual and make it to his desk without doing anything to stir Tony's interest. Gibbs' gut might be renown for is acuteness, but Tony's was sharp as well and more outwardly suspicious, particularly about his co-workers—not in a criminal way but more of a 'I'm nosy and can't help myself so let me invade you private life' way. McGee watched him toy with Kate for a year, then tiptoe around Ziva's life for several more. As for himself, he had outlasted both of them and still maintained something of a private life. Granted, he was a male in whom Tony held no interest in conquest and normally there wasn't much to his life anyway, but it was his. McGee intended to keep things private and quiet until he was more certain about where his life might be going.
But, as always, Tony was like a shark when there was blood in the water. He swiveled in his chair and locked onto McGee. The senior agent noted his teammate was refusing to make eye contact. This was a new tactic that bothered Tony because it seemed a bit too submissive, even for McGee. It was also rude, which was something McGee never was on purpose. In truth, Tony figured the guy had a good weekend, and he was willing to allow MCGee moment of McSwagger until Tony was rebuffed. This treatment could not go unchecked, he decided.
"How was Timmy's weekend?" he asked in a leading fashion.
McGee had anticipated the moment when Tony might begin to dig into what was going on in his life. It had taken longer than expected; of course, Tony was also treating him like an irrelevant intern who didn't merit any attention at all lately. Still, Tony was both a natural investigator and pathologically nosy. He couldn't help himself usually. He had to know everything about everyone. It figured that eventually he would get around to rooting around in McGee's world. For that reason, McGee had already thought about how he would deal with Tony delving into his private life when it finally happened. After much contemplation and running of hundreds of scenarios in his mind, McGee had come up with the best possible approach to dealing with it.
He would tell the truth—most of it.
"It was good," he said simply. "Great even."
"Really?" Tony said dramatically as he stalked out of his chair toward McGee's desk. "Great as in there was a Star Trek marathon on so you got to watch every episode? Great as in your mom mailed you cookies? Hey, did she? 'Cause if she did, you should share."
McGee snorted and shook his head as he signed into his computer and began sorting his email in hopes of finding his notification that his badge and gun would be returned that morning. However, there was nothing so far. He scowled at that before answering Tony's inquiry.
"None of the above," he replied. "Something better."
"Better?" Tony cocked an eyebrow in McGee's direction. "How? What, did you have a date or something?"
"In fact, I did," McGee replied. "More than one actually."
"More than one?" Tony wondered and received a shake of the head in response. "You had more than one—like two dates? Was this a computer thing, or was there a real woman there in front of you in the flesh either time?"
"I spent the weekend with her in person," McGee said. "She's very much real."
"You mean back-to-back days…?" Tony began.
"And nights," McGee offered as he began composing an email to inquire on the status of his application to regain his status.
"Days and nights?" Tony repeated in awe. "You pulled a McDouble, an evening so nice she had to do it twice? I'd be proud of you if I believed you, which I don't. So who is allegedly lucky Miss Double Take?"
McGee shook his head.
"None of your business," he said strategically.
Tony scoffed and leaned over McGee's desk. He shook his head pityingly.
"We've been down this road before, haven't we?" he said. "You really think you can keep her a secret? From me? Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo is a master at discovering secrets. Hold on. Is it your sister? That is so not a date, at least outside of Mississippi and Alabama."
McGee rolled his eyes rather than respond. Tony nodded and leaned back a bit, stung by the flare of anger in his probie's expression. There was less playfulness, less willing punching bag, than the senior agent was used to in these scenarios. There was, however, plenty of chilly temperatures in McGee's scoffs and expressions.
"You will tell me what I want to know eventually," Tony vowed. "I have ways, Probie-sanh. We both know that's true."
McGee inhaled slowly and nodded.
"You have, in fact, invaded my personal live on numerous occasions," he agreed. "I don't doubt you will do so again in an effort to satisfy your juvenile nature. When we were friends, I would put up with it. Now, you're just wasting my time, so I'm going to do what I can to salvage my day by getting you to drop this quickly. Let me make this obnoxious intrusion into my private life easy for you. Here."
