McGee drowsily attempted to shift position in his sleep and was annoyed to find he couldn't move. He tried again with more force; nothing. Then his head chimed in with a reminder that it had been the subject of some fairly decent bashing recently and he groaned. The smells came back: naphthalene and off meat. His mind poked about in the fog trying to remember what it all meant.
"See, told you he'd be fine."
He eyes sprung open of their own accord and he immediately clamped them shut against the harsh light. Slowly, he opened them to slits.
"I told Vera two sleeping tablets would be too much," Lucy confided to him from her rocking chair; her knitting needles clacking manically in his ear.
He realised she was close; too close. In fact, she was inside his circle. He focussed all his energy on the one action: leap up and overpower her, but the instant he tried the manoeuvre he came to another realisation: he was chained by all four limbs to the bed. A quick scan of his body confirmed the hypothesis. Moreover he had been stripped naked and was covered in that crocheted blanket again. Not a great thing to overlook.
Lucy looked down at him in a kindly, psychotic grandmotherly way and he suddenly empathised with Little Red Riding Hood in a manner he never imagined.
"Ready for a little loving?"
The voice was behind him. He spun his head and immediately wished he hadn't as his eyes rattled in his head. When they reached equilibrium, he focused on the figure: it was Vera, looking more like a crazed sadistic loon than he last remembered.
Slowly he became aware of an audience of old ladies sitting on rows of coloured plastic chairs. There was some muffled chatter, some laugher, some were even munching popcorn.
"Um…I might need to use the…" then he paused. Why didn't he need to go to the bathroom?
"Oh Irene gave you a catheter," Vera explained with a menacing grin that probably started life as a sweet, reassuring smile. "She used to be a nurse, you know."
McGee was surprised at the sense of relief this information provided. Forget the horrific images of being stripped naked and having a catheter inserted by demented old ladies while unconscious; if Irene was back, then logically his car should be alright. He sought out Irene in the crowd to thank her.
"Sorry about the car." His heart sank.
"Now to business," said Vera briskly, "blue pills or not blue pills? I'll be your first assignment and then Irene and Dot. Then we've scheduled tea at 11 and then you can make your way through the pre-lunch crowd."
McGee stared at her in horror. This was much worse than he remembered. There was a callous, pragmatic tone to the whole proceedings that he could not get his brain to accept.
Vera approached him with a glass of water in her hand and a huge open mouthed grin on her face. Then she stuck her finger in her mouth, clicked out the top row of her dentures and dropped them in the water with a plonk. Panicking, McGee strained powerlessly against his bonds as she flipped her finger over and repeated the action with the bottom set. The audience started warming up with whoops and cheers.
Suddenly, there was the sound of creaking boards overhead and the crowd went silent. Before he could cry out, Lucy had skewered the ball of yarn with her knitting needles, stuffed the conglomerate in his mouth and bound the woolly gag with the world's longest hanky. McGee froze as the points of the knitting needles danced precariously about his eyeballs.
"Lu-thy wa-th a th-py during the war," Vera lisped quietly.
McGee's eyebrows arranged themselves to suggest he had figured out something like that all by himself.
The little group stood listening to the boards groaning and whining in submarine-grade silence steadfastly ignoring McGee's frantic writhing and whimpering.
The creaking stopped and everyone held their breath. Then a little hatch opened above the main group and McGee was astounded to see every single old lady pull a gun from her clothing or handbag.
"Can't be too careful nowadays," Lucy whispered in her low guttural tone. "There are a lot of crazy people out there."
McGee found himself staring incredulous at her before his agent senses kicked in. He had to warn whoever was overhead that there was a room full of homicidal, geriatric, sexaholics ready to shoot anyone who entered the room.
It was over in moments. Ziva jumped through the trap door with gun blazing. The lightweight granny guns jumped around the room like fleas. Tony followed, rolling on the floor and taking up a stance at her back scanning around the room. Gibbs hung through the overhead door with his gun trained on Vera.
