Mending Fences chapter 2
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Chapter 2
Morning came, and Tim moaned miserably as he tried to get out of bed. Dean popped his head in the door. “Man, stay in bed.”
“No, man, I gotta go.”
Dean didn’t bother to ask where; this time of day, he knew. “Okay. Let me help you. A .25 to the chest is totally different from two high powers to the back. And we did discuss this when that Jones bitch shot you. You’re not allowed.” While he’d been scolding, Dean had carefully helped Tim stand up. “You got it now?”
Tim would deny whimpering like a kicked pup to his dying day, but he did and barely managed to get on his feet. Once he was up, he was okay. “Yeah, I got it. I’ll come down for ... food. What the hell time is it anyway?” He shuffled down the hall while Dean frankly hovered. “Man, go the fuck away.”
Dean snorted. “Not. I’ll stay out in the damn hall, I’m not about to offer to fuckin’ hold it for you, but I’m not takin’ a chance on you fallin’. AJ’d outright murder me if you fell.”
Tim, not that steady on his feet yet, just went to do his business, mumbling, “Geeze, mother hen much?”
Dean gave his bitching all the attention it deserved: none. “Shut up, jerk.”
“Won’t.” Tim finished what he needed to do and washed his hands and face. He felt a bit better but he was so stiff he could hardly move. “Any candy in here?”
“No. Doc moved it all to his room. He said we use too much. Remember? Cos had indigestion for three days, figured out that he was takin’ too much on an empty stomach, so he moved it.” Dean leaned against the door jam and watched as Tim attempted to shave. He finally took the razor from him. “Why’d you leave your razor in here?”
“Needed to charge it and all my damn sockets are full. I need to get a second power bar.” Tim gave the razor over with a grumble.
“Let’s go down to the kitchen. Cos is fixin’ brunch.” Dean pocketed the razor and wrapped an arm around Tim. “Come on.”
Tim accepted the help with good grace; no sense in grumbling when he knew he needed the help. They made it to the kitchen with a minimum of difficulty and Tim took his usual seat.
Cos eyed him for a moment then said, “Hungry? You better be. I cooked.” This last was said with some pride, everyone knew that Cos hated cooking, although he turned out decent food when he did.
“Yeah. Thanks. What’s on?” Tim accepted a couple of pills from Dean; Ducky had left several prescriptions with detailed instructions before he and Jimmy had gone in for the day. Tim swallowed them with water from a glass on the table.
“Well, poached eggs, toast, bacon, orange juice and ... not sure what else. What would you like?”
Tim eyed him with some confusion, well aware that Cos couldn’t poach an egg to save his life. “Poached? How’d you manage that?”
Cos proudly pointed to an egg-shaped thing on the counter. “Electric poacher. Gibbs got it for Christmas from some ... jerkwater someone. Brought it over special.”
“Oh. Hashbrowns?”
“On the skillet as we speak.” Cos tossed a handful of shredded potatoes into a pan. Hashbrowns were one of the things he did well.
Tim repeated one request, “What damn time is it?”
“Nearly 0930.” Tim opened his mouth to protest then shut it. Finally he said, “Feels like fuckin’ oh-dark-too-damn-early.”
“Needed the sleep, so shut it. Food’ll be on soon as those spuds are done.” Cos went back to his cooking; burnt potatoes not only tasted foul, they stank like anything and took forever to scrape out of the pan.
Tim picked up the razor that Dean had put on the table and finished shaving.
Five minutes later they were all sitting down to brunch. Tim eyed his plate then dug in. “Mmm. ’S goo’.” He ate everything on his plate and demanded more toast and coffee.
Dean and Cos just ate in companionable silence but when they were done eating, Dean went to put the dishes in the dishwasher while Cos told Tim to take off his t-shirt.
“Okay. Only ... I think I’m going to need some help. Can’t get my damn arms up.” Tim illustrated by raising his arm as high as it would go. “Ow.”
Cos shook his head. “You know the old punch line ... if it hurts, don’t do it. So ...” he helped Tim get his shirt off then said, “This’ll probably be cold but Ducky said.” And that was the final word. All the Pod loved Ducky so, if he said jump off a dock, they all went swimming.
Tim did shiver a bit as the salve was cold but, between the pills and the salve, he had to admit that he did feel better.
Dean nodded in the direction of the sitting room, as Ducky called it. “Go sit. We’ll take care of the kitchen. An’ don’t do anything. Just sit. I swear, you’ve gotten shot an’ you’re runnin’ around like AJ.”
Tim couldn’t help a bit of snark. “At least I’m just runnin’ computer searches instead of actually runnin’. Although I could use a nice run, I’m restless.”
“Fuck that shit. You’re sittin’ down ... take your laptop and work ... from here. Damnit.”
Tim just smirked at Dean then headed for the sitting room, making a detour to the library to get his laptop. He settled in a comfortable chair, although it wasn’t that comfortable for him with his bruised back. He mumbled, “Need a pillow or something,” then nearly jumped out of his skin when Cos walked in with a pillow in his hand. “Fuck! Bell, really.”
Cos blinked at him for a second then offered, “Don’t want the pillow?”
“Yes, I do. But I’m putting bells on all y’all, Jet and AJ especially. The bunch a’ ya could sneak up on a bat.” He leaned forward to let Cos put the pillow behind him. “Thanks.” He returned to his work, trying not to sulk too obviously.
AJ drifted by, snarked, “What the hell is it with you, probie? Some dingbat stalker shoots you, you get beat up, then shot again. I’m not lettin’ ya go t’ the head without an escort.” He walked on, shaking his head. He flopped down in an easy chair and started working on his tablet.
Tim grumbled, “Never thought ... I swear I don’t know who I offended, or how, but I’m sorry. Really, seriously sorry. So stop it already.” He blinked for a second then exclaimed indignantly, “Like you’re one to talk, jerk.”
Everyone nearby snickered at that then went back to what they were doing, studiously ignoring the hot glare Tim sent them. No one wanted to seriously piss Tim off; he was a god of cyberspace and could seriously mess you up with one finger.
Tim had set up his searches at NCIS to send the results to his laptop as well as his desk top at NCIS. He wasn’t expecting any results just yet but he was hopeful of something within a few hours.
As he was still hurting, although he wouldn’t admit it, Tim decided to head up to his room to rest a bit. He levered himself out of his chair, grabbed the pillow and limped toward the stairs. He was met at the bottom by Tony, who simply offered his arm. “Let me help. You’ll have a hell of a time by yourself.”
Tim took Tony’s arm and started up the stairs. “Thanks, AJ, don’t think I’d make it on my own.”
Tony let Tim lean on him as they got to the top of the stairs. “Hurtin’?”
“Yeah. I’ll manage. I wouldn’t turn my nose up at some candy.” Tim eased down onto his bed. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be back in a sec. Gremlin said to make sure you drank ... so ... glass a’ water, dose a’ meds comin’ right up.” he went into the bathroom to get the water and pills that Jimmy had left. “You hear about the new orders we all got?”
“No. What’s up?” Tim settled himself as comfortably as he could.
“We’re all signed up for a snatch and run survival thing ... whether we like it or not. Not a happy bunny.” Tony handed Tim the pills and waited while he crunched them between his teeth. “Water.” He handed Tim the glass. “With a bendy straw.”
Tim just downed the glass in a few swallows, letting the straw slurp the last drops.
Tony grunted, “Nice.”
“So ... what the hell is a snatch and run ... what you said?”
“They track you for a bit, and, if you bust ‘em, they just assign a new team. Then, when they’re sure they can get you with a minimum of notice from civilians, they snatch you right off the street and dump you in the wilds of ... somewhere. Your objective is to survive for ... usually 14 days with just whatever you have on you but that does include a ruck ... if you make a habit of carrying one. I hate ‘em. They’re a well known waste of time and resources and this will be the ... third?... one I’ve been on.” Tony made a face. “You grab some z’s.” He shut the door on a snickering Tim and stomped down the hall, muttering about ‘Common Dog Fucker’ not being that common and BOHICA.
Tim dropped off soon after and slept until Jimmy came to wake him for lunch. He groaned his way out of bed and allowed Jimmy to give him more pills before attempting a trip down to the kitchen.
Tim settled with Ducky to watch as Tony and Jimmy made lunch.
Tony asked, “Anyone have a craving for anything?”
Tim realized that he did. “Do you have everything to make Chicken Alfredo with peas and mushrooms?”