McGee handed Tony his phone after he typed in the passcode.
"Her name and number are in the contact list," he said. "I'll give you five minutes to look to see if you can figure out who she is. Here's the catch. If you can't figure it out on your own right now, you give me your word that you will butt out of my life at least until the seasons change. Deal? Or do you not trust in your Very Special Agent detection skills enough?"
Tony listened to the challenge and taunt, bobbling the phone initially and nearly dropping it as he heard the acid in McGee's words as their friendship was filleted into nothingness seemingly without a care. Rather than dwell on that, Tony chose to ignore it and instead snatched the phone before it hit the desk or the floor. McGee merely tapped his watch to indicate the clock was ticking. Never one to back down from a challenge, particularly one tossed at him by McGee, Tony swiftly agreed and began furiously scrolling through the recent messages and call logs. All were suspiciously empty other than a text conversation between McGee and his mother from the previous Thursday. He then turned to the contacts and was stunned to see hundreds of entries listed.
"You do not know this many people," Tony snarled as he read the names looking for one that was promising.
"Apparently, I do," McGee shrugged as he returned to sorting through his email.
He did not think it was necessary to mention his contact list had grown substantially since he was injured. There were medical offices in two states, a series of specialists and their various office numbers, his physical therapists (again, two states) as well as psychiatric counselors. There were the people he met and befriended while going through the various stages of recovery—fellow PT and cardiac surgery patients and several friends he met through his mother's friend Griffin who were now among his acquaintances; that one was a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader might set Tony off if he knew who she was. He figured Tony might know that if he bothered to stay in touch over the summer or make any effort to reconnect once McGee did return.
Tony paid the passive aggressive attitude he was receiving no mind as he zoned in on what he thought was his target. It was the only name that stood out because she was not fully identified. The veiled attempt to hide the name was what caught his very special agent eyes.
"Ha!" Tony proclaimed and began hitting buttons. "Found her: Holly. First name only; no last name; no other info besides the number. Classic attempt at hiding an identity. I believe we have a bet on this. Do you owe me money now?"
"I owe you nothing," McGee held out his hand to retrieve his phone. "Besides, you're wrong. It's not Holly. Now, you have to leave me alone about this until at least the end of September."
McGee had mixed thoughts about that. Part of him would enjoy watching Tony twist himself into knots trying to keep his word. Part of him didn't think it would be necessary as there was a chance he and Abby would no longer have anything between them by the end of the next month.
"I am not wrong," Tony asserted. "Your secret friend is this Holly person, and I will prove it by doing this."
He hit the call button as McGee tried to grab for the phone, but succeeded only in getting it put on speakerphone in the process. It rang twice as Tony held it aloft while stiff arming McGee to keep him from getting his hand on it. His protests went unacknowledged as the phone rang twice then was answered by a seductive voice.
"A daylight call," Holly said in a pleased tone. "This is either very good or very bad news, Tim."
"Wow, she sounds hot," Tony whispered to McGee before turning his attention to the phone. "Hello, is this Holly?"
There was a paused and her tone stiffened slightly as she responded.
"Who is this?" she asked guardedly.
"I'm a friend and colleague of your friend Tim," Tony grinned. "I was just wondering if you might confirm something for me…"
"Holly, just hang up and ignore him," McGee said but found Tony's free hand clamped over his mouth.
"No, Holly, ignore Tim," Tony said.
As he spoke, Holly laughed gently prompting Tony to lower the device and look at it with wonder, intrigue and suspicion.
"Oh, this is Special Agent DiNozzo, isn't it?" she guessed confidently. "I thought your voice sounded familiar. Is there a reason you have Tim's phone that either involves me or should concern me?"
"Uh, maybe," Tony replied warily. "Have we met?"
The voice sounded strikingly familiar to Tony, but he could not place it. She knew his name and his voice. She seemed to be amused by that; however, he was stumped.
"We have—professionally," Holly cooed. "Well, your profession… and mine, sort of, but I had permission to be working."