"Let him go," he said menacingly.
Vera sighed, defeated and put down her gun. Seeing the others followed suit, Gibbs swung down athletically, his gun and attention still focused on Vera who was restoring her teeth to their rightful place.
"DiNozzo: round them up, Ziva: get the handcuffs."
Ziva went straight for Vera and gave her the roughest pat down of her life. Wordlessly she held the keys aloft.
Tony herded the others into a small group in one corner of the room, barely managing to keep from laughing at the calibre of McGee's nemeses.
"Be nice' Tony," Ziva called out undoing a cuff on McGee's hand. "Think how you would feel if Ducky's mother had you strapped to a bed." She gave McGee a consoling look.
"Victoria? You people know Victoria Mallard?"
McGee rolled his eyes. Why was he not surprised they knew Ducky's mother? In this company, Mrs Mallard was probably known as 'Victoria the sane'.
"Wait," gasped a voice from the group: "you must be Tommy and Lisa!"
Ziva froze as she hovered over McGee, her face metamorphosing from an expression of sympathy to one of pure rage.
"Do your own damn handcuffs," she spat throwing the keys just out of reach of McGee's free hand.
But the little writer's group had long forgotten the original reason for the agent's presence. They crowded around Tony and Ziva caressing them and asking pointed questions about their love life, while Tony and Ziva valiantly tried to remind them they were supposed to be under arrest.
"He certainly is swashbuckling."
"She's more attractive than she sounds in the book."
"Oh my, then that one must be…." they chorused together in awe: "L.J. Tibbs!"
The scrum surged its way from Tony and Ziva to Gibbs. McGee threw his head back on the bed in horror. He never thought he would long to be alone with the crazy old ladies.
Vera, lagging back from the others, whispered conspiratorially to Tony: "L.J. is very handsome, are those really his teeth?"
Tony gave her a puzzled look. "Sure," he assured her, "he has the receipt to prove it."
Gibbs put up his hand to quiet the lively throng. "What's that smell?"
As his newly acquired fan club watched, he sniffed his way around the room before settling on the cupboard door. One pull of the handle and a badly decomposing body thumped on the floor. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Vera.
"Greg couldn't keep up the pace," she shrugged nonchalantly. "We had such high hopes for young Timothy."
McGee, still strapped to the bed and slowly paled to grey. Harmless they were not.
It took the combined efforts of the three agents and the local LEOs to round up the gang and lead them out to an uncertain fate.
"See what happens when you venture into the dark realms of the literary world, McGeek," Tony chastised removing the last of McGee's manacles. "You invite fanatical grannies into your life. Stick to TV and movies; much safer."
"McGee!" Abby launched herself at him as the elevator doors opened. She'd obviously staked herself just outside the doors. The others ducked out of the way as fast as they could.
McGee winced as his already battered skull made contact with the hard metal of the elevator's rear wall. Abby hadn't noticed; she had him in a grip which the term 'vice-like' didn't even begin to cover. The doors slid shut and they were alone. Abby moved her head from McGee's shoulder to stare intently into his eyes. Then, without warning, she kissed him full on the lips. McGee's eyes were still open wide in shock as she unlocked lips and dismounted.
"Don't ever do that again," she growled and Gibbs slapped him just as the elevator doors opened again.
"I have a special surprise for you," Jeanne whispered in her sultry voice.
"Not another guy sewing a ribbon through his nipple?"
Jeanne pouted that pout. " 'Manion de Source' is a beautiful French love story," she insisted.
Then she smiled again; "but, no this is an all American action thriller. I have preview tickets. Usually I give them to the younger boys but I thought after a hard week of French Classics you deserved a break."
Tony smiled at her in relief; he could certainly do with some good action stuff tonight.
Gazing deeply into her eye, he took the offered tickets gently and glanced at them. His world ground to a halt as he read the title.
"Deep Six: The movie."