oOoOoOo
MTAC
Gibbs leaned on the desk, looming over the intel tech's shoulder, as he looked hard into the webcam unable to believe his ears. Months of wondering, weeks of demanding, several more days of hounding every contact in the NCIS log and the answer came down to this?
"What do you he's mean missing?" Gibbs asked.
"He's UA, sir," the Lt. Thornton, the naval officer on the screen said. "He went missing from his platoon a while ago during classified training exercises, sir. We were unable to report that outside of our chain due to the nature of the training until now."
"Lt. Commander Scott a SEAL," Gibbs said. "They don't go UA."
"This one did," Thornton replied. "There isn't much more I can tell you. The platoon had been training at an undisclosed location for several months. After a routine debrief, they were granted 12 hours of rack time. Lt. Commander Scott did not report for duty the next morning. A search was undertaken with available resources. Out of concern for compromising their mission, his absence was not reported beyond his direct line of command."
"And that didn't seem strange or like a bad idea to anyone?" Gibbs growled. "If the training was classified, the second he was determined as missing it should have compromised whatever it is you all needed to keep quiet. It merited a full search and bringing in additional assets."
Thornton kept his jaw hard as he glared back into the camera.
"I can't speak to that, sir," he replied. "I am just delivering the brief provided to me. I am a communications officer and was uninvolved in this matter until I was connected with you to deliver this information today."
Gibbs hung his head and ground his teeth for a moment as he considered his options. Obviously, asking to speak to someone higher on the food chain was in order. Demanding it seemed even better, but with days slipping away as a drug ring tied to the US Navy and the DEA continued unabated, he doubted he would get instant action by snarling at someone with only an index card of unhelpful talking points for answers. Getting more needed someone with more political clout and someone with more insidious ways. That meant a talk with Vance and Parsons was in order.
"I need all the reports pertaining to the search for Lt. Commander Scott," Gibbs said in a perfunctory manner, fully expecting to receive the closed door of "classified" to be thrown in his face.
But he was wrong.
"They are being transmitted to NCIS today," Thornton reported. "As of 0700 today, Lt. Commander Scott is officially considered an absconder from duty. He's NCIS's problem now, sir. If you find him, kindly put some cuffs on him and lock him up."
"He's been absent without leave since July, but today he's reported as UA?" Gibbs snorted. "Lieutenant, it's a hell of a coincidence that it happened the first morning you all agreed to talk to NCIS about the matter. Report this to your chain of command: I don't believe in coincidences."
Rather than wait for Thornton to reply, he ended the transmission. Gibbs seethed as he shook his head, stunned at the latest twist in his search for witnesses and answers. Turning over the information on Scott either meant the operation that made his disappearance covert was scrubbed or now over. Gibbs was not interested in a missing person's search. They already had a full complement of recent crimes in the DC area open and were still down one man in the field. All of the team's time away from recent crime scenes and interrogations was being siphoned off to deal with the dangling leads of the cold case. Adding another tentacle to it was just a burden they could not bear. There was also the trouble of one member of the team being too close to the wanted man to make looking for him wise.
Shaking his head in frustration as his gut told him more was going wrong with this investigation than was going right, Gibbs stalked out of MTAC glowering at anyone who dared make eye contact.
As he arrived in the squad room, he made straight for McGee's desk.
"I need you to find someone without it looking like you're looking," Gibbs said as he leaned on the man's desk.
"So something covert and under the table so that NCIS doesn't appear to be involved," McGee nodded but his expression was skeptical.
"No," Gibbs shook his head. "It's a missing person's case being sent to NCIS—an officer UA since this summer who was involved in a classified training. As of this morning, the case is being released to us. We're allowed to look—someone will officially be assigned to do that—but you're going to look as well. It just can't look like you're on the case."
McGee's eyes widened as he tried to follow the logic. He had done secretive searches for Gibbs in the past. However, those usually involved late night calls, some hacking into other agency databases and a get out of jail free waiver for his file.
"The easiest way to do that is to let someone else look for him," McGee stated the obvious. "Boss, I can't do field work yet."
"Yeah, I know that, McGee," Gibbs said testily. "I need a researcher, and that's your thing right now. Keep a casual eye on the actual search once it starts, but I need you to be ahead of that and find him first. This guy is the type we'll need every trick you've got in that keyboard to track. The Navy trained him to disappear, and it looks like maybe he did."
"Maybe?" McGee questioned. "Is there a chance he didn't leave of his own accord?"
"That's what the official investigation is going to determine," Gibbs replied. "That's the only field work this one will need for now. You keep tabs on them while you do your thing.
McGee nodded seriously.
"Why am I secretly looking while someone else is openly looking?" he asked. "You don't think they'll do a good job? Why can't I do the research openly?"
"Because I said so," Gibbs offered and received a quick nod of acquiescence then raised a frustrated chuckle in his throat. "I don't know who else might be looking for him or trying to stop us from finding him, or questioning him if we do find him. Also, there's a chance that if someone else was secretly looking for him that you're the first person they're first lead to find this guy."
McGee stared hard at Gibbs.
"He's been missing all summer and someone thinks I'm involved?" McGee blinked and then his expression hardened. "Does this involve Parsons? I told you a while back that someone was doing a deep, hard surf of all my financials and my mother's. You told me no one in my family was under suspicion in this investigation about… what we found coming out of Afghanistan."