"Okay," Tony blinked and looked at McGee who simply held out his hand for the phone. "I'm sorry, but I'm not certain who…"
"The last time we met, I had you order the spicy canton," she recalled. "Then you had to go make wee-wee."
Tony's expression went from blank to stony (with a rosy complexion) in the same instant. McGee snorted his laughter at both the comment and the sudden loss of composure on Tony's face. As they stared at each other with opposing expressions, Abby walked around the corner. She looked at the scene with a curious gaze as she approached McGee's desk.
"Holly Snow?" Tony croaked. He took on a demanding tone as he glared at McGee. "What are you doing with Holly Snow's number?"
"Mostly helping her get out of dungeons lately," he responded truthfully as he snagged back his phone. "Sorry about this Holly. Tony was demonstrating his finely tuned investigative skills."
"I see," she chuckled. "Well, I hope he found what he was looking for. By the way, Tim, I have to tell you again that whole thing with your wand is miraculous. It made the difference between a wasted weekend and having some of the most fun I've had in ages. I swear I didn't sleep at all from Friday evening onward."
Abby bit her lip as she watched the confusion and shock cascade over Tony's face. It was as if she watched his vocabulary evaporate and disappear right in front of them. On the other hand, McGee appeared oblivious to this as he turned to see her at his desk. He smiled genuinely.
"I told you that you wouldn't be disappointed," McGee replied, grateful his advice to her about obtaining a wand of Hemlock had assisted her avatar in her latest quest.
"The queen bows to you, Elf Lord," Holly replied as she disconnected. "I'll be in touch."
Abby started to smirk at both McGee's lack of comprehension of what that exchange had just done to his teammate and at what the banter's sounded like to anyone who didn't understand it initially. She was aware he had helped Holly recently with a virtual world predicament. He took a call as they waited for room service to arrive late on Friday evening. He was hesitant to take the call at first, but knowing the foundation of their relationship, Abby insisted he answer the former madam. If McGee helping her navigate her virtual world played any role in keeping her in a law-abiding life, Abby was very supportive of him taking her calls and being her friend.
Tony, however, looked like he had suffered head trauma after the recent conversation.
"You, Holly Snow, and your…. wand?" he gaped. "No. I…. I refuse to… No. Never. I think I'm going to be sick. Someone get me a trashcan."
"Well, I told you it wasn't her," McGee said.
"Then, who?" Tony demanded. "Wait. First, why are you friends with Holly Snow, and what did she do with your… you know?"
"I thought you were going to figure this out on your own?" McGee remarked as he smiled at Abby, who wore a puzzled expression.
He saw this as an opportunity to come clean with Tony without the man realizing it. Sure, it was a little devious, but since the man was practically asking for it, who was McGee to deny him?
"Figure what out?" Abby asked. "What's going on? Hey, are you two finally talking again—like for reals?"
Neither paid her question any attention.
"Oh, I will figure out it," Tony growled and tried to snatch back the phone. "Give me your phone. My five minutes aren't up yet."
"They are now," McGee said, putting the device back in his jacket pocket as he looked casually at Abby then back at Tony. "If you used your special agent powers for good rather than evil, you might realize that the answer has been right in front of you this whole time."
He stared at Tony with a calm and amused gaze. Abby stood beside McGee, watching Tony ignore the blatant and literal clue. She sighed and swatted McGee's arm.
"That's what this is about?" she sighed. "He's rattled from the phone call. This is like when people use a laser pointer and make their cats go crazy trying to catch the spot on the wall. That's just wrong."
"Well, he started this," McGee shrugged.
"And I'm finishing it," Gibbs said as he arrived on scene. "Abby, what are you doing up here?"
"Being a prop apparently," she shook her head as she huffed then continued through back on track for her initial journey. "The vending machine downstairs is broken. I'm just up here for a candy bar. In case you were curious, I think your team needs to put their heads on their desks for a little while."
"No time for that," Gibbs said. "Grab your gear. Body in a dumpster in Arlington."
"Marine behind a bar?" Tony ventured as he pivoted to grab his bag.