“I think so. We’ll have to have Angel Hair; we’re out of spaghetti.” Tony grinned as he was well aware that Tim didn’t care.
“Fine. Anything I need to do?”
Tony waved his hand, “No, just sit. Ducky’ll swat ya if you over-do.”
Ducky patted Tim’s arm and agreed, “That I will, young man, that I will. Just sit there. If it were a matter of life or death, for anyone, I wouldn’t say anything. Since it’s not, sit.”
While Tim was sulking, Tony was cooking. He set a pot of water on the stove, observing, “Water. And lots of it. I really don’t know why people cook pasta in an ounce of water. You need lots ... the pasta has to move around or it sticks together. And salt. You have to salt the water.” He tossed a handful of salt into the water then turned on the heat. “And don’t even think about starting a sauce until the water just begins to simmer. You can’t make either one wait on the other. So ...” he poured cream and milk into a sauce pan then added several crushed cloves of garlic. “I’ll let that infuse while I deal with other stuff.”
He showed that his knife skills were more comprehensive than just stabbing someone by chopping herbs, slicing mushrooms, and cutting chicken. He got the peas out of the freezer and dumped some into a bowl. “We haven’t used this bag as a cold pack, have we?”
Ducky answered that. “No, I marked that one with some tape. It has a big X on it.” He frowned for a moment. “We probably should throw that one away. It’s been used several times.”
“Probably should.” Jimmy fished around in the freezer, found the bag in question and just tossed it into the trash. “There. Not that anyone would be stupid enough to eat anything with a note ‘Do Not Eat.’ in Ducky’s handwriting.” He returned to tearing up lettuce and chopping things for salad.
Tony checked the pasta water. When he realized that it was just getting ready to boil, he turned on the cream/ milk mixture then got out a sauté pan. He tossed in the sliced mushrooms with a drizzle of olive oil and several grinds of pepper then set the pan back on the heat. The mushrooms were soon done and the water was boiling. He put the pasta in the water then gave the mushrooms a quick stir to keep them from scorching. The cream was now simmering so he dipped out the garlic and tossed it. He started adding parmesan cheese to the hot cream, stirring to keep it from lumping. A quick check of the pasta showed that it was about two minutes from being done so he tossed the frozen peas into the water which slowed the cooking down to a bit more than three minutes. He returned to his sauce and added the Romano cheese and continued stirring; as soon as the cheese was all melted he dumped the mushrooms into it and continued stirring. Another check made sure the pasta was done; he drained it, dumped it back into the pot and poured the cheese sauce over it, then tossed in the chicken. A quick stir, a grind of pepper, and it was done. He put it all on a huge platter, sprinkled it with more parmesan cheese and pepper.
“There. Done.” He brought the platter to the table with a smile.
While Tony had been doing the pasta, Jimmy hadn’t been idle. He’d made a huge loaf of garlic toast. This was done in a different way. He buttered the thick slices of bread with garlic butter then toasted them on a grill. It was better than the usual way of half slicing Italian bread, stuffing garlic and butter between the slices and putting that in the oven. That made soft, rather soggy (but delicious) bread with a crunchy crust. This made toasted, crunchy all over slices… and you didn’t have to turn on the oven.
Jimmy had also finished his salad which was made of iceberg lettuce, spring greens, spinach, cherry tomato halves, and cucumber mixed with kalamata olives, ripe goat cheese, and balsamic dressing.
Ducky nodded, then turned to take a wine bottle from the sideboard. “Here we go. A nice semi-sweet wine. I’d prefer something a bit more tart, but the Alfredo sauce doesn’t stand up to it. So ...” He poured a measure into everyone’s glass, passing them as he did so. “There we are.”
Everyone helped themselves to a portion of the main, some salad, and a slice of bread.
Tim forked up a bite and chewed with appreciation. “Mmmm. So good.” He reached for his glass then yelped, “Hey! Mine! You’ve got your own.”
Jimmy, who was the culprit, replied, “Forgot. You’re on pain meds and antibiotics. No alcohol of any kind. Sorry. But ...” he poured half the wine into his glass. “All the more for us.” he smirked at Tim, then handed the glass to Tony.
Tim scowled, “Jerk.”
Ducky watched the by-play with some amusement. “I am sorry, my dear boy. I completely forgot. AJ, do not smirk at Tim ... nor you, Jimmy.”
Jimmy gave Ducky a ‘who me?’ look then went back to his food. “Mmm. AJ, you’ve out done yourself. So good.”
Tim agreed. “Yeah. Really good. And the garlic toast is good too. Thanks.”
They took their time as they ate, keeping the conversation low key. Tim tried to keep up but he was drooping within the hour.
“Damnit, AJ, I don’t know how you do it. I’m worn out again.”
Tony shrugged. “I’m more used to it than you are. And I usually have to push through because we’re in it deep. That’s why I crash so hard. Go take a nap.”
Tim frowned, “I’m all slept out. I think I’ll just veg in front of my TV. Maybe fall asleep.” He got up and headed back upstairs.
Tony watched him limp away for a moment, “Need any help?”
“Don’t think so. I’m going to have trouble with the stairs but I’m not coming back down until breakfast. I’ll probably feel a lot better then.” He went on his way, carefully navigating the stairs, and lay down on his bed to watch something mindless on TV until he fell back asleep.
Tony and Jimmy made quick work of cleaning up the kitchen while Ducky loaded the dish washer. He shut the door and turned it on with a satisfied expression then said, “Now ... a nice cup of tea and I’m for my quarters as well. The excitement of the day is catching up with me. I have a very nice journal that I’ve been meaning to read.”
Jimmy agreed with that sentiment. “Me too. Tea and a journal for me as well. Finding out that any of the Pod have been injured wears on my nerves something awful. I’ll start the kettle.”
But he didn’t need to as Tony had started it while he was cleaning. “It’s just about to boil. I’ve got a couple of calls to make, then I’d like a cup too. Okay?”
“Sure. I’ll just use the bigger pot and add a couple of extra spoons of leaves. Oolong?”
“Fine. That one that tastes of apricots is nice.”
“Got it. Shoo ... make your calls.” Jimmy waved a hand at Tony, who laughed and trotted out to check on Tim and make calls to a few people he knew who kept an eye on the sort of person who might have taken a pot shot at John.
Tony called a man who knew a man who knew things. He got the information that there was no formal hit out on the admiral, which was good; he was also told that no one had heard anything about an outside hit. Tony asked if the target could have been Tim and was told no. He thanked his informant, then leaned back to think things over again. He finally realized that they didn’t know enough and gave up to go watch something mindless and stupid on his TV.
Supper turned out to be sandwiches and soup. Tim came down and admitted that he felt a lot better, not so stiff and the bruises were already beginning to turn.
.
Gibbs called a house meeting after supper then settled at the table to wait for the rest of the house to show.
It wasn’t long before Dean, Cos, and Remy showed up; after all, when Gibbs used his ‘Gunny voice’, half the neighborhood knew someone was wanted.
“Okay. Here’s what we got. Someone took a pot shot, not callin’ that a snipe, seriously. Anyway ... took a shot at Tim’s dad. Tim took the hit ... two of ‘em. From the ballistics and whatnot we’re sure that the ol’ man was the target. I’ll have to let Tim know soon, but I want him to rest tonight. The admiral is making a list of anyone he thinks might either take a shot or pay for one. But my gut is tellin’ me our shooter won’t be on the list. So ... ideas.” Gibbs sat back to sip his coffee while everyone chewed on that.
After a few minutes of silent thought Remy offered, “Maybe it’s someone he demoted? Can he even do dat?”
Cos shrugged. “He’s an admiral, he can. But ... if he did, he probably transferred ‘em too. So ... but even if they were transferred they could go UA and come back ... if they were pissed enough.”
Dean agreed with that but offered, “Might also be someone he ... he’s in acquisitions?” Gibbs nodded. “So ... what if it’s not what he did ... but something he didn’t do? Like ... turned down a bid?”
Gibbs brightened at that. “Or didn’t approve a renew on a contract. Some providers seem to think that they can cut corners, short count and all that, then they get pissed when someone calls ‘em on it. We need Tim to run more searches. I’ll get him on that in the morning.” He looked around at the skeptical faces. “What? You think he’s gonna stay home? Think again.”
Everyone agreed that Tim would be on the job in the morning, no matter what Ducky said.
.