Gibbs sighed and looked at his agent with understanding and frustration. The agent he trained, the one he trusted to watch the back of his teammates, was still in there somewhere but the timid and worrisome probie aspects of his personality were budding once again, no doubt born of the reclusive nature of being a desk jockey for so many months.
"I think we were both misled," Gibbs replied. "I give you my word that you and your family aren't under suspicion for anything. At first, Parsons took a look at your records to be certain you were clean. Once that happened, I think he learned more than he disclosed about other people of interest in this mess. Since then, someone has apparently been watching your accounts to see if you were helping this missing naval officer. That's why you need to be extra delicate when you look for him."
"Why would I help someone who went UA last summer?" McGee asked. "Actually, forget why and tell me how. I spent half the summer in Dallas waiting for stitches to heal. I wasn't in touch with anyone. What makes anyone think I could or would help this guy?"
"Tim, it's your friend, Carter Scott," Gibbs replied quietly and watched his agent's look go from uncertain to sharply concerned. "I know you're not involved. Hell, Parsons knows as well—he's just hoping Carter will reach out to you somehow. Look, until a few months ago he was a SEAL with an impeccable record, but something made him go UA last summer; that's why we haven't been able to reach him. Now, it's your job to find him. Do it quickly. Do it quietly. Do whatever you need to do, and do not let me down."
"You got it, Boss," McGee replied with determination as he turned toward his computer and began typing.
oOoOoOo
The problem with cases that extended, unnoticed, over many years was that it seemed to take just as long to pull the pieces together. In between the emails and the progress updates (of which there seemed to be very), there was other work to be done. Life in the Navy and Marine Corps went on. Marines were busted, bodies of sailors were found, ranking officials were the victims of burglary—routine stuff but time consuming all the same.
Gibbs' team back-burnered full focus on the overseas drug ring yet again while hoping for Parsons to supply with new intel, warrants, or a new break. Precisely none came their way. Pamela Reaves disappeared from Florida. Trent Kort remained a shadow. Like Reaves, Carter Scott was doing an impressing Hoffa impersonation. Meanwhile, the U.N. gave Admiral Paul Porter a humanitarian award for his leadership in dealing with Syrian refugees found floating in the Med that saved lives and kept the US out of further political quagmires.
On the home front, Tony and Zoe were drifting apart. The reasons were unstated, but the telling factor, he believed, was that he didn't feel all that bad whenever she was gone on long assignments. In fact, he felt liberated and that seemed like it should be sad but for some reason wasn't.
McGee labored for hours at the office, when not directly assisting the team, attempting to locate his childhood friend turned derelict SEAL. The searches were fruitless, which wasn't surprising, but the trick was not to leave any breadcrumbs behind to show he was searching. While he was a firm believer in the power of servers and their nearly endless reams of data for finding out what he needed to know, the itch to be back in the field actually physically following up on leads rather than taking quiet calls at his desk grew stronger with each day of failure. Also growing was his interest in the case that spawned all of these side jobs: heroin sales and transport that no one was ready to confirm existed.
On the home front, things were more prosaic. He and Abby compromised on parking spaces in their driveway and managed to get all of their combined computer equipment in the small office at their new home without needing an arbitrator on whose took priority with the multi-band router. The oddest part of living together for McGee was that the window in their bedroom looked diagonally into Gibbs' backyard. The proximity of the house to his boss's did not occur to McGee until he noted those compromising angles. They were neighbors who back property touched in one corner—the southwest corner of Gibbs' yard touched the northeast corner of Abby and McGee's. To keep from being reminded of the closeness and the feeling Gibbs could look up and see him in the same room where he slept with Abby, McGee simply kept the curtains closed most of the time.
"Eventually, you'll stop thinking he's spying on us and open the curtains again," Abby remarked one morning as she walked out of the bathroom wearing just a towel.
"I don't think he's spying," McGee insisted. "I just was thinking that if I leave them open, he could accidentally see you parading around naked. That's all."
"I'm not naked," she said as she peered into the closet to look for her day's wardrobe. "I have a towel on, plus Gibbs isn't a peeping Tom."
"What if Tony's at his place?" McGee suggested.
That earned him a wide-eyed look after she whipped her head around to look at him in surprise. McGee nodded and folded his arms proudly.
"Those stay closed," Abby pointed at the drapes. "Not because I don't trust Tony, but because… because…. I like my bedroom to be dark. It's conducive to restful sleep."
McGee smirked but did not disagree. He sighed contentedly as he watched her rifle through the clothing in front of her. As he had explained to his grandmother, transitioning to living together was remarkably easy after the first few week or two of each other trying much too hard to not be intrusive to the other. At first, McGee feared all his hopes and plans for their future were on the verge of imploding, but one frustrated argument about placement of a toothbrush cleared the air (once they realized their grumbling complaints were rather funny when considered in the big picture of things wrong in the world). Since that first week, however, McGee experienced what he could only describe as the first true period of bliss in his life.
And it was stretching into an extensive period.