"Navy Petty Officer behind a motel," Gibbs elaborated. "Bishop's already in the van. McGee, what are you doing?"
He had reached down to grab his backpack out of habit and instinct. Gibbs' hard stare made him release the handle and sit back in his chair. He sighed.
"I'll be sitting here waiting for you to call and tell me what to do," he replied in a defeated voice.
"Have your wand at the ready, Elf Lord," Gibbs said as he made his way to the elevator.
oOoOoOo
Squad Room
Three days.
That's how long McGee had been waiting for word that his status was re-instated. He haunted his email and voicemail each day, looking for the official word that he was again a field agent. Yet nothing came.
During his allowed work hours, he sat through grueling stretches of very little to do until something happened that the rest of the team could not handle (and that Gibbs would allow him to do). That was the tricky part, the Gibbs' factor. He was stingy with his assignments. More often than not, he doled out work to Bishop and Tony, who would then shuttle some of the computer-based tasks to McGee. On occasion, Gibbs would throw him something to do, but it always felt either menial or like a last resort.
But that was about to change, McGee told himself.
He made his peace with Gibbs' estrangement. Abby suggested several times that McGee talk with his boss about how he was feeling. McGee didn't think a discussion with Gibbs about feelings would get him anything but more steely stares and even fewer assignments. McGee's own theory was that Gibbs was ignoring him as a resource because he worked with agents, not support assistants, which was what McGee essentially was at that time. Once was carrying his badge again, things would go back to normal.
Tony, of course, was another story.
McGee wasn't exactly sure why he was mad at the guy; he only knew he was. What puzzled him more was what was up with Tony.
Since the day McGee returned to the office weeks earlier, something felt off. A little voice in the back of his head kept telling him it had something to do with his time in Baltimore. He did not know what precisely, but every time he felt his anger burn toward Tony, he would think back to the early stages of his recovery. Tony was there twice that he recalled—which, given the severity of what happened to his partner didn't seem like all that much in McGee's opinion. Still, the two times he had clear memory of seeing him, he could not put his finger on any one moment that would have created this bizarre wall between them, but like Gibbs, Tony wasn't one for sharing and talking about feelings.
He recalled a strange discussion between them in which Tony seemed to have an over appreciation of McGee's mother. Bishop had told him about her theory of an odd crush on Carol McGee to fulfill Tony's need to be mothered. McGee was willing to accept that as the root of their hospital conversation. The discussion after he left the hospital was perplexing. Tony seemed to be pushing him for information about McGee's time in Afghanistan—time McGee could not remember. It seemed to McGee what he said (or didn't say) was being held against him… that or the fact that McGee ended up getting hurt overseas in the first place. It was insane, but it did explain the aloof demeanor he was receiving from Tony. He had expected (even partially looked forward to) the jokes and jabs and predictable insults from the man upon returning. Yet there was nearly nothing. McGee sighed thinking, oddly, how he almost missed being treated like Tony's probie.
"Uh oh," Abby said as she crossed into the room. "That's the frustrated sigh."
McGee looked up, casting his eyes around casually as he noted with pleasure that they were alone. He found that happened to him a lot lately, being alone in the squad room. Tony and Bishop disappeared for unspoken tasks. The more annoyed parts of his mind wondered if they were working on a case together, one he was not even permitted to know about, but he wrote that off as mild paranoia. Still, the team was currently out in the field and away from their desks now more often than he recalled them being previously. Then again, he realized, they had to make up for being one person down so that mean more interviewing and interrogating (something he was not yet permitted to watch even) for them.
"Pretty much," McGee agreed as he smiled weakly at her. "What brings you up here?"
He tried to keep his question casual, yet he was glad to see her. First off, he was bored and lonely. Next, he had not seen her the previous night. It worried him a bit at how quickly he had grown accustomed to spending his time with her outside the office. The worry wasn't in the time he was spending with her so much as his fear that he was beginning to feel that urge again—the one that wanted more than just a simple dating relationship. He feared this meant, at least in his mind and heart, they were approaching that crossroads where their previous attempt at dating had fallen apart. Still, he put those thoughts away for the moment as he was just glad for her company.
