Chapter Two
"You look tired, McGee. La-"
"Yes, Tony, I did have a late night."
"With a speci-"
"No, not with anyone else." Tim eyed Tony. Tony opened his mouth again. "Female of otherwise." He interjected curtly.
Tony held both hands up, palms toward Tim, and slumped into a more comfortable but less orthopedicly friendly position on the bench by their usual coffee stand. "Pardon me, McSnappish, for taking an interest in my favorite Probie. No offense, Ziva."
"None taken." Ziva placed the coffees gently upon the bench and took a seat between the two. She gave Tim a sunny smile. He gave an irritated smile back.
"You're almost grown up too, McGee. I'm so proud." Tony wiped away a fictitious tear with a conviction that almost earned him a Golden Globe on the spot. (He'd have to try harder for an Oscar.)
"And it only took, what, Nine years, for this to happen?" Tim nodded to Ziva as she handed him his coffee, and took a long sip.
"Don't worry, McGee, it just takes time for some kids." Tony reached across Ziva and patted Tim's arm comfortingly, he smiled widely, all teeth. "You're like-"
"Fine wine?" Ziva interrupted with a small smile and sipped her coffee, absentmindedly brushing a few fallen autumn leaves from her lap with her other hand.
"Sure, we'll say that."
Ziva gave him a look over the rim of her cup. "What were you going to say?"
"What you said. The wine thing." Tony took a long draught of his coffee, eyes innocently wide.
"Liar." Ziva countered quickly, almost neatly clipping off the punctuation on the end of his statement.
"Takes one to know one. Zi-va."
"Quite mature, Tony."
"Where did you get the feeling that I was mature? I feel like I don't know you anymore, Ziva."
Their conversation fell to a vague buzz, muffled. Everything became background noise, vague and undeciphearble. The world blurred and slowed. Tim closed his eyes and pressed them tightly together. The universe blossomed underneath the closed lids.
Petty Officer Anthony Fell opened his eyes. He hadn't even realized that he had closed them. The kid was still standing there, blood spattered all over the front of his clothing, gun held limply in one hand, face frozen. Anthony's wallet had fallen from the kid's other hand, to the ground and laid there like a piece of litter in the entranceway to the alley.
The kid ran shakily off. Anthony watched him vanish around the corner. Why don't I feel anything? He glanced down at the two small holes in his chest, and realized that…he hadn't moved at all. He tried to wiggled his fingers. Nothing.
"Oh."
Yes.
Anthony started backward, scrambling out of his own body. A figure stood in the entranceway of the alley like it had always been there, before any other creation.
Don't be afraid. I'm here to guide you.
"Who the hell are you?"
I am Death. Pleased to be of…service, I suppose.
One got the impression that the figure would be smiling hopefully, if he had a traditional face, waiting for any sort of amusement from its charge. Anthony stared without emotion, entirely overwhelmed. There was then something almost akin to a sigh. It sounded like all the winds on Earth (As well as the surrounding galaxies.) combined, then tainted and twisted by endless expanses of time.
Stand, Anthony.
Anthony stood at the command, back straightening, chin lifting, training once again inking into his bloodstream.
"Sir,"
Come.
There was an echo of a sharp yelp, deadened, but close by. A woman phased silently through the figure and crouched by the body, phone out.
Come.
"I'm only twenty-two, Sir."
The figure stared without acknowledgment for a second.
Pardon?
"I'm twenty-two years old, Sir." Anthony's voice quivered. "I was going to do so much." The figure shifted, almost uncomfortably, one might say before realizing who they were speaking of.
You were. But now, you cannot.
The figure glided closer to Anthony.
"Please." The word was barely heard, even in the relative silence, all other noises masked. It dripped in fear, sadness, and desperation. There were sirens in the distance, drawing closer and closer.
Don't.
The word was harsh, a thousand knife tips, sharpened by the eons. Anthony flinched. The figure mirrored him, flickering between man and…something beyond that.
Tim screwed his eyes even more tightly shut, and stopped breathing.
The figure seemed to gain control of itself.
There is nothing I can do. Your clock has struck twelve. Come with me.
"Yes, Sir." Petty Officer Anthony Fell seemed to gather himself again, and the two figures walked away, and vanished.
Police cars arrived.
The scene was assessed.
A number was called.
Tim began to breathe again. Oh no. What the hell was happening to him?
A phone rang in the distance.
"Hello?" Tony's voice echoed as it entered infinity. "Hey, Boss. We got a case? No, it's okay, they're right here. We'll be there in…five minutes? Yep. Bye." The sound of a phone snapping shut. "Got a case." The rustling of fabric against wood, scrape of rubber soles against concrete.
"McGee?"
"You okay?
Tim's eyes opened, sound sharpened and the world righted itself.
"Fine."
Tony and Ziva exchanged a look that contained a conversation far longer and in-depth than he was comfortable with, and then glanced back at him.
"You do not seem, 'fine', McGee." Ziva said carefully, as if examining each word individually for the most effect intended.
"Yeah, I mean you're usually a bit spaced out," Tony twirled a finger in a circle next to his head, loopy expression plastered onto his face, to accompany his words. Ziva subtly planted the heel of her shoe onto his toes. He winced. "But, McGee, something doesn't feel right here."
"Is this…some kind of intervention?"
Another exchange of looks. "Yes." "No." The two answers tangled together. A pause. "No." "Yes."
"Right." Tim said finally, glancing between Tony and Ziva, who looked like they were on the edge of an argument about their horrible planning. I'm fine." He stood, an edge wobbly, and straightened. "C'mon, we have a case." Tim then took off down the sidewalk, determination to avoid whatever Tony and Ziva had been trying to do, ingrained in every single step.
For a second, he allowed the utter confusion and fear to swamp his features, to squeeze his heart. His heart. Interesting.