The next morning proved that Tim was made of stern stuff indeed. He was up at his usual time and ready to run with the pod. He did refuse to carry a ruck but no one called him on it. One, he didn’t have a new one yet, and two, his back was beginning to turn those interesting shades of brown and green that old bruises do.
Tony eyed him, Remy poked his shoulder. All the other guys did their own version of a health check. Ducky did a real one.
When he finally finished, he just nodded then said, “Well, do what you feel like doing. Avoid excessive pressure on those bruises. Take analgesics as needed. Blasted young whippersnapper.” His smiled was kindly. “Go.”
Tim trotted out to join the others.
As they ran, Tim got updated on the case.
Gibbs started out. “Vance has said that you’re too close to the primary, but you can work the case unless you ... do something stupid. Not his words ... mine. There gonna be problems?”
“No. Father and I have a ... working relationship. We avoid each other as much as possible. Get along by nearly ignoring each other at family things. And Penny is keeping her nose out of it. She knows hopeless when she sees it. So ... My searches show anything?”
Tony snorted. “The jackwad TDA did something to your desktop while no one was watching him. We can’t even get the damn screen saver to come on. I hope he didn’t crash everything.”
Tim snarled, “Well, if he has, I’m gonna fuckin’ beat him like a drum. If I’ve told everyone once, I’ve told ‘em a hundred damn times. Do. Not. Mess. With. My. Computer. Damnit, I bet he tried to stop the run because you can’t check email or get on the net with ‘em runnin’. That’s why I have two towers under my desk. One for search management and the other for everyday business. You have to toggle between ‘em. And it’s not that damn hard, just fuckin’ click on the damn icon.”
Tim spent the rest of the run trying to think of what the TDA could have done to his systems, how much trouble it was going to be to fix it, and whether he could lure the idiot onto the mats with him later.
When they got back to Mallard Manor the whole group declared themselves not fit for company so Gibbs and his group headed back to GHQ to clean up for work. Tim groaned his way into the hottest shower he could tolerate.
After his shower Tim felt a lot better; the run had loosened up stiff muscles and a last dose of candy finished the job. He dressed in old MarPat as he hated Digital Blues with a passion. He disdainfully called them rotten blueberries and was quite pleased that Vance had forbidden wearing them on duty.
Tony yelled up the stairs. “Anyone not down in three drives themselves ... unless I decide you should run.”
The clatter of Jimmy and Tim nearly falling down the stairs made a much more dignified Ducky laugh. He shook his head, saying, “I do hope I’m not included in that, AJ.”
Tony replied, “Nope. You’re home free. We’ll always wait on you. But those two ... Come on, let’s put a wheel under this bitch.”
Ducky called shotgun, even though he didn’t need to. Jimmy and Tim took second seat, squabbling amiably about where to put their rucks.
They settled in and listened to Ducky expound on the origin of the High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle, or HMMWV-A2, which was what they were in. He was, however, indignantly corrected that this was not a Hummer. That was what the ‘crippled’ civilian version was. They referred to it as an Arnie Special.
Ducky apologized easily. “Well, excuse my ignorance ... as I was saying.” He continued his discourse until they reached the Yard.
The two Marines on the gate asked after Tim, then grinned at him when he announced, “I’m fine. I just got shot in the damn back twice by some fucked up jackwad that can’t shoot worth shit. My poor ruck will never be the same. Nor my Samsung tablet, nor my special laptop. I swear I’m gonna stock up on shells and parts and build my own.”
This led to a round of laughter and teasing while they ran the mirrors under the Humvee and had a quick look into the storage. One of the Marines, the new, junior, member, started to open a locker and, when he was stymied by the seal, demanded that Tony open it.
Tony refused easily, simply saying, “It’s way above your pay grade. If you have a problem, call your CO and we’ll deal.”
The man did call his CO and got a short, “He’s a damn SEAL. You really wanna fuck around with his shit ... it’s your funeral. My official advice is ... stay the fuck out of it.” The sharp click told the Corporal that he’d avoided an ass chewing by a hair. He returned to wave the Humvee through the barricade. His partner had spent the time trading gossip with the group.
When they parked it was always a bit problematical as the huge vehicle took up two spaces; if it wasn’t parked on the yellow line, you couldn’t get the doors open. That usually pissed someone off, and dealing with that put Tony in a bad mood. This time, Tim just eyed the officious, chubby, suit-wearing nuisance and snarled, “Look. I’m in a really, really bad mood. You’ve got two choices ... Go the fuck away ... or meet me in the gym in five. What’ll it be?”
The man sputtered for a moment then scurried away, calling over his shoulder, “We’ll just see about that. I’m going direct to the Director ... you have no idea who I am.”
Tony yelled after him, “And we don’t give a fuck either.”
They checked in, with serious questions from the guards as to Tim’s health. He announced, “I’m fine. Really. Just really sore. Spread the word. And ... when I find out who crashed what ... I’m gonna fuck ‘em up. Bruised back or no.” And with that, he headed for his desk. Just in time to keep the TDA from unplugging a cable that had to remain plugged into the system. He took a deep breath and revealed his temper. “Excuse me? What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing to my damn desk?” He reached out, grabbed the man by the collar of his jacket, and yanked him out from under the desk. “If you’ve unplugged the system I’m gonna kill you.”
“It’s just some odd wire. I need the jack for my phone charger.” The man, who rejoiced in the name of John Jones, gave the wire a tentative tug.
“If you unplug anything ... I’ll unplug you. Drop it.” Tim gave the man a shake.
John dropped the wire with a grimace. “You don’t have to be so rough.”
“I do. You were told not to use my desk. Not to mess with my computers. Not to unplug anything. And not to aggravate Gibbs. Right?” Tim glowered, making Tony beam at him proudly.
“Well ... yeah ... but?” Agent Jones shrugged irritably.
“So ... just so there’s no confusion,” he pointed, “That’s my desk. Those are my computers. You’ve unplugged at least one thing you shouldn’t have, and tried to actually unplug the master cable which would actually fry your charger ... if you could get it plugged in there. And Gibbs looks like he’s about to have a stroke.” He glowered at Gibbs who held up his hand in a ‘not me’ gesture and tried, unsuccessfully, to smother his snicker fit. “Whose idiot idea was this anyway?”
Leon Vance had been warned that Tim was having a snit, so he had come down to see what was what. “Um ... that would be me.” He waited for Tim to cringe but was disappointed.
“Okay. So ... why, in your superior position, did you make the idiot decision to lumber us with ... that?” His expression was a combination of disgust and annoyance with a touch of urge to kill.
“Um ... I thought it would be a good idea for failing agents to learn from the best?” Vance was now reconsidering his decision.
“Well, try again. You cannot make a sword out of a butter knife… no matter how hard you try. You’ll only ruin the knife and frustrate yourself. So ... do something intelligent with him while I fix what he’s broken. Thankyouverymuch.” And with that, he lowered himself carefully onto the floor to see what cables had been intentionally unplugged and what had been kicked loose by their unhelpful help.
Tony gave Vance a commiserating look. “You have been owned, dude. Seriously owned.”
“I have.” Vance turned his sharp gaze to Jones and jerked his head. “With me.” And Jones was gone, never to be seen again. And Vance quit trying to save unsaveable agents by assigning them to any of the major teams, a thing which made those teams extremely happy.
Tim spent several minutes groveling around under his desk. When he crawled out he pointedly informed Gibbs, “The next time we have ... help, make sure they do not sit at my fuckin’ desk. There’s a Foxtrot Tango of extra cables and wires. I know where they are, so I don’t fuckin’ disconnect shit by accident. Everyone else seems to just kick shit until it’s out of their way ... never mind that they usually manage to unplug something crucial.”
Gibbs nodded. “I know. I told that fucktard what desk to sit at, but every time I left for more than three fuckin’ seconds, he was at your damn desk. As far as I’m concerned ... if it’s good enough for Dean or Cos, it’s good enough for some near useless fuckwad TDA. So ... what did he screw up?”
Tim settled down to his computers to see what was actually going on. “Okay ... he kicked the secondary display loose ... but he didn’t disconnect the secondary tower from the local net. The main system is okay. Just no damn display. How the hell he managed to disconnect all the monitors from their ... Never mind ... you’re not interested and it’s pissin’ me off. So ... I got shit plugged back in and the searches are all done. Let me see what’s going on with that ... I’ll be ready to tell you what’s goin’ on in ten.”
