A/N
So. It's been, what? Ten years? Feels like longer and feels like yesterday all at once. I never forgot this story, or gave up on it entirely. I just - kinda decided I hated my own writing and if I was going to continue this, I'd have to restart.
That's exactly what I've been doing lately. For anyone who still remembers this story, the new version starts here - s/14435671/1/At-All-Costs .
It starts from the very beginning and there'll be some familiar things and some that are brand new. The story isn't going in exactly the same direction as the original but the core of it's still the same. It may take a little longer for the rest of the team to pop up in this version but I think it makes more sense this way.
I hope you'll check it out. For a little preview of what's new, here's the first few paragraphs of Chapter One.
Timothy glanced at his wristwatch as he reached for the handle of his front door: gone midnight. That made the third time this week he'd be making it into bed less than six hours before he had to get back up again, and it was only Wednesday. It was days, weeks, like this that made him wonder at his own life choices - he could be sitting pretty in the private sector, making two or three times what he made with NCIS and working reasonable hours besides, hours that would perhaps leave him with the time to pursue that rare and mysterious thing known as a social life.
He had the option, if he wanted it, had been tempted once or twice by some flashy offer but never seriously. Despite days like this, NCIS was where he belonged; there were very few reasons now that he would walk away.
Timothy heaved an exhausted sigh, stepping through the doorway and reaching, on automatic, for the light switch. It took him a beat or two to realise the light was already on. He blinked. It'd been bright out when he left that morning, barely but enough that he was sure he hadn't needed the overhead on. But he had been only marginally less dead on his feet then than he was now, so it was possible. He hoped the nosy old parker across the hall hadn't noticed the light under the door or he'd be getting another lecture about young - young - people and waste next time their paths accidentally crossed. He rubbed his stinging eyes, gave a mental shrug, and started toward his bed.
Then the bathroom door opened, and Timothy came abruptly face-to-face with one of those reasons.