New 4
Before Nathan and Kyle left Gibbs house, heading to the White House to speak with his father, the president. Kyle had pulled out a copy of the emails that had been leaked from his brief case and handed them over to the Director of NCIS. "Happy reading." He grumbled and his tone conveyed the sound of reticence. The Secretary of the Navy, The Director of NCIS and the gruff MCRT team leader were about to read the most intimate and provocative, interpersonal thoughts of two men who were intellectual, witty, sarcastic, well-read men and Kyle had no doubt that whatever intimate moments were in there, would be erotic, graphic, detail oriented and would definitely test their strength and battle of wills.
"Gibbs?" Tim asked, as soon as the door closed behind Nathan and Kyle. "Any chance I could grab a shower? There wasn't exactly time before we left this afternoon. Haste was of the essence." Gibbs can see that Tim probably needed a moment of solitude. A chance to get a regrasp on his emotions in privacy too.
Gibbs gave him a succinct nod, and Tim hoisted the backpack that Gibbs recognised as his go bag, on his shoulder and headed for the guest bathroom at the end of the long hallway. Tim had showered at Gibbs' place before. After a gym session. After a bad case when Tim and Tony had drunk entirely too much whiskey and Nick from their local watering hole had called Gibbs to collect the boys. He had even spent the night once or twice. When his apartment was being painted, or when the heat had gone out in the middle of a winter's storm.
"I suppose we should read this." Leon reluctantly suggested out loud, as he held up the copy of the leaked emails. The three of them were seated around Gibbs' kitchen table now, a mug of fresh coffee in front of each of them. "We need to know what we're up against. Make a plan and prepare. No offence to you, Ms. Porter, but they're politicians, Gibbs. We can't trust them to have McGee's back. He is our agent, it's our job to back his play and watch his six."
Sarah Porter picked up the document that lay between the three of them on the small, circular table in the corner of Gibbs' kitchen and popped her reading glasses on. She sighed and mentally braced herself for what the emails contained.
" ... ' Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that. ' ― Martin Luther King Jr.
Baby, you are my light in the world full of darkness. Your love makes it not only possible, but probable for me to find my way through the darkness, into the light, and back to you. Your goodness is my light, the light that always leads me home to you, Tim ..." Sarah Porter read aloud from a stage whisper, as soon as she heard the bathroom door close. "Well, what do you know? Senator Nathan Taylor has a softer side, after all."
" ... 'Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest, and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.'― Neil Gaiman."
Leon stopped and let Tim's words sink in, what he had typed to his boyfriend in their most private correspondences'. Love is horrible. Tim's words made him think of his late wife, making him miss Jackie, more than he usually did when they were apart. It made him wonder what she would think of this travesty.
"... 'I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.' ― Pablo Neruda.
Perhaps we can escape the monotony this weekend? Get some sun, sleep and of course, make love." Leon snapped, angry at the situation. "It feels wrong to be reading these emails." He was angry with himself, but he knew it was part of the job, and it needed to be done. "This is an invasion of his privacy. I can't believe the immoral actions of the press."
" ... 'You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.' ― Dr. Seuss.
My ego chooses to believe that you don't sleep for fear of missing me. But I know that you walk with me in my dreams too and when you're with me, you're really with me. The reality is our shared dream, our hope for the future. There's nothing we can't do, if we're together. Except fall asleep together. You love me too much, and I, you. We need to pull our heads out of collective asses because this weekend, when we escape, you and me. We will go to you know where and I have plans for you. You need to be well rested because I plan to ..."
Gibbs immediately stopped reading out loud. The rest of that had been suggestive and not something that needed to be repeated out loud. Gibbs had silently read the words to himself, and they had almost made him blush in the more intimate details of the email. When the details became more generalised again, he picked up the narrative, verbally again.
"Your sleep schedule is shit, McGee. Have you given sleep up for lent? Pull your shit together, you need to take better care of yourself. Don't make me come home to a raging insomniac. I love you, but come hell or high water, I will not sleep with an insomniac." Gibbs couldn't help but smirk, as he read that out loud. He didn't know why, but it felt immensely satisfying to read the riot act, that Nathan Taylor had given Tim regarding his sleep schedule. Countless times, Gibbs had had to remind his youngest agent to go home and get some sleep. Especially at the end of a tough case.
"... 'Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.' ― Lao Tzu.
When we're apart, lying in our respective soul-sucking apartments that are just for show, my heart yearns for you. I can feel your love, just as I hope you can feel mine. Do you ever think back on that night in the rain? Our last year at MIT. Your love gives me the strength and the courage to get out of bed, strap my weapon to my hip and face the world. Where would I be, if it weren't for you?" Leon read out loud, as he squinted at the timestamps printed on the email. "Huh, May 21st, 2003, at 0439am?"
At Sarah Porter's inquiring look, Gibbs set his mouth into a firm tightlipped expression. "Agent Caitlin Todd had been killed by sniper fire, the afternoon before." Gibbs whispered, as he relived the painful memory of that day. The two people in the position of authority recalled that both Tim and Nathan had confessed the need to meet in public, the night before that email had been sent. "The sniper took a shot at Tim first, and missed, before he took Kate out."
"... 'And, in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.' ― Paul McCartney.
Who am I to question a legend like Paul McCartney? The man was part of the Beatles. But in your case, my temptuous Tim, I am willing to make an exception. For you, you who gives your heart so freely to me and takes nothing in return. You bewitch me with your body, always. You bother my mind, more than I care to admit. Thinking about you when I shouldn't be, positively driving me to distraction. You bewilder my mind, with yours. It's like ... and don't roll your eyes at me you agnostic atheist ... God put you on earth to keep me humble and honest. Keep me on the straight and narrow. Well ... not straight, but you know ..."