The whole Pod watched while Tim worked his magic. Dean mumbled, “And what that disaster on two feet did to my desk is a crime. I’m gonna mess him up if I ever see him again.” He and Cosmo both went to fix their desks. Jimmy had disappeared down to the Morgue with Ducky the second they’d arrived. And Tony was busy with things at his desk, mostly trying to catch up with the bale of paper work he had to do as SFA. He did admit that the little trick Tim had pulled with the internal programming for a lot of the forms had cut it down by about a third. No one seemed to be willing to try to change it, although a few had complained about sharing forms; Vance had told them to shut up in no uncertain terms, realizing the savings in time created a nice cut in overtime hours.
So Tim collated a ton of data and found ― nothing. He presented what little data he had, which was: the Admiral hadn’t pissed off a soul. At least no one that had the where-with-all to pay for a hit, even an inept one. So they were back to square one again. No one was happy.
Gibbs had Tony send an email requesting the Admiral get his lists in ASAP. Tony mumbled something about ‘insubordination’ and ‘nagging a friggin’ admiral’, but sent it.
A few minutes later Tim stretched and moaned. “Man, I need to get up an’ move around. I’m still stiff as a board.”
Tony nodded. “We had a good run. You want to go down to the gym and do some yoga?”
“Yeah. Might be just the thing. Who’s with?” Tim stood up followed by Dean and Cos.
Tony dialed Jimmy and asked if he wanted to come; he was a bit surprised when Abby’s voice announced, “Me too, please.”
“Sure, Abs, anything you like. Just be ready to keep up ... no shame if you have to drop out, though.”
“Okay. Meet in the gym in a few.”
It didn’t take long for everyone to get to the gym and dress out. Abby took the longest, only because she had to run out to her car to get her bag.
Tony eyed the group. “Okay, we’re gonna take it a bit easy, seein’ as how Digimon just got himself shot. So ... Sun Salutation.” And with that he started calling the asanas.
Abby, ever the chatter box, started talking to Dean who was on her right. He just ignored her as he wasn’t a talker during yoga; he preferred to find a quiet space in his head and try to stop his mental noise. She quickly gave up on him, realizing that she was bothering him. She then tried Jimmy on her other side.
Jimmy eyed her from his Downward Dog pose, then decided. “Abby, don’t chatter. We’re all trying to find a quiet space. No one wants to listen to your opinion of ... whatever new group this is. Later ... maybe.”
Abby wondered if she should be insulted and decided to pout. Not that it did her much good. No one even noticed.
Since Tim was still on the injured list, Tony took it easy on them, only leading them through an hour of Iyengar instead of Bikram. Then he eased into a few stretches. After that he announced, “Savasana.” He waited while everyone got comfortable. “Okay ... five minutes.”
Tony and Gibbs were both aware that Abby had the patience of a two-year-old. Tony was of the opinion that she had to be so patient with her tests that she ran out of it. Gibbs thought that she’d just never been taught patience as her parents tried to make up for the fact that they were deaf by letting her run wild. They agreed that she had to learn some or she was going to run afoul of the wrong person at the wrong time.
“Abby. Be still. Let your busy brain calm down.”
Abby settled back with a huff. She knew that squirming all around wasn’t doing the others any good, but she wanted to be up and doing. Now.
Gibbs’ warning, “Abby,” settled her for a few moments.
Someone on the other side of the gym snickered and said, just loud enough, “Well, I never thought I’d see anyone get that squint to shut up for more than three seconds.”
Tim rolled over and eyed the speaker with considerable displeasure. “I’m sure I didn’t hear you right. One, Abby is a very exceptional forensic scientist; therefore, her brain is hyper active. Two ...” he thought for a moment. “Well, there is no two. Jerk.”
“Yeah? And you’re just Gibbs’ nerd.”
Tim snorted, “I’m not. I’ll have you know that I’m a geek. One definition of a geek is a knowledgeable person who makes six to eight figures doing something they like. You, on the other hand, are an ignorant, knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing, cretinous twat-waffle and a total waste of resources.”
Tony muttered, “No, Timmy, don’t hold back, tell us how you really feel.”
As you might suspect, that didn’t go down well with the loud mouth. “Yeah, well, we’ll just see about that.”
Tim stretched a bit, making muscles ripple. “Okay ... fine ... mats, now.” He walked onto the mats and waited. “Well? You comin’? And what the hell is your name? I can’t keep thinking of you as dumbass.”
Tony eyed Gibbs, who nodded. Both men knew that there was no convincing Tim to back down once he got started, but Tony needed to be reassured that Tim could handle this. There would be no question except that he was still recovering. Gibbs was of the opinion that Tim could handle this, so was Tony, so they all just gathered around to see the beat down.
Abby bit her lip but kept silent too. There was no way she was going to embarrass Tim, but she was worried.
Remy patted her on the arm. “No worry, chéri, he be fine.” Abby nodded, then turned to watch.
Special Agent Sam French turned out to be one of those weedy wanna-be sorts who spent way too much time trying to prove that they were manly men. The kind that got involved in a pissing contest at the drop of an insult.
While all the insults and posturing were going on, no one noticed a man come into the gym from a side door. He was accompanied by a couple of younger men who seemed to be some sort of bodyguards or personal assistants. They were all in Service Dress Blues, the Navy version of a business suit. They eased into the group around the mats to watch.
Tim stepped onto the mat. “Okay, Sammy, let’s do this.”
“Don’t call me Sammy.” Sam kicked off his sneakers and stepped onto the mat.
“I’ll call you anything I like.” Tim didn’t look like he really cared one way or the other what Sam liked or didn’t. He looked like he was going to kick ass, fuck taking names.
Tony nudged Gibbs. “Over there.” He nodded in the direction of the three strangers, or rather, two strangers and Tim’s father.
Gibbs eyed the men for a moment then shrugged, “He’s gonna get an eyeful. Serve him right.” He turned back to the mat. “You gonna referee?”
Tony shook his head. “Oh, hell no. Not gettin’ between Digimon and his prey. I’ll go keep Abby from having a stroke.” He snickered softly as he eased through the crowd to Abby’s side.
Gibbs eyed both men and decided to keep out of it too. If it was needed, he’d step in.
Tim was just standing in the middle of the mat waiting for Sam to do something beside run his mouth.
He finally said, “You gonna actually fuckn’ do something, or just run your damn ignorant mouth? I’m not makin’ the first move.”
It seemed that Sam was just waiting for an invitation. He took a stupid swing at Tim, one of those wild, round house head shots that look so neat on TV, but will get your ass kicked in real life.
In this case, Tim grabbed the passing fist, twisted and used a shoulder throw to dump Sam on his ass. He stepped back to see if the guy would use his brain and give up. But, he evidently went by the ‘get a bigger hammer’ rule of failure. Instead of demonstrating common sense and backing off, he scrambled to his feet and tried a sloppy front heel kick. Tim just stepped back and let him find out that launching a kick that way only resulted in landing on his ass again. He waited until Sam was back on his feet again, then used a low spinning sweep kick to drop him on his ass for the third, and final, time. Tim flipped Sam onto his stomach and finished the fight by turning his hands back to back and gripping his middle fingers. “Give.”
“I yield.” Sam grumbled his way to his feet, bowed with ill grace and left, red-faced and embarrassed.
“Well. Great sport ... not.”
There was some cheering from the audience but Abby was ecstatic, yelling, “Way ta go, Timmy!” and bouncing around like a rabbit on crack.
Tim flopped down on a bench and grumbled, “Idiot.”
Remy patted him on the shoulder and offered, “Done good, homme. No fuss, no muss. Good form. An’ ... ‘er come yo papa.”
Tim glanced up from looking for a towel. “Father.” He nodded then looked over his shoulder to take the towel Dean offered. “Thanks, man.”
“You ... I’m very proud of you. That was some display of skills.”
Tim eyed him for a moment then said, “Do you have that list? I need to get it into the system and do my magic.”
John McGee handed a flash drive to Tim McGee then said, “I hope you’re feeling better? Not that you showed any discomfort during that amazing fight. Well done.”
Tim kept his jaw from dropping by main force of will. “Thank you, sir. This way.” He started for the stairs but was stopped by Tony.
“You go change. I have no intention of sitting next to you in a sweat. Go. I’ll see that the admiral gets where he belongs.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Tim gave himself the sniff test. “Gah! Shower time.”
Admiral McGee was joined by his staff, or the two he’d permitted to accompany him to NCIS. He actually had a staff of eight, people who guarded him, people who kept his schedule straight, people who kept him from being annoyed by people he didn’t want to talk to, and someone to keep them all on point. He wondered when he’d accumulated so many bodies.