Sure, there were aggravations and not everything was flawless, but despite the crisp turn in the weather, the frustration of traffic, the hindrance of cases that took up time and left the team exhausted, McGee did not think he ever felt so grounded and stable in his entire life. His sister came by for dinner and spent more of her time talking to Abby about New Orleans and southern writers than she did harassing her brother. His mother called weekly and still hinted that he jumped too fast into his living arrangement with Abby but was now accepting his assertions that he was fully recovered. Penny video conferenced from an environmental science symposium in Rio and said she had a surprise belated housewarming gift to give them when she returned, but there was a look in her eye that McGee knew was hoping for updates about progress on something other than living arrangements.
"Is everything going good for you?" McGee asked abruptly as he finished tying his shoe in preparation to leave for work.
"Good?" Abby repeated as her head popped through the t-shirt she was pulling on. "Good how?"
"This," McGee said gesturing between them. "You and me. Us. The living and working together thing. It's still going well, right?"
"Uh, yeah," she nodded skeptically. "I think so. Why? Is something bothering you?"
"No," McGee shook his head. "Nothing is, and that's kind of my point. I was thinking that I can't remember a time in my life where things have been this smooth and, well, good for this long for no reason at all."
Abby folded her arms and scoffed as she shook her head.
"Not no reason," she corrected him. "For a very logical and justifiable reason. You're happy. You have a tendency to be a little… gloomy and slightly grumpy when you're bored or things are not precisely to your liking. You're very…"
"I'm not finicky," he challenged before she uttered the word.
"I was going to say precise," Abby assured him. "When things lack your preferred precision it makes you… grumbly and pouty. You haven't had a bout of that in a long while."
"Wait, I don't pout," McGee objected.
"Would you prefer I said sulk?" Abby nodded as she smiled and approached to run her fingers through his hair. "You know how you get, but it's okay, Timmy. I understand. Sometimes you just have too much going on in that head of yours."
"Sulking?" he questioned and grimaced as it sounded fretful even to his ears.
"Okay, brooding then," she relented as she stepped back and began braiding her hair into pig tails. "It mostly happens when you're in a rut and then you get more introverted and worried. Then you get all twisted up inside and angsty. However, lately you're not in one of those moods because you've stopped worrying about ten thousand things all at once and have let yourself be happy. That's no reason to worry, McGee. It's actually a good thing."
He nodded at her offering. It made sense—all except the pouting thing; he might brood (occasionally) but pouting and sulking were what Sarah did. Besides, the important thing was what Abby said: Life was good. He wasn't imagining that or deluding himself. It was different from any way he'd ever felt before, and he knew that was what made it real.
"So this is our life now?" he asked. "I mean, this is now an average day in the life of us?"
She dropped her hands from her hair and turned to look at him with concern.
"Um, I think so," she replied with a quizzical look. "Why are you asking? This coming out of the blue so I'm just wondering. Is our new normal a problem? Do we need to discuss it? Are you thinking we need to be some other way?"
"No," McGee shook his head quickly. "Not at all. I like this. It's good. I was just worried that it was just me who thought that. I was hoping it wasn't monotonous for you or that going at an even keel like this might be boring you."
Abby smiled and crossed the room then kissed him robustly on the cheek.
"I've had enough of chaos and living on the edge of confusion," she assured him. "This is called being happy. Happy is never boring. Do I need to make a rule for that?"
McGee hung his head and groaned lightly. Since moving in together, Abby had begun making her own set of rules. The trouble was, she did not tell McGee what they were. She would tangentially refer to them, but he needed to analyze the situation in which they were referenced to deduce what she meant. He did ask about several of them and found she was enjoying his confusion too much to impart much detail. In truth, he liked the game. Thus far, none of the rules were difficult to live with—assuming he was obeying them, which he couldn't be certain but her lack of arguing left him to believe he was. He just worried he might eventually mix up her rules with Gibbs.
"Only if you tell me which number it is on the list," he remarked and received a wide toothy grin in response that told him it would never happen.
"Are we riding in together today?" she asked instead. "If not, you need to get moving. You're blocking in my car."
"We may as well ride together," McGee remarked. "If we're still going out to dinner that is."
"If?" she repeated and pinched his arm. "You're not breaking a date with me, Mister. I may be happy, but I have expectations. It's your turn to take me out. You're not getting out of that just because things are going well. Still going out on dates is what keeps things going well and perpetuates this culture of happiness."
"Culture of happiness?" he repeated.
"You promised me we'd go to the art show to see my friend Randy's sculptures and then have a late dinner," she asserted. "I took you to the lecture at the Air and Space Museum last week to hear your beloved propulsion expert talk about the future of hover crafts and jetpacks."
"Rocket belts," he corrected her lightly. "I know you did, and we will go to the gallery tonight assuming Gibbs doesn't need me in the office—promise."
Abby nodded happily and locked her pinkie with his briefly as McGee said he would ready to leave in two minutes. Abby flitted out of the room calling out the need to keep to the schedule as there was a Caf-Pow in need of rescuing at the store and she could hear it calling to her. McGee smirked then, once she was downstairs, went to the locked box on his dresser. He dialed the combination and pulled out his credentials and card to access the building. He also lifted out a small box that he placed in there two weeks earlier. He held onto it during the intervening days believing he would know when the time was right.