"I could say that I missed you," she remarked quietly while fighting a grin, but then flapped her arms and vented her frustration. "But mostly I have nothing to do. Not that I didn't want to see you, but I'm very nearly bored in my lab, which has never happened to me even once in my career. You know, I never realize how much time I spent on the little, routine tests and analysis we do until I didn't have to do all of them anymore. My three guys have all of that handled. I wonder if this is how Gibbs feels. All the footwork I started doing long ago is now in the hands of my minions and I am left to… What is it Gibbs does while the rest of you are minioning for him?"
McGee shrugged. As he pondered that, his computer chirped. Out of boredom, he had started refreshing his querying abilities. As he had no subjects to focus on, he decided to use his own identity and financial information as a test case. The query he ran had just run into something unexpected.
"What the hell?" McGee muttered as he started reading his screen with surprised interest.
"What is it?" Abby asked peering around the front of his desk at the screen.
"Maybe a problem," McGee said as he began checking his query. "This can't be right."
"What can't be right?" she asked then smirked. "Should I say that more gruffly with a stern expression to sound like Gibbs?"
"Please don't," McGee requested offhandedly. "This is insane. Someone's been checking me out."
"Other than me?" she remarked quietly. She walked around to his side of the desk and looked closely at the data. "Wow. That's… that's… What is this, McGee? What's going on?"
McGee scrunched his brow and began typing, sifting through the information. In the last two months, someone done deep scrapes on his bank accounts, his credit cards and any financial account using his social security number. His online profiles were also viewed from the source code upward. Someone, either with seriously dangerous computer skills or an exceedingly high security clearance, was investigating McGee.
"I have no idea," he replied mystified. "I haven't seen anything like this since…."
"Since what?" Abby asked as his words trailed off and his expression grew worried.
"Since Vance had me do deep background checks on Keating, Langer and Lee when he was looking for the mole a few years ago," McGee said furiously scrolling through the screens. "Abby, what is this? Why would someone be investigating me?"
Her chin dropped and her eyes grew wide at what she was seeing.
"I have no idea," she replied. "You need to tell Gibbs."
"Tell him what?" McGee scoffed. "Hey Boss, I think someone's cyberstalking me; my whole electronic life has been viewed but my identity and my accounts haven't been tampered with? Someone's just looking at them but done nothing to them? I mean, what's my complaint going to be? My credit score hasn't even changed."
"That's your credit score?" Abby blinked. "Wow, I thought mine was good. Are you sure nobody's tampered with your accounts?"
"As far as I can tell," McGee said typing furiously to look through his searches more carefully. "I'll need to back trace this to a source IP and figure out who started it."
"Let me do that," she offered. "I have nothing to do right now, and it seems wrong to hope for a crime to occur to fill up my day. Besides, I have a dedicated server that can cut through this more quickly than you can from up here. I'd offer for you to join me in the lab to help, but…"
"But it's not a good idea, yeah, I know," he sighed dejected. "You seriously have nothing to do? What about the DNA from that body they found in Arlington on Monday?"
Abby shrugged but smiled proudly at the efficient work of her assistants. They had taken care of all the prep work needed to run the tests and even completed most of the paperwork. All that was left now was the waiting for the system to spit out the data on whether the genetic material recovered from the body produced any results from the armed forces database or the violent offenders' database.
"Just waiting for the computer to spit out the results," she answered. "So unless the team catches a new case in the next 4 hours, I have nothing to do for the rest of my day except go over test results that I've already finished. Let me do this for you. Send me your query results, and I'll get to work digging up whoever's been giving you the long once over without my permission."
McGee turned his head curiously to look at her with a narrowed, questioning gaze.
"Your permission?" he wondered.
"Yeah," Abby said. "If anyone is going to look at you this kind of interest, they need my permission first. McGee, the next step in this level of scrutiny is watching you shower and sleep—and that's my prerogative only."