The group made their way to the elevator and Gibbs smirked as he pointed out that there wasn’t enough room for all of them at once. NCIS was a smaller agency, and the architects and engineers hadn’t seen the need for a large elevator, so they only held eight.
Tony nodded, “You take the elevator, we’ll meet you.” He led the way to the stairs and opened the door, Remy, Dean, Cosmo, and Gibbs trotted through. It took them half the time it took the elevator to reach the floor.
Admiral McGee and Co. were startled to find the whole group waiting for them when the elevator doors opened. The fact that they weren’t even breathing hard after running up three flights of stairs wasn’t missed either.
.
Tim finished his shower in less than five minutes and got dressed, he was a bit pissed that all he had was old MarPat but just a bit. He’d intended to toss a pair of jeans and a t-shirt or henley into his ruck but had forgotten. He knew it wasn’t really allowed, but he wasn’t going out in the field and Vance had loosened up considerably. Tony said he’d finally gotten the stick out of his ass.
He didn’t bother waiting for the elevator; he took the stairs two at a time and was headed for his desk.
“Hey. Got that list input. And we put the admiral and crew in the small conference room. They can work on their own stuff until we need them. Okay?” Tony pointed to the main monitor on Tim’s desk with a grin.
“Thanks. Anything?” Tim sat down at his desk and started typing. No one was ever sure exactly what he did ―he’d gladly explain but the explanation was usually over their heads― but he got results. He said, “If there’s anything to build on, I’ll build you a mansion.”
Tim eyed the list and shook his head. “No idea what the hell. But ... financials on everyone across the board. Cross reference with any complaints about the department ... as head, Admiral McGee is responsible for all that. And ... that’s about it for starts. l didn’t find anything wrong with the financials of his team ... or him. And there’s been no reprimands or complaints filed against anyone. So that’s a dead end. But ... I wonder ... any unfounded complaints that might cause a problem...” he trailed off as he typed.
Tony shrugged. “I’m headed for coffee. Anyone?” He sniffed himself, realized that they were all still in PT and grumbled. “We all need showers and changes.”
Everyone put up their fair share, No one needed to tell him what they wanted, as they always wanted the same thing. “Got it. I’ll go ask the Admiral and his team if they want something. Everyone take a shower and change by two.”
Tony hurried through a quick shower and changed into blacks. He went to the conference room, knocked, then stuck his head in the door. Since he was at NCIS, working on NCIS investigations and not on duty, he didn’t need to salute. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I’m doing a coffee run. Anyone?” He waited while one of the aides wrote down what they wanted and collected the money. “I’ll be back in about twenty ... with luck.”
Admiral McGee cleared his throat. “Um ... I was wondering if it would be proper to invite the group to have lunch with me.”
Tony thought for a moment. “Might have something in. We’re not going anywhere much until we get a handle on this. Tim’s pissed, Gibbs is pissed, I’m pissed. In fact, everyone’s pretty much pissed as hell. I mean ... who the hell does this prick think he is, taking a shot at ... well, just about anyone in the Pod ... or Pod adjacent. That’s you or any member of family or close friends.”
John looked at Tony for a moment then said, “I see. Well, I’m still working on who it might be from my end of things. You find anything?”
“Tim’s runnin’ shit now. I’m Oscar Mike.” He took the paper and money from the aide and shut the door.
Meanwhile Tim was finding a few things of interest, mostly challenged reprimands and objections to negative reports on suppliers. Some of those were vitriolic to say the least. He sighed and rubbed his face. This was the part of investigation that made everyone crazy. It was nit-picky and boring as hell. He actually wished that Tony would pull one of his pranks. As it was, all he could do for now was run searches and read reports. And do his best not to go out of his mind. When he got his hands on this jackwad he was going to hurt him.
Tony returned with a tray of coffees followed by Dean with another. “You’ve got most of the bullpen’s order.” He took a cup and put it on his desk. “That’s mine, and the rest go into the conference room. Before I take it ... who wants lunch in the conference room with the Admiral and his bunch?” Everyone either nodded or raised a hand. “Okay. He’s gonna bring something in.”
Gibbs stopped him, saying, “Wait a sec. Be sure to let him know to order plenty. I’m down six pounds and Tim’s down eight. I know you’re down nearly eight. Ducky’s in a snit and flat out told me that, if we didn’t put on what we’ve lost, he’s gonna prescribe that nasty pudding stuff for all of us.”
Tony made a gagging noise and trotted off.
Again, he tapped on the door but didn’t wait to be invited in. “Excuse me. Coffee.” He passed out the drinks, easily remembering who ordered what. “Is everything okay?” The three men indicated that it was. “Good. So ... Everyone would be happy to eat with you. That would be ... Dean, Cos, Remy, Jimmy, Ducky, Tim, Gibbs, and me. Maybe Abby.” He grinned. “If she comes, don’t let her put you off. She’s smart and funny. And the only person in the Northern Hemisphere who can kill you, dispose of the body, and leave no forensic evidence. She’s a multiple Ph.D. and published.”
John glanced at his personal aide. “What the hell was that about?”
The aide shrugged. “In my experience, sir, people as smart as Dr. Sciuto and Special Agent McGee are usually a bit ... eccentric. Some people don’t take that well. Just be prepared to be inundated in geek-speak. And do not get snotty with her.”
“I see.” And John McGee did see. He trusted his aide to keep him from committing a faux pas in nearly any situation; he was ashamed to admit that he needed the man with his own son. “Okay. So ... what do we feed this group?”
The aide smirked, “A whole lot of something. I’ll just go out and take a quick poll.” He saluted, got a return, and left.
.
The aide, Captain Adam Jones, returned with a simple reply. “Anything you like as long as there’s a lot, not Subway, and hot. I think a good bet would be that Mom an’ Pop Italian place down by the river. It’s good, and they’ll send everything in good carry-out pans that we don’t have to worry will fold on us. Salad? Yeah, salad. Lots of garlic toast and ... what to drink?”
The other man shrugged, “I’d suggest letting them get their own. There’s machines down the back hall that have everything from sodas to coffee to juice and tea. Or I could go buy a selection?”
“Go buy a selection. Nothing fruity or artificially sweetened.”
“Yes, sir.” Master Chief Petty Officer Cliff saluted and left to bring back a borrowed half-barrel of ice filled with drinks. He’d managed to convince someone to open the machines for him. He’d found the half-barrel and sneaked into the back of the cafeteria to steal the ice.
“Here’s the drinks. I called in an order while I was dealing with this. I’ve got about fifteen minutes before the order is up, so I better put wheels under it.”
“Thank you, Master Chief.”
“You’re welcome, sir.” He left after saluting, trotting out the door to go get their food. He just hoped they’d ordered enough.
At the restaurant he was told that he’d need at least twice what he’d ordered the minute he mentioned DiNozzo’s name. The woman had laughed and said, “Oh, no. You feedin’ that mob a’ Mr Tony’s, you need a lot more food. I fix.” And with that she’d called into the back in Italian causing a rush and a bout of laughter. MCPO Cliff just breathed a sigh of relief. He was not happy in his job; the Admiral was an asshole of massive proportions, even his own son wasn’t that fond of him. When the chance presented itself, he was transferring, to anywhere.
He started gathering napkins and plastic flatware but was told, “Don’t bother. We’ll put in everything you need. You got help?”
“No, I don’t think I’ll need it. I came in a car.” He pointed out the window to the Navy issue Toyota.
“Okay, good. I’ll get one of the guys to help you out with all this. You better call back and have one of Mr Tony’s men help you in with it.”
“Thanks. I’ll just call ahead to make sure there’s someone waiting.” MCPO Cliff picked up as many bags as he was sure he could carry and the busboy picked up the rest. They made it to the car easily and put everything in the trunk. “Thanks.” Cliff handed the boy a five, then got into the car and drove away.
He made it through the check point without any trouble and parked near the elevator to make it easier to bring the food in.
Tony and Dean were waiting for him. He got out and handed out bags to each man, taking the last two himself. “There. I hope I ordered enough. There’s two casseroles for each man and triple garlic bread. That bag is all salads, two each.”
Tony sniffed appreciatively. “Did you get chicken farfalle with tomatoes, and that bean casserole with garlic and mozzarella?”
“Yeah. And Spinnetti Di Venezia. And baked ziti. And stuffed shells. And ... well, you’ll see. It’s not all lasagna.” He darted into the elevator and waited for the other two men to get in. “Punch the button will you?”