After their brief discussion that day, he knew it had and his mind was made up.
oOoOoOo
Gibbs House
As mornings went, this one was typical. Gibbs woke from a dream of Shannon, disappointed to find that it was just a dream. He rolled off the couch and felt every knot in every muscle and ever creak in every joint that was there the day before, which was a day that started early and ended late. Not for any good reason. Most of it was spent waiting. A head-on collision with an off-duty Marine and a semi called all field members of the team out on the roads an hour before sunrise. The ensuing investigation turned up a drag race gone horribly wrong. In between gathering evidence at the scene and waiting for Ducky's autopsy report, Parsons sent word that he hoped to hear news about a certain off-the-grid ex-CIA operative. What that meant in terms of a timeline, Gibbs did not know.
Waiting was never his strong suit. Whether it was for a report to hit his desk, a target to move into his sights, or a murderous spy and traitor to make contact, simply doing nothing was difficult for the former gunnery sergeant. Thankfully, his team gave him ample reasons to keep him busy by feeling as though he was running an adult daycare. As typically happened, the trouble started with Tony. Like a kindergartener who had too much sugar, he had a hard time keeping quiet and sitting still at his desk when he was not on a focus demanding task. Adding his favorite toy (McGee) to the mix just increased the commotion the senior agent could cause. So far, Gibbs had stopped an impending rubber band war (one McGee was clueless was brewing), confiscated a scorpion made of pinch clips set in the path between McGee's chair and the filing cabinet, and refereed a pointless argument between the two agents regarding who the best James Bond was. Gibbs was pretty sure Tony only chose Connery because he wanted to do the impersonation. McGee's pick of Daniel Craig seemed more rooted in reality as the younger agent claimed that rendition of the spy accomplished fewer scientifically impossible feats in his movies—or so the foundation of his debate topic claimed. When Bishop agreed with McGee (no concrete reason given) it only encouraged Tony to up his argument in both details and decibels.
Gibbs shook his head, acutely recalling the throb in his temples from their bickering. It was good to have those moments in the squad room again; he had just forgotten what they did to his nerves. Having McGee still grounded made punishing him for his participation harder but not impossible. Tony could be sent on less desirable field work; McGee could only be stuck with the least desirable paperwork. Gibbs did what he could to remind both of them that the playground spat was not supposed to happen on government time, but the chiming he heard once they were sent to their individual corners let him know the argument had continued through the office internal chat program.
With a sigh of defeat that he had been reduced to scaring them sufficiently into pretend to act like professionals, Gibbs padded his way into the kitchen to make coffee. The first cup was always necessary to get going so he could reach the diner where he would get official first cup for the office. While standing by the machine waiting for it to hit the right temperature, he heard the front door open. The soft hushed steps that followed were not ones he recognized. Instinctively, he reached for his gun and turned around.
"And good morning to you, too, Gibbs," Trent Kort sneered. "Sicced your bloody dog on me. Why? You could have just called."
As he spoke, Kort walked through the room confidently. He reached for a mug on the shelf and displaced Gibbs's cup under the drip to fill his own. Gibbs allowed the maneuver as he kept his weapon trained on the man.
"Just wanted you to know that even a paper chasing lawyer who works for the Inspector General could find you," Gibbs replied as he put the gun down and took the mug from Kort's hand.
The former CIA agent, now sporting a glass eye, retrieved the mug he initially pushed aside and poured another cup.
"What is it you want?" he asked.
"Information," Gibbs replied. "Drug ring dating back to the 1980s running out of naval and marine bases on the west coast for certain, probably with ties to Colombia and cocaine initially and later branched out to the poppy fields of Afghanistan. A DEA agent named Mark Johnson was involved. I'm betting Langley knew all about it. Hell, the CIA probably started the whole thing or at least protected it once they discovered it. No way anything like this slipped by without their notice."
"Before my time," Kort shrugged.
"Never stopped you before," Gibbs reminded him.
"Not exactly in good graces with my old mates at the company," Kort offered. "They sent Ray Cruz to kill me. He failed, obviously, but I think he was supposed to—more of an insult and a warning. I mean, sending Cruz to kill me? It's like sending DiNozzo to be my bodyguard. Not exactly the right man for the job—not really interested in getting it done."
Gibbs nodded. He never saw Cruz as a cold-blooded killer. He did kill several people, without Agency permission, but he was sloppy about it in the end, and the regret he felt was apparent when he confessed to Ziva.
"I'd show you more respect," Gibbs said as he took a swing of his coffee. "If I wanted you dead, I'd do it myself."
"See, that's what I like about you," Kort smiled. "You're honest and warm-hearted. Who benefits if I get this information?"
"Not you," Gibbs said. "We're rolling the ring up now. I just need to know where it began and how it hid for so long. We think we've got the leaders of it figured out. Just a matter of time before the warrants are filed."
Kort looked at him sharply. He shook his head and offered a skeptically expression.
"There's more to it than that," Kort insisted. "This one is personal for you. I can see it. Who did they frame or kill that you were supposed to protect?"
Gibbs shook his head. It turned out they killed, indirectly, his family while he was a Marine fighting in Operation Desert Storm. Later, they nearly killed one of his team, one of his second family. Gibbs vowed to himself that no more families would suffer and perish because of this.