Gibbs stopped reading out loud here, but he did continue to read on, silently to himself. He felt awful, invading their privacy like this. But he had a rule against wasting good, and Tim was a good man. He needed to know that Nathan felt the same feelings that Tim did. Gibbs could just tell, Tim felt like this was his forever. Gibbs picked up the narrative again, once more, reading out loud.
'As I look over at you, softly slumbering away, beside me. Your tawny coloured hair and silky soft skin glistening in the early morning rays of the sun, rising above the horizon. You make me count my blessings twice. Once for having met you, and once for falling in love with you. The latter not in my plans, nor in yours. An accidental happenstance.
The man you are and the man who you portray to the world, they are not the same. The man you really are, is the man I know in my heart and soul. A man with a fiery attitude, who doesn't tolerate dirty dishes being left in the sink overnight. A man who is a meticulous clean freak, an organizing machine, which truly gets my libido moving in all sorts of ways. A man who doesn't take crap from people, especially my crap. You will happily call me out on my shit, my moods and my attitudes, something I both love and loathe about you in equal parts. A man who sets me on fire with a simple touch. A man who can convey so much in a single look. A truly terrifying look, to the point of my panic taking over, to a look that makes me plant my feet to the floor, for fear of outing us. And you, you saucy minx have a sadistic habit of giving me this look in public. A look that melts my molten rock, shooting lava through my veins, to the point where lightning bolts shoot to the pit of stomach.
Have I told you how much I love you? Like loving you to hell and back, love you. I love that you are a tech loving man but prefers a turntable and typewriter. I love that you can procrastinate for hours and days, but your mind works at a lightning speed, much like a supercomputer. I love that boyish, imp-like grin you give me, before I know we're going to spend a Saturday night relining the shelves of your pantry or mine. That same grin you gave me the day you sent me the real estate listing for our private hideaway. I love that you can make the most boring and mundane topic come to life, like history leaping right off the pages and into one's imagination.
When I think of you, I think of everything. Mathematics, science, in particular biology. Namely that thing you do with your tongue that makes me go weak at my knees, as they give way under the strength of your affection. I think of history, which makes me think of the future. Our future. There is no future without you. Someday, I want to scream it from the rooftops. I gave my heart away to you a long time ago, back when two fresh eyed college kids fell in love. It's true, I fell head over heels in love with the man who is Timothy McGee. Child prodigy, genius, NCIS agent, cyber ninja extraordinaire, writer, friend, lover, my closest confidant. You complete me, Sweetheart.'
Gibbs had to swallow hard. He had felt that way before with Shannon and he recognised the signs. Nathan Taylor was in love with Timothy McGee. Anyone who knew Tim well, knew of his love of the written word. But they would scarcely believe that Tim was not the author of this masterpiece.
"... 'I am nothing special, of this, I am sure. I am a common man with common thoughts, and I've led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten, but I've loved another with all my heart and soul, and to me, this has always been enough...' ― Nicholas Sparks.
Happy anniversary, baby! I love you. When all this is over and I am back home, I'll meet you, you know where. Looking like the gods of debauchery, that you know we are. Until then, I'll see you in your dreams, Senator."
Sarah Porter was surprised. She could scarcely believe that the man who was the first son of their nation's leader. A man who was a senate representative, writing and rewriting tax reforms and healthcare bills, could be loved so wholly and fiercely by another, such as the gentle soul, like Timothy McGee. "Agent McGee really does conjure up an image best left unimagined with his words." She smirked to the other two men in the room, trying not to blush at Tim's words.
" ... 'You don't love someone because they're perfect, you love them in spite of the fact that they're not.'― Jodi Picoult.
Oh, how these words taunt me when we argue. We don't do it often. But when we do, we do it in a spectacular fashion. Remember those two fresh eyed college kids? The two of them that couldn't get their shit together long enough to make it through one date without an argument or disagreement. Every time we argue, I am teleported back to that point in time. To that very moment. That moment when we questioned out loud: what did we love more, the person or the argument?
With the hindsight of twenty-twenty, I can categorically tell you the correct answer is both. I love you and you love me. But when we fight, when we argue, I love making up with you the most. Just as you love making up with me. I love how we try to clear our schedules, just to carve out twenty-four hours together ... if we're lucky. Most of the time, it is just a night, here and there. A night spent in your arms is a night well spent, indeed. I always sleep better there, with you, just as you sleep better in mine.
The sounds of you getting ready for your day, the shower running. The way I lazily watch you from my hooded eyes, as you holster your weapon to your hip, slip your knives into their home and your back up into its concealed spot on your person. The way you pocket your creds and your cell. The way you lean over me, on the bed and kiss me goodbye. It takes everything in my power not to pull back into bed with me and mess that gorgeous hair of yours back up. My very special agent, Timothy McGee.
As a man who appreciates the Brontë sisters as much as I do, I quote this to you ... 'Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!" ― Emily Brontë
Leon loosened the tie from his neck and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. His wife Jackie loves the Brontë sisters too. He remembered the quote fondly. Jackie had quoted it to him, in their wedding vows. Suddenly his heart, began to hurt. He missed his wife. She was buried in her hometown of San Diego and their children were visiting his in-laws, while he was stuck in DC, unable to leave.