She tossed a wink at him, and McGee felt his ears burn red and knew his face matched that shade while he fought valiantly to keep a grin off his face.
"Office, Abby," he reminded her under his breath as he scolded himself for letting his mind stray yet again.
Whatever anxiety and violation he was feeling from having his accounts sifted through so completely evaporated for a moment. Again, he felt the surge in his chest that told him things between him and Abby, at least on his part, had gone beyond just stolen moments outside the office and the occasional sleepover. It worried him because he knew he was long past the starting to fall stage. He had gone head first into the L word and there was no turning back… until he had no choice (which would happen when she realized he was interested in things between them becoming more serious and she hit the panic button to get off the ride entirely).
"We're alone," she grinned as she whispered. "Besides, I've said more suggestive things to you when we weren't seeing each other. Now, email me everything you've got there. I'll let you know what I find. When Gibbs gets back, you should tell him. Oh, hey I've been meaning to ask if you've seen Palmer lately."
McGee shook his head. Autopsy was also an off-limits area for him it seemed as Gibbs gave him no reason to go there, and it wasn't exactly a normal stop during his day unless he had a specific purpose to visit the room where the bodies were stored. He had seen Ducky other than if he dropped into the squad room, which was rare. McGee explained that he hadn't seen the man's assistant in a couple weeks, yet another example of the exile McGee found himself in since returning.
"Something's up with Jimmy, and I'm starting to worry," she offered.
"You worry about everybody," McGee noted, trying to hide his glee that her sharp eye and sharper worry woes were not pointed at him and yet she was still maintaining her interest in their outside entanglement.
"True, but something is up," she replied. "Every time I see him he turns into a stammering and tongue tied mess. Today, I asked him if he was okay."
"And?" McGee wondered.
"He said he was good and then started to ask how I was, but then he backed off and apologized saying it was none of his business," she shrugged. "Has Tony said anything to you about him?"
McGee snorted and looked coldly at the agent's empty desk.
"No," he said flatly.
Abby cocked her head to the side at his response then offered him a sad and mildly worried gaze. The continuing estrangement between two of her favorite agents was growing in concern. All claims of her proclivity toward worrying aside, she knew she was not the only one sensing the trouble. Twice Bishop had asked her if she knew of any period in the past when McGee and Tony went through a cold war of sorts. Abby had responded that she did—citing the brief break in their bromance during the last case they worked with Holly Snow and a Norfolk Detective Phil McCadden. Still, this rift between the two men felt different.
"McGee," Abby sighed. "You two need to work out whatever is going on between you. He's your best friend."
McGee scoffed at the proclamation as he shook his head.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said stiffly as Bishop's phone started ringing. "Besides, you're my best friend."
"Okay, well, yes that's sweet and true," Abby agreed. "But Tony's also your best friend, and you work with him all day long. Come on. This has gone on too long. You miss him; I know it. Letting this continue is not good for either of you."
McGee turned his head away and clenched his jaw. Abby stared at him with concern. His obstinacy was different from this past in that to her it seemed to bring out a bitterness in McGee she found foreign. Talking to him about it seemed wise, but there was a cold look in his eyes that made her back off—for the time being. She was granting him his space, not that she felt comfortable doing so, but that was what the counselor (the one Cranston recommended for her when Abby began having insomnia issues after McGee was hurt) told her she might need to do. However, giving him space was one thing. Ignoring something that looked to be a festering issue that could cause greater problems was something else entirely.
"If you're mad at him, you might need to tell him why," Abby offered as McGee refused to look in her direction. "Maybe he doesn't know what he did. So, if you know what's wrong and you don't do anything to try fixing it, then you're not helping matters, and you're not helping yourself any."
"As far as I'm concerned, everything is fine," McGee replied stiffly. "It Tony has a problem with me, then he can take it up with me."
Abby stepped back, startled by the cold response. She had diametrically opposed reactions. She wanted to give him a stern, hands on hips lecture, and she wanted to hug him and tell him that whatever hurt him was going to turn out okay. She could guess, and had guessed, what was eating away at him where Tony was concerned. It was as much the lack of acknowledgment that he was back and whole again as it was the lack of contact to find out how he was doing when he was on leave.