Dean pushed the button for the right floor.
They off-loaded and headed for the conference room. Gibbs joined them, taking a couple of bags off Dean’s hands. “Smells good.”
.
Chapter 2
Morning came, and Tim moaned miserably as he tried to get out of bed. Dean popped his head in the door. “Man, stay in bed.”
“No, man, I gotta go.”
Dean didn’t bother to ask where; this time of day, he knew. “Okay. Let me help you. A .25 to the chest is totally different from two high powers to the back. And we did discuss this when that Jones bitch shot you. You’re not allowed.” While he’d been scolding, Dean had carefully helped Tim stand up. “You got it now?”
Tim would deny whimpering like a kicked pup to his dying day, but he did and barely managed to get on his feet. Once he was up, he was okay. “Yeah, I got it. I’ll come down for ... food. What the hell time is it anyway?” He shuffled down the hall while Dean frankly hovered. “Man, go the fuck away.”
Dean snorted. “Not. I’ll stay out in the damn hall, I’m not about to offer to fuckin’ hold it for you, but I’m not takin’ a chance on you fallin’. AJ’d outright murder me if you fell.”
Tim, not that steady on his feet yet, just went to do his business, mumbling, “Geeze, mother hen much?”
Dean gave his bitching all the attention it deserved: none. “Shut up, jerk.”
“Won’t.” Tim finished what he needed to do and washed his hands and face. He felt a bit better but he was so stiff he could hardly move. “Any candy in here?”
“No. Doc moved it all to his room. He said we use too much. Remember? Cos had indigestion for three days, figured out that he was takin’ too much on an empty stomach, so he moved it.” Dean leaned against the door jam and watched as Tim attempted to shave. He finally took the razor from him. “Why’d you leave your razor in here?”
“Needed to charge it and all my damn sockets are full. I need to get a second power bar.” Tim gave the razor over with a grumble.
“Let’s go down to the kitchen. Cos is fixin’ brunch.” Dean pocketed the razor and wrapped an arm around Tim. “Come on.”
Tim accepted the help with good grace; no sense in grumbling when he knew he needed the help. They made it to the kitchen with a minimum of difficulty and Tim took his usual seat.
Cos eyed him for a moment then said, “Hungry? You better be. I cooked.” This last was said with some pride, everyone knew that Cos hated cooking, although he turned out decent food when he did.
“Yeah. Thanks. What’s on?” Tim accepted a couple of pills from Dean; Ducky had left several prescriptions with detailed instructions before he and Jimmy had gone in for the day. Tim swallowed them with water from a glass on the table.
“Well, poached eggs, toast, bacon, orange juice and ... not sure what else. What would you like?”
Tim eyed him with some confusion, well aware that Cos couldn’t poach an egg to save his life. “Poached? How’d you manage that?”
Cos proudly pointed to an egg-shaped thing on the counter. “Electric poacher. Gibbs got it for Christmas from some ... jerkwater someone. Brought it over special.”
“Oh. Hashbrowns?”
“On the skillet as we speak.” Cos tossed a handful of shredded potatoes into a pan. Hashbrowns were one of the things he did well.
Tim repeated one request, “What damn time is it?”
“Nearly 0930.” Tim opened his mouth to protest then shut it. Finally he said, “Feels like fuckin’ oh-dark-too-damn-early.”
“Needed the sleep, so shut it. Food’ll be on soon as those spuds are done.” Cos went back to his cooking; burnt potatoes not only tasted foul, they stank like anything and took forever to scrape out of the pan.
Tim picked up the razor that Dean had put on the table and finished shaving.
Five minutes later they were all sitting down to brunch. Tim eyed his plate then dug in. “Mmm. ’S goo’.” He ate everything on his plate and demanded more toast and coffee.
Dean and Cos just ate in companionable silence but when they were done eating, Dean went to put the dishes in the dishwasher while Cos told Tim to take off his t-shirt.
“Okay. Only ... I think I’m going to need some help. Can’t get my damn arms up.” Tim illustrated by raising his arm as high as it would go. “Ow.”
Cos shook his head. “You know the old punch line ... if it hurts, don’t do it. So ...” he helped Tim get his shirt off then said, “This’ll probably be cold but Ducky said.” And that was the final word. All the Pod loved Ducky so, if he said jump off a dock, they all went swimming.
Tim did shiver a bit as the salve was cold but, between the pills and the salve, he had to admit that he did feel better.
Dean nodded in the direction of the sitting room, as Ducky called it. “Go sit. We’ll take care of the kitchen. An’ don’t do anything. Just sit. I swear, you’ve gotten shot an’ you’re runnin’ around like AJ.”
Tim couldn’t help a bit of snark. “At least I’m just runnin’ computer searches instead of actually runnin’. Although I could use a nice run, I’m restless.”
“Fuck that shit. You’re sittin’ down ... take your laptop and work ... from here. Damnit.”
Tim just smirked at Dean then headed for the sitting room, making a detour to the library to get his laptop. He settled in a comfortable chair, although it wasn’t that comfortable for him with his bruised back. He mumbled, “Need a pillow or something,” then nearly jumped out of his skin when Cos walked in with a pillow in his hand. “Fuck! Bell, really.”
Cos blinked at him for a second then offered, “Don’t want the pillow?”
“Yes, I do. But I’m putting bells on all y’all, Jet and AJ especially. The bunch a’ ya could sneak up on a bat.” He leaned forward to let Cos put the pillow behind him. “Thanks.” He returned to his work, trying not to sulk too obviously.
AJ drifted by, snarked, “What the hell is it with you, probie? Some dingbat stalker shoots you, you get beat up, then shot again. I’m not lettin’ ya go t’ the head without an escort.” He walked on, shaking his head. He flopped down in an easy chair and started working on his tablet.
Tim grumbled, “Never thought ... I swear I don’t know who I offended, or how, but I’m sorry. Really, seriously sorry. So stop it already.” He blinked for a second then exclaimed indignantly, “Like you’re one to talk, jerk.”
Everyone nearby snickered at that then went back to what they were doing, studiously ignoring the hot glare Tim sent them. No one wanted to seriously piss Tim off; he was a god of cyberspace and could seriously mess you up with one finger.
Tim had set up his searches at NCIS to send the results to his laptop as well as his desk top at NCIS. He wasn’t expecting any results just yet but he was hopeful of something within a few hours.
As he was still hurting, although he wouldn’t admit it, Tim decided to head up to his room to rest a bit. He levered himself out of his chair, grabbed the pillow and limped toward the stairs. He was met at the bottom by Tony, who simply offered his arm. “Let me help. You’ll have a hell of a time by yourself.”
Tim took Tony’s arm and started up the stairs. “Thanks, AJ, don’t think I’d make it on my own.”
Tony let Tim lean on him as they got to the top of the stairs. “Hurtin’?”
“Yeah. I’ll manage. I wouldn’t turn my nose up at some candy.” Tim eased down onto his bed. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be back in a sec. Gremlin said to make sure you drank ... so ... glass a’ water, dose a’ meds comin’ right up.” he went into the bathroom to get the water and pills that Jimmy had left. “You hear about the new orders we all got?”
“No. What’s up?” Tim settled himself as comfortably as he could.
“We’re all signed up for a snatch and run survival thing ... whether we like it or not. Not a happy bunny.” Tony handed Tim the pills and waited while he crunched them between his teeth. “Water.” He handed Tim the glass. “With a bendy straw.”
Tim just downed the glass in a few swallows, letting the straw slurp the last drops.
Tony grunted, “Nice.”
“So ... what the hell is a snatch and run ... what you said?”
“They track you for a bit, and, if you bust ‘em, they just assign a new team. Then, when they’re sure they can get you with a minimum of notice from civilians, they snatch you right off the street and dump you in the wilds of ... somewhere. Your objective is to survive for ... usually 14 days with just whatever you have on you but that does include a ruck ... if you make a habit of carrying one. I hate ‘em. They’re a well known waste of time and resources and this will be the ... third?... one I’ve been on.” Tony made a face. “You grab some z’s.” He shut the door on a snickering Tim and stomped down the hall, muttering about ‘Common Dog Fucker’ not being that common and BOHICA.
Tim dropped off soon after and slept until Jimmy came to wake him for lunch. He groaned his way out of bed and allowed Jimmy to give him more pills before attempting a trip down to the kitchen.
Tim settled with Ducky to watch as Tony and Jimmy made lunch.