"Someone close," Kort nodded. "This will mean you owe me."
Gibbs nodded. He expected that and was prepared to pay the price. Kort wasn't apt to ask him to break the law; he knew Gibbs would shoot him first. He would just want a return of information at some point in the future. Gibbs figured it was a fair trade. After all, there was a chance the CIA might finally get someone to fulfill their hit on Kort and save Gibbs the trouble of repaying this favor.
"You get me what I want, and we'll talk about my IOU," he said
oOoOoOo
Abby's Lab
Abby sat at her desk waiting for the rest of her software upgrade packets to open. New security codes were in place following a discovery by the cyber unit in drilling into the pirated laptop that exposed existing vulnerabilities in the NCIS firewall. There was no evidence of a breech, but since the intrusions of people like Harper Dearing several years earlier, any suspected soft spots in the electronic perimeter were plugged quickly. While she waited for the latest patches to install, she sat quietly at her desk spinning in her chair.
"It's like an amusement park all your own down here, isn't it?" Tony asked from the doorway.
"It kind of is," Abby nodded. "What are you doing down here? I didn't call you guys. I don't have anything from you at all about… anything. Did you all get a new forensic specialist and not tell me?"
Tony smirked. NCIS without Abby didn't seem possible. While she was offered jobs in the private sector frequently, she never seemed tempted to go. Certainly rumors abounded all the time to the contrary, but those who knew her best were never sucked in… well, not any more.
"Your number three tech, Mo, had a fingerprint match for me on the carjacking at Little Creek," Tony revealed. "We use the JV-Team mostly lately. You're Varsity, Abby. We only call you in now when it's big time. Thankfully, we don't have a lot of that right now. We're in limbo with everything big, and nothing too sticky calls us out on a daily basis. I'm not sure if it worries me or pleases me."
Abby smiled and nodded.
"I know what you mean," she agreed. "Less awful crime—good. Waiting for awful to inevitably return—bad. As a scientist, I know there really isn't a whole lot of evidence to suggest fate and karma are real; as a believer in the hinkiness of life and forces beyond our limited understanding of the universe, I know something else is surely on the horizon. Is it wrong of me to want it to hold off until after the holidays? Not that January is a great time for murder to come to town, but at least everyone can have a nice Thanksgiving and Christmas."
Tony's mouth hung open as he considered the statement. It was both a hopeful and macabre statement at the same time—something only a rational scientist (who also believed in voodoo) like Abby could say and not make it seem overly crazy or cruelly cold.
"That's one wish Santa probably doesn't hear often, but shouldn't we just keep our fingers crossed to make it through Halloween next week with things being slow?" he wondered.
"That's a good plan," she narrowed her eyes as she nodded. "I can get on board with that. So, if you've got your fingerprint results, why are you still here? Why aren't you out arresting the guy?"
"I delegated," Tony replied as he leaned casually on the doorframe.
"Who?" Abby asked. "You don't give Gibbs orders and Ellie can't go by herself." She cocked her head to the side then her eyes opened wide with fear as her face grew ashen. "You didn't let McGee go with her, did you? Tony, he's not cleared to go into the field."
"And he didn't," Tony scoffed. "Calm down. The guy we want was picked up on a DUI last night. Metro still had him in the drunk tank when our BOLO went out. They're running him over to us now. Your McSqueeze is upstairs on paperwork patrol."
Abby sighed and sank back into her chair with relief. Tony watched the reaction with varying levels of interest and concern. Abby worried about all the agents at NCIS. Gibbs' team was ultra-close to her so they were usually first in her thoughts. McGee, even if he wasn't her current bed buddy, would receive extra mother-henning from her due to his waltz with the grim reaper nearly six months earlier. The fact that there was more between them now simply amplified her normally exaggerated worry response.
"Are you ready for that?" Tony asked. "The day when he gets re-instated? It's what he wants deep down even if he doesn't know it yet. You know that, right? He's not going to sit at a desk forever, Abby. If he was, he would have asked for a transfer to cyber already."
She nodded quietly and chewed her lip. Worried etched around the frown on her face.
"You tell him you're freaked about it?" Tony wondered. "I mean, it's not my place to give you relationship advice, but if you hadn't noticed the guy is a little hung up on you. He tends to be in tune with your moods. He's kind of agitated today so now I think I know why. It's probably you and your worrying. Look, if you're that worried, you should say something to him. I don't think it'll change his mind, but at least he'll know why you're on edge that might settle him down a bit, which I would appreciate because he's driving me nuts today with the jumpiness and the fidgeting at his desk."
Abby sighed and considered what he said. She had mentioned her fears to McGee a while ago. He listened; he just didn't agree they were well-founded. He offered her the simple statement of his belief that everything would work out and be fine in the end. She knew, logically, that was likely true. McGee had been a field agent for more than a decade. He faced danger on various occasions, and she worried a little bit each day—for all of Gibbs team—but now having him return to a job that meant he could get shot at any given day was harder.
"He knows I'm worried and why," Abby shrugged. "He said I'll get used to it again. I know he's right, but I don't have to like it. I don't like it when you and Gibbs or Ellie are out of the office either, but I manage. After all, most of the time you come back without any incident. I guess was less worried when Ziva was around. Not that you all aren't completely competent. The world just seemed a little less volatile back then."