McGee felt her eyes on him and was not in the mood to receive sympathy, pity or any other emotion. He also did not want to get mad at her for something that was not her fault. Abby was the one consistently bright spot in his world currently, and he did not want anything to dim that. So, rather than get into a discussion with her about his issues with Tony, McGee turned his attention to Bishop's phone.
"I should grab that," he said dismissing her. "Call me if your search turns up anything."
Abby frowned but opted not to pursue the problem in the present location. She was willing to let this issue slide with McGee—and only with him—for now. There was, of course, someone else she would address the matter with in the meantime.
"Okay," she said simply with a limp wave. "I'll call you later after I look at your query results."
He acted as if he did not hear her as he walked to Bishop's desk and lifted her phone.
"Agent Bishop's desk," McGee said.
"Is this Agent Bishop?" the raspy male voice on the other end inquired.
"Uh, no, she is not here at the moment," McGee replied. "Can I take a message?"
"She called me," the man replied. "Just calling her back. I've been on my boat for a few weeks; didn't get her message until today. What's she want?"
"Uh, I don't know," McGee said. "Who is this? Did her message leave you any indication why…?"
"More than 20 years ago, I spent two weeks stuck on the goddamn ship with only bread and water for my meals because some little bastards messed with my work space," the man growled. "That's what I told the Navy then and that's what I'm still saying. I don't know why the fuck this Agent Bishop wants to talk me about it again. Ain't no way the goddamn Navy can punish me again—especially since I wasn't guilty the first time—and they can't hold my pension over my head either. I'll tell you this, if you finally got those little bastards who got me in trouble to confess, then I'm suing the whole Defense Department for mental distress."
McGee raised his eyebrows then rolled his eyes as he grabbed a pen and began making notes.
"Okay," he replied. "What is your name?"
"Renner, Kyle J," the man barked. "Petty Officer, Second Class, retired."
"Alright, Mr. Renner," McGee said. "I doubt Agent Bishop is looking into a 20-year-old case involving a Captain's Mast that just resulted in a two week restriction. She probably has something more important to discuss with you, but I don't know what that might be."
"Well, her damn message said it was about my restriction back in '86," Renner insisted. "Ain't you badge-flashing cop-wannabe's at NCIS got anything better to do than look at things that don't matter anymore? Why don't you investigate them contractor crooks who bilk the Defense Department out of millions of dollars of my pension money? I see the news. You got terrorist running security at your overseas bases, but instead of hunting them down you're spending your time sending your little girly agents to bother me and take up my private time."
McGee took the beating stoically. He let the man finish spewing his bile without interruption.
"I'm sure Special Agent Bishop will be able to explain her need to speak with you," McGee said. "What is the best number and time to reach you, Mr. Renner?"
The man scoffed, growled then rattled off a phone number and stated he would be around nearly anytime over the next five days. He actually sounded a bit lonely to McGee, as if half of his grouchiness in making the call was that there was no one to talk to him at length.
"I'll give her the message to call you as soon as she returns to the office," McGee said.
"He's dead, you know," Renner offered in parting. "The one that did it to me, who punished me. Him and my CO—both dead now thank God. I wouldn't accept an apology from either of them even if they were alive. Master Chief Dixon was just a pansy and a puppet, and the captain was the biggest sonofabitch of them all. I always figured he knew it was his goddamn son that was responsible—that's why I got punished, because I knew it, too. When I read about him dying in the Navy Times, I said good riddance. Best damn thing to happen to the Navy in 50 years was that bastard John McGee dying."
The words hit McGee with the sudden force of bullet (or what he supposed one felt like as he didn't actually remember being shot). It was like a cold, sharp punch to the gut. He stopped writing.
"Thank you for returning Agent Bishop's call," McGee said automatically. "She will speak with you soon."
He hung up quickly and looked at the empty desks around him feeling stunned and lost.
oOoOoOo
A/N: More to come…