Tony asked, “Anyone have a craving for anything?”
Tim realized that he did. “Do you have everything to make Chicken Alfredo with peas and mushrooms?”
“I think so. We’ll have to have Angel Hair; we’re out of spaghetti.” Tony grinned as he was well aware that Tim didn’t care.
“Fine. Anything I need to do?”
Tony waved his hand, “No, just sit. Ducky’ll swat ya if you over-do.”
Ducky patted Tim’s arm and agreed, “That I will, young man, that I will. Just sit there. If it were a matter of life or death, for anyone, I wouldn’t say anything. Since it’s not, sit.”
While Tim was sulking, Tony was cooking. He set a pot of water on the stove, observing, “Water. And lots of it. I really don’t know why people cook pasta in an ounce of water. You need lots ... the pasta has to move around or it sticks together. And salt. You have to salt the water.” He tossed a handful of salt into the water then turned on the heat. “And don’t even think about starting a sauce until the water just begins to simmer. You can’t make either one wait on the other. So ...” he poured cream and milk into a sauce pan then added several crushed cloves of garlic. “I’ll let that infuse while I deal with other stuff.”
He showed that his knife skills were more comprehensive than just stabbing someone by chopping herbs, slicing mushrooms, and cutting chicken. He got the peas out of the freezer and dumped some into a bowl. “We haven’t used this bag as a cold pack, have we?”
Ducky answered that. “No, I marked that one with some tape. It has a big X on it.” He frowned for a moment. “We probably should throw that one away. It’s been used several times.”
“Probably should.” Jimmy fished around in the freezer, found the bag in question and just tossed it into the trash. “There. Not that anyone would be stupid enough to eat anything with a note ‘Do Not Eat.’ in Ducky’s handwriting.” He returned to tearing up lettuce and chopping things for salad.
Tony checked the pasta water. When he realized that it was just getting ready to boil, he turned on the cream/ milk mixture then got out a sauté pan. He tossed in the sliced mushrooms with a drizzle of olive oil and several grinds of pepper then set the pan back on the heat. The mushrooms were soon done and the water was boiling. He put the pasta in the water then gave the mushrooms a quick stir to keep them from scorching. The cream was now simmering so he dipped out the garlic and tossed it. He started adding parmesan cheese to the hot cream, stirring to keep it from lumping. A quick check of the pasta showed that it was about two minutes from being done so he tossed the frozen peas into the water which slowed the cooking down to a bit more than three minutes. He returned to his sauce and added the Romano cheese and continued stirring; as soon as the cheese was all melted he dumped the mushrooms into it and continued stirring. Another check made sure the pasta was done; he drained it, dumped it back into the pot and poured the cheese sauce over it, then tossed in the chicken. A quick stir, a grind of pepper, and it was done. He put it all on a huge platter, sprinkled it with more parmesan cheese and pepper.
“There. Done.” He brought the platter to the table with a smile.
While Tony had been doing the pasta, Jimmy hadn’t been idle. He’d made a huge loaf of garlic toast. This was done in a different way. He buttered the thick slices of bread with garlic butter then toasted them on a grill. It was better than the usual way of half slicing Italian bread, stuffing garlic and butter between the slices and putting that in the oven. That made soft, rather soggy (but delicious) bread with a crunchy crust. This made toasted, crunchy all over slices… and you didn’t have to turn on the oven.
Jimmy had also finished his salad which was made of iceberg lettuce, spring greens, spinach, cherry tomato halves, and cucumber mixed with kalamata olives, ripe goat cheese, and balsamic dressing.
Ducky nodded, then turned to take a wine bottle from the sideboard. “Here we go. A nice semi-sweet wine. I’d prefer something a bit more tart, but the Alfredo sauce doesn’t stand up to it. So ...” He poured a measure into everyone’s glass, passing them as he did so. “There we are.”
Everyone helped themselves to a portion of the main, some salad, and a slice of bread.
Tim forked up a bite and chewed with appreciation. “Mmmm. So good.” He reached for his glass then yelped, “Hey! Mine! You’ve got your own.”
Jimmy, who was the culprit, replied, “Forgot. You’re on pain meds and antibiotics. No alcohol of any kind. Sorry. But ...” he poured half the wine into his glass. “All the more for us.” he smirked at Tim, then handed the glass to Tony.
Tim scowled, “Jerk.”
Ducky watched the by-play with some amusement. “I am sorry, my dear boy. I completely forgot. AJ, do not smirk at Tim ... nor you, Jimmy.”
Jimmy gave Ducky a ‘who me?’ look then went back to his food. “Mmm. AJ, you’ve out done yourself. So good.”
Tim agreed. “Yeah. Really good. And the garlic toast is good too. Thanks.”
They took their time as they ate, keeping the conversation low key. Tim tried to keep up but he was drooping within the hour.
“Damnit, AJ, I don’t know how you do it. I’m worn out again.”
Tony shrugged. “I’m more used to it than you are. And I usually have to push through because we’re in it deep. That’s why I crash so hard. Go take a nap.”
Tim frowned, “I’m all slept out. I think I’ll just veg in front of my TV. Maybe fall asleep.” He got up and headed back upstairs.
Tony watched him limp away for a moment, “Need any help?”
“Don’t think so. I’m going to have trouble with the stairs but I’m not coming back down until breakfast. I’ll probably feel a lot better then.” He went on his way, carefully navigating the stairs, and lay down on his bed to watch something mindless on TV until he fell back asleep.
Tony and Jimmy made quick work of cleaning up the kitchen while Ducky loaded the dish washer. He shut the door and turned it on with a satisfied expression then said, “Now ... a nice cup of tea and I’m for my quarters as well. The excitement of the day is catching up with me. I have a very nice journal that I’ve been meaning to read.”
Jimmy agreed with that sentiment. “Me too. Tea and a journal for me as well. Finding out that any of the Pod have been injured wears on my nerves something awful. I’ll start the kettle.”
But he didn’t need to as Tony had started it while he was cleaning. “It’s just about to boil. I’ve got a couple of calls to make, then I’d like a cup too. Okay?”
“Sure. I’ll just use the bigger pot and add a couple of extra spoons of leaves. Oolong?”
“Fine. That one that tastes of apricots is nice.”
“Got it. Shoo ... make your calls.” Jimmy waved a hand at Tony, who laughed and trotted out to check on Tim and make calls to a few people he knew who kept an eye on the sort of person who might have taken a pot shot at John.
Tony called a man who knew a man who knew things. He got the information that there was no formal hit out on the admiral, which was good; he was also told that no one had heard anything about an outside hit. Tony asked if the target could have been Tim and was told no. He thanked his informant, then leaned back to think things over again. He finally realized that they didn’t know enough and gave up to go watch something mindless and stupid on his TV.
Supper turned out to be sandwiches and soup. Tim came down and admitted that he felt a lot better, not so stiff and the bruises were already beginning to turn.
.
Gibbs called a house meeting after supper then settled at the table to wait for the rest of the house to show.
It wasn’t long before Dean, Cos, and Remy showed up; after all, when Gibbs used his ‘Gunny voice’, half the neighborhood knew someone was wanted.
“Okay. Here’s what we got. Someone took a pot shot, not callin’ that a snipe, seriously. Anyway ... took a shot at Tim’s dad. Tim took the hit ... two of ‘em. From the ballistics and whatnot we’re sure that the ol’ man was the target. I’ll have to let Tim know soon, but I want him to rest tonight. The admiral is making a list of anyone he thinks might either take a shot or pay for one. But my gut is tellin’ me our shooter won’t be on the list. So ... ideas.” Gibbs sat back to sip his coffee while everyone chewed on that.
After a few minutes of silent thought Remy offered, “Maybe it’s someone he demoted? Can he even do dat?”
Cos shrugged. “He’s an admiral, he can. But ... if he did, he probably transferred ‘em too. So ... but even if they were transferred they could go UA and come back ... if they were pissed enough.”
Dean agreed with that but offered, “Might also be someone he ... he’s in acquisitions?” Gibbs nodded. “So ... what if it’s not what he did ... but something he didn’t do? Like ... turned down a bid?”
Gibbs brightened at that. “Or didn’t approve a renew on a contract. Some providers seem to think that they can cut corners, short count and all that, then they get pissed when someone calls ‘em on it. We need Tim to run more searches. I’ll get him on that in the morning.” He looked around at the skeptical faces. “What? You think he’s gonna stay home? Think again.”