"Maybe the world just seemed that way in comparison to our little Hebrew ninja," Tony joked. "After all, she had a few impulse control issues that would make the stock market look predictable."
He tried smiling but he could see the pressing fear in her eyes.
"Speaking of predictable, how is the dullness level at Chez McAbby?" Tony wondered. "You must have the place all decked out for Halloween by now. No more apartment dwelling means you have an entire canvas of outside to give your own special Scuito touch. Neighborhoods compete with that kind of stuff. I've been around that block near Gibbs' house at Halloween. Amateurs, all of them. You need to show them how a pro does it."
Abby smiled. She did consider breaking out skeletons and cobwebs and grave makers for the porch and front yard, but like her coffin bed, those things gave her a no so subtle chill still. Granted, a smiling skeleton wearing a top hat and bowtie was quite spiffy in her mind, but she still wasn't ready to embrace the spooky fascination and celebration of death. It had come too close to visiting someone she loved that year. It did more than lessen her eagerness for the spooky holiday. It sent her beloved coffin to Raleigh, NC, where it held a place of honor at a friend's museum exhibit to great wooden craftsmanship. It was the centerpiece in the seciont dedicated to 19th century creations. But her home wasn't a place she was interested in giving a horror film look that year.
"I'm thinking I'll sit this year out," she replied. "I'll still put out a fleet of jack-o-lanterns and my spider lights, but I don't want to overwhelm the neighbors our first go around. It's strategic. I'll scope out the competition and get to know who the top contestants are and see what they can do. Next year, I'll be the upstart who wows them all."
Tony smirked. He did not buy the excuse but saw no reason to tell her. Again, he knew the truth was rooted in what happened to McGee and the psychological wounds they all received when he nearly died. The only person who likely wouldn't be bothered by the haunting reminders of graves and death on the swiftly approaching holiday was McGee himself, who seemed oblivious to the connection.
"So, what is it with him for you?" Tony asked rather than delve into the psych issue. "I get his thing for you. You are McGee's walk on the wild side. But what is it you see in him? You give up your zealously devout independence to live with him—someone you can't even stand to travel with—why? And don't tell me it's because the sex is great because I won't believe you and even if I did, I don't need that in my head."
Abby considered the question. She would help preserve Tony's peace of mind and withhold how great the sex was, because it was fantastic. The why of their relationship was something she asked herself frequently leading up to her new living situation. The answer, when it came to her, was simple and obvious, yet for more than 10 years, what Tony said about her resistance to being intimately and monogamously involved with McGee was true. No one ever aggravated her like McGee. Not Tony. Never Gibbs. Not Palmer. No one—not ever. Anyone who infuriated or agitated or frustrated like that was not someone she would consider a friend… no one except McGee. He was more than her friend. He was her best friend. He was her soulmate.
"I'm in love him," she answered plainly.
"You love nearly everyone," Tony remarked.
"No, I didn't say I love him, I said I'm in love with him—it's different," she sighed. "I know it must seem strange, knowing us like you do from what you've seen and heard over the last decade or so. I haven't always seemed to treat him well, and I realize why now. It's because I trust him completely."
"You always hurt the one you love?" Tony offered with an eye roll but stopped as she nodded solemnly.
"That's why I show him that not so appealing side of me," she said. "It's a question of trust. I feel safe with him, being sometimes my most raw and on my worst behavior, because I don't need to hide that from him. I always know he'll forgive me and not hold it against me. It's kind of like I'm Lois Lane to his Clark Kent that way."
Tony choked on the suggestion and shook his head.
"McGee as Superman?" he blinked and scoffed. "I made an Ironman joke—and it was a complete joke—about him and his recovery, but how are you seeing Superman in our Super-Asthmatic?"
"Think about it," Abby explained. "Superman works as Clark Kent, a geeky and mild-mannered reporter, side-by-side with the determined and fiery Lois Lane; she's snappish and harsh to him sometimes, but then she sees that other part of him. He never holds any of her sharp behavior against her because he's a good man—a better man than she deserves, but in the end she's a better person for knowing him."
Tony considered her words then sighed and shook his head.
"I'd buy that except I know that you think Gibbs is Superman," he corrected her as he fought a playful smirk. "Actually, I kind of do, too. Maybe you should be having this conversation with him."
Her nostrils flared as she narrowed her eyes in mock anger as she leaned forward in her chair.
"I start to pour my heart out and you throw Gibbs in my face," she said. "I was being serious. You should never be sarcastic when talking about Superman… or any superhero. As one yourself, you should know that, Tony."
He shrugged casually but puffed out his chest proudly.
"Well, I never got my own letter or cape," he replied. "I guess I must be Batman. After all, I do have a pasty sidekick."
Abby frowned at his continued flippancy. Tony did understand her, though. Just like he understood why she spent so much time in the lab alone. It was a sanctuary for her, and she found purpose and meaning in life through the answers she helped discover there. Her closest personal ties were interwoven with the office. It was her family tree in many respects.
"It's pretty scary when you look inside yourself and see something you don't find very appealing," Abby admitted. "If I've learned anything in the last few years it's the power of timing. The right timing can work magic, and the wrong timing can lead to disaster. Sometimes, people need a little distance to tell the difference between the two. Previously, I was never ready to see that what was right in front of me was McGee, this whole time. It didn't matter how many times other people pointed it out, I didn't want to hear it because it would mean either I was completely in denial about my feelings or that I had wasted so much precious time being deluded or blind. Then this spring when Burt asked me to go with him and I said no, I started thinking of all the reason why staying here was best and I started thinking about Tim.
"I realized I wasn't thinking about him the right way all along," she continued. "I guess I hadn't arrived at the right time to see what I needed to see until then. Then, not long after I realized that, he nearly died. It was a big wakeup call. I won't make that mistake about him again."
Tony chuckled and pictured the besotted look that would be on McGee's face if he heard this kind of confession. It surely would end his jitters and worries for the day, Tony predicted.
"He does know," Abby offered. "A couple weeks ago we were talking about this exact thing and I asked Tim how he did it. All these years, I was interested in nearly anything but him. Meanwhile, he was living his life and trying to move on, but even he admits he never put the chance of us being together again out of his mind fully. I asked him how he could do that for so long with no evidence there was a reason t hope. He told me that hope will always find a way and that it never made sense to him to rush something he wanted to last forever."
"Such a sap," Tony scoffed.
It was actually a nice sentiment, Tony thought, a touching and certainly heartfelt one that only a naïve fool like McGee could say and mean. The line surely would have had a place of prominence in one of McGee's books had he ever written another. Abby might say she loved McGee; McGee was certainly infatuated with her. Still, Tony worried about both of his friends. History dictated that this fling would fall apart eventually. Tony just hoped they both enjoyed it while it lasted and that their friendship could survive another break up.
oOoOoOo
Squad Room
Evening stole into the room with the wind whipping at the large windows onto the Navy Yard. The forecast was for falling temperatures but no rain. The moon was rising and giving an Octobery glow to the district. Tony sat at his desk drumming on it as he waited for his day to end.
"Would you knock that off?" McGee growled from his desk where he was signing the final custody reports for the official file of the carjacker. "I'm trying to concentrate while you perform your bongo concert."
Tony got their suspect to confess in about 10 minutes of talking to him so the report, which had somehow taken McGee half the day to finish compiling paperwork for, should have been done in 20 minutes at most. All McGee was allowed to do was watch from behind the glass—and he only did that to observe for a bet. Tony wagered Ellie he could break the guy in less than 15 minutes. She, foolishly, took the bet and had McGee standing by with a stopwatch to act as a witness. Since losing the $20 to her, Tony had spent the late afternoon musing out loud what he might do with his winnings.
"Something bothering you, McTwitchy?" Tony asked as he rocked back in his chair. "You've been worked up all day and been checking your watch every other minute for the last hour. You that eager to get done work?"
"You might say that," McGee said aloofly as he slid his report into an envelope then crossed the room to place it on Gibbs' desk.
When he returned, he turned off his computer, then reached into the drawer of his desk. He tried to be inconspicuous and covertly palm the small box he had locked in there that morning. However, Tony's eager eagle eyes were watching.
While he tried slipping the item into his jacket pocket surreptitiously, Tony's zeroed in. He propelled his chair across the floor and made a grab for his partner's wrist, earning McGee's fierce glare.
"Now, now, it's not nice to keep secrets," Tony said. "I thought we got that settled a few years ago when you were masquerading after hours as Mr. Gemcity. What are you trying to hide from me now?"
He managed to pry the box from McGee's hand. He got it open a crack before McGee snapped it shut and stripped it from Tony's fingers. Stunned, Tony gaped and began shaking his head.
"Whoa!" Tony guffawed. "No. That looks like…. It can't be. No. That is not… You are not… McGee. Just, no!"
McGee remained silent as he stashed the box in his jacket as Tony wrestled with him to grab for it once more.
"Is that what I think it is?" Tony demanded as Gibbs breezed into the room from his latest coffee run to find his two agents (yet again) practically sharing the same air space. "Boss, did you see this?"
"Kind of hard to miss," Gibbs said as he stood beside McGee's desk wearing a perturbed scowl. "DiNozzo, what did I tell you about molesting your partner?"
"Never in daylight, in front of company, or before 5 p.m.," Tony answered dutifully as he let go of McGee and began counting off the restrictions on his fingers. "No, wait. That's what my father told me about streaking when I was in high school. Hold on. I'll remember. Give me a second to jog my memory."
Gibbs expertly reached forward and slapped the back of his agent's head—effectively jogging his memory for him. Tony stepped away and gave his chair a gentle shove, sending it back to his desk. Gibbs remained in front of McGee and held out his hand. The junior agent handed him the box. Gibbs opened it and looked inside. He nodded as he snapped it shut then handed it back.
"Good choice," Gibbs said and returned to his desk.
"Good choice?" Tony repeated. "Boss, you do realize what that is, don't you? I mean, you must. You bought four of them."
Gibbs looked hard at his senior agent when then recoiled and shrugged.
"I mean, of course you know," Tony began. "I just didn't think you'd think it was a good idea. Or at least you'd be a bit surprised."
"By what?" Gibbs asked.