Everyone agreed that Tim would be on the job in the morning, no matter what Ducky said.
.
The next morning proved that Tim was made of stern stuff indeed. He was up at his usual time and ready to run with the pod. He did refuse to carry a ruck but no one called him on it. One, he didn’t have a new one yet, and two, his back was beginning to turn those interesting shades of brown and green that old bruises do.
Tony eyed him, Remy poked his shoulder. All the other guys did their own version of a health check. Ducky did a real one.
When he finally finished, he just nodded then said, “Well, do what you feel like doing. Avoid excessive pressure on those bruises. Take analgesics as needed. Blasted young whippersnapper.” His smiled was kindly. “Go.”
Tim trotted out to join the others.
As they ran, Tim got updated on the case.
Gibbs started out. “Vance has said that you’re too close to the primary, but you can work the case unless you ... do something stupid. Not his words ... mine. There gonna be problems?”
“No. Father and I have a ... working relationship. We avoid each other as much as possible. Get along by nearly ignoring each other at family things. And Penny is keeping her nose out of it. She knows hopeless when she sees it. So ... My searches show anything?”
Tony snorted. “The jackwad TDA did something to your desktop while no one was watching him. We can’t even get the damn screen saver to come on. I hope he didn’t crash everything.”
Tim snarled, “Well, if he has, I’m gonna fuckin’ beat him like a drum. If I’ve told everyone once, I’ve told ‘em a hundred damn times. Do. Not. Mess. With. My. Computer. Damnit, I bet he tried to stop the run because you can’t check email or get on the net with ‘em runnin’. That’s why I have two towers under my desk. One for search management and the other for everyday business. You have to toggle between ‘em. And it’s not that damn hard, just fuckin’ click on the damn icon.”
Tim spent the rest of the run trying to think of what the TDA could have done to his systems, how much trouble it was going to be to fix it, and whether he could lure the idiot onto the mats with him later.
When they got back to Mallard Manor the whole group declared themselves not fit for company so Gibbs and his group headed back to GHQ to clean up for work. Tim groaned his way into the hottest shower he could tolerate.
After his shower Tim felt a lot better; the run had loosened up stiff muscles and a last dose of candy finished the job. He dressed in old MarPat as he hated Digital Blues with a passion. He disdainfully called them rotten blueberries and was quite pleased that Vance had forbidden wearing them on duty.
Tony yelled up the stairs. “Anyone not down in three drives themselves ... unless I decide you should run.”
The clatter of Jimmy and Tim nearly falling down the stairs made a much more dignified Ducky laugh. He shook his head, saying, “I do hope I’m not included in that, AJ.”
Tony replied, “Nope. You’re home free. We’ll always wait on you. But those two ... Come on, let’s put a wheel under this bitch.”
Ducky called shotgun, even though he didn’t need to. Jimmy and Tim took second seat, squabbling amiably about where to put their rucks.
They settled in and listened to Ducky expound on the origin of the High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle, or HMMWV-A2, which was what they were in. He was, however, indignantly corrected that this was not a Hummer. That was what the ‘crippled’ civilian version was. They referred to it as an Arnie Special.
Ducky apologized easily. “Well, excuse my ignorance ... as I was saying.” He continued his discourse until they reached the Yard.
The two Marines on the gate asked after Tim, then grinned at him when he announced, “I’m fine. I just got shot in the damn back twice by some fucked up jackwad that can’t shoot worth shit. My poor ruck will never be the same. Nor my Samsung tablet, nor my special laptop. I swear I’m gonna stock up on shells and parts and build my own.”
This led to a round of laughter and teasing while they ran the mirrors under the Humvee and had a quick look into the storage. One of the Marines, the new, junior, member, started to open a locker and, when he was stymied by the seal, demanded that Tony open it.
Tony refused easily, simply saying, “It’s way above your pay grade. If you have a problem, call your CO and we’ll deal.”
The man did call his CO and got a short, “He’s a damn SEAL. You really wanna fuck around with his shit ... it’s your funeral. My official advice is ... stay the fuck out of it.” The sharp click told the Corporal that he’d avoided an ass chewing by a hair. He returned to wave the Humvee through the barricade. His partner had spent the time trading gossip with the group.
When they parked it was always a bit problematical as the huge vehicle took up two spaces; if it wasn’t parked on the yellow line, you couldn’t get the doors open. That usually pissed someone off, and dealing with that put Tony in a bad mood. This time, Tim just eyed the officious, chubby, suit-wearing nuisance and snarled, “Look. I’m in a really, really bad mood. You’ve got two choices ... Go the fuck away ... or meet me in the gym in five. What’ll it be?”
The man sputtered for a moment then scurried away, calling over his shoulder, “We’ll just see about that. I’m going direct to the Director ... you have no idea who I am.”
Tony yelled after him, “And we don’t give a fuck either.”
They checked in, with serious questions from the guards as to Tim’s health. He announced, “I’m fine. Really. Just really sore. Spread the word. And ... when I find out who crashed what ... I’m gonna fuck ‘em up. Bruised back or no.” And with that, he headed for his desk. Just in time to keep the TDA from unplugging a cable that had to remain plugged into the system. He took a deep breath and revealed his temper. “Excuse me? What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing to my damn desk?” He reached out, grabbed the man by the collar of his jacket, and yanked him out from under the desk. “If you’ve unplugged the system I’m gonna kill you.”
“It’s just some odd wire. I need the jack for my phone charger.” The man, who rejoiced in the name of John Jones, gave the wire a tentative tug.
“If you unplug anything ... I’ll unplug you. Drop it.” Tim gave the man a shake.
John dropped the wire with a grimace. “You don’t have to be so rough.”
“I do. You were told not to use my desk. Not to mess with my computers. Not to unplug anything. And not to aggravate Gibbs. Right?” Tim glowered, making Tony beam at him proudly.
“Well ... yeah ... but?” Agent Jones shrugged irritably.
“So ... just so there’s no confusion,” he pointed, “That’s my desk. Those are my computers. You’ve unplugged at least one thing you shouldn’t have, and tried to actually unplug the master cable which would actually fry your charger ... if you could get it plugged in there. And Gibbs looks like he’s about to have a stroke.” He glowered at Gibbs who held up his hand in a ‘not me’ gesture and tried, unsuccessfully, to smother his snicker fit. “Whose idiot idea was this anyway?”
Leon Vance had been warned that Tim was having a snit, so he had come down to see what was what. “Um ... that would be me.” He waited for Tim to cringe but was disappointed.
“Okay. So ... why, in your superior position, did you make the idiot decision to lumber us with ... that?” His expression was a combination of disgust and annoyance with a touch of urge to kill.
“Um ... I thought it would be a good idea for failing agents to learn from the best?” Vance was now reconsidering his decision.
“Well, try again. You cannot make a sword out of a butter knife… no matter how hard you try. You’ll only ruin the knife and frustrate yourself. So ... do something intelligent with him while I fix what he’s broken. Thankyouverymuch.” And with that, he lowered himself carefully onto the floor to see what cables had been intentionally unplugged and what had been kicked loose by their unhelpful help.
Tony gave Vance a commiserating look. “You have been owned, dude. Seriously owned.”
“I have.” Vance turned his sharp gaze to Jones and jerked his head. “With me.” And Jones was gone, never to be seen again. And Vance quit trying to save unsaveable agents by assigning them to any of the major teams, a thing which made those teams extremely happy.
Tim spent several minutes groveling around under his desk. When he crawled out he pointedly informed Gibbs, “The next time we have ... help, make sure they do not sit at my fuckin’ desk. There’s a Foxtrot Tango of extra cables and wires. I know where they are, so I don’t fuckin’ disconnect shit by accident. Everyone else seems to just kick shit until it’s out of their way ... never mind that they usually manage to unplug something crucial.”
Gibbs nodded. “I know. I told that fucktard what desk to sit at, but every time I left for more than three fuckin’ seconds, he was at your damn desk. As far as I’m concerned ... if it’s good enough for Dean or Cos, it’s good enough for some near useless fuckwad TDA. So ... what did he screw up?”
Tim settled down to his computers to see what was actually going on. “Okay ... he kicked the secondary display loose ... but he didn’t disconnect the secondary tower from the local net. The main system is okay. Just no damn display. How the hell he managed to disconnect all the monitors from their ... Never mind ... you’re not interested and it’s pissin’ me off. So ... I got shit plugged back in and the searches are all done. Let me see what’s going on with that ... I’ll be ready to tell you what