"By what he's going to do with that," Tony said pointing agitatedly at McGee. "He's going to ask Abby… you know. Don't you think it's a bit soon for that? McGee, listen to the man if you won't listen to me. I get it. You're in the thrall of some relationship bliss following a pretty stressful and painful spring and summer, but you can't just propose because you've been shacking up for a few weeks. These things take time. Boss, help me here."
Gibbs returned to his desk and sat down. Unconcerned, he put on his glasses and pulled McGee's report from the envelope and started reading. Tony raised his eyebrows in shock and a hint of apprehension.
"Boss?" Tony prodded. "He's not kidding. He's going to do this."
"Yeah, I know," Gibbs replied in a bored tone while continuing to read.
Tony ran his hands nervously through his hair as he stood, blocking McGee from leaving his desk. The senior agent shook his head in warning as he lowered his voice and offered a sincere expression.
"Tim, I'm not joking or teasing at the moment," Tony said. "I'm being serious. I get it. You're happy right now. That's great. In fact, I prefer working with you when you are, even if that chipper attitude makes me want to run you over with the van once in a while. That's why, as your friend, I'm going to do you a solid here. You need to cancel whatever you are planning. I mean it. This thing you've got going with Abby is good, so why do anything to change it? If you give her that ring and ask her to marry you, you'll be sorry."
"No, I won't," McGee shook his head as he attempted to leave.
"You will when she says no and breaks up with you," Tony assured him and blocked his exit. "This is the same mistake you made the last time."
"I've never asked Abby to marry me before," McGee disagreed.
Tony scoffed and shook his head before slapping the back of McGee's. The older agent glowered at his partner and spoke with dire earnestness.
"No, but you misread the course and speed of your relationship with her every time," Tony assessed. "That's why it fell apart last time. You accelerated into the curve and crashed into the wall. You may be thinking in terms of forever, but she's just thinking it's Friday."
"She's right; it is Friday," McGee offered attempting to bypass him again. "Actually, she's thinking we're going out for dinner after we go to her friend's art show in Crystal City, which we are. It's just not all that's on the agenda for tonight."
Tony put his hands on McGee's shoulders and held him firmly in place. He looked him squarely in the eye and saw a heartbreaking level of excitement and determination.
"Stop," Tony ordered in a desperate tone. "All you're going to do to night is go see some freaky, twisted metal rods and daggers that the National Endowment for the Arts dropped a grant on and called it art. Trust me, if you then bring her to a restaurant and slip in your question in before she orders desserts, your night will end badly. I'll tell you what's going to happen. She's going to give you that pitying look and tell you exactly what I just did: You've read your relationship all wrong. It's going to crush you this time, Probie. I think recovering from being shot will seem like a picnic in comparison to recovering from this. Don't do it to yourself. Leave well enough alone."
McGee shook his head confidently as he stripped Tony's hands from bracing him backward. He then stepped around his partner but was stopped again when Tony grabbed his elbow firmly.
"I mean it, Tim," Tony said with a sincere expression. "You've got a good thing going here. You're happy. She's happy. Don't ruin it by changing up the game when the offense you're running is working. Getting greedy and wanting more so soon is asking for disaster. You're rushing into this. Give it some more time. Hand me that rock. I'll lock it up and keep it so you don't do anything rash."
He turned his head to seek reinforcement from the voice of experience and reason.
"Boss, please tell him," Tony pleaded. "Are you listening to any of this? Do you know what it's like to work with him when he's miserable? Or worse, when he's Abby-miserable?"
Gibbs peered over his glasses.
"Leave him be, DiNozzo," he said.
"You're not the least bit concerned by this?" Tony asked, letting go of McGee and turned concerned eyes on Gibbs who merely rolled his eyes.
McGee looked nervously to Gibbs for a final nod.
"Wish me luck?" he asked.
"Nope," Gibbs said as he shook his head. "Not my style. Besides, she already knows you're gonna ask at some point."
"Yeah, but she doesn't know when," McGee grinned. "She said she wanted to be surprised, and that's kind of hard to do with Abby, so keeping it a secret has been difficult."
Gibbs gave him a stern look and waved him tersely out of the squad room. McGee bobbed his head and headed toward the elevators. Tony stood with his mouth opening and closing as he tried to comprehend what was occurring.
"He told you he was going to do this?" Tony questioned. "Why you? Can't be for advice. You're the last person some should ask for advice regarding marriage. No, it must be… Oh my god."
Tony chuckled and shook his head. He pointed between the space where McGee had stood and Gibbs then back again while bobbing his head.
"That's gotta be it," he said. "He asked your permission, didn't he? He went to you and wanted your blessing to make an honest woman of Abby, am I right?"
Gibbs looked flatly at him. Tony grinned.
"Not that she's not an honest woman," Tony said as he back peddled. "She's an adult. What she does with her time and her life is her business, and I'm sure it's all honest and honorable. Strange, of course, since it involves McGee, but still honorable."
He paused and looked at the now empty space around McGee's desk. His shoulders dropped as he huffed in shock.
"Is he really proposing to her?" he asked.
"Sounds like it," Gibbs said.
"Any chance she'll say no?" Tony asked with genuine concern.
"There's always a chance," Gibbs replied.
oOoOoOo
A/N: More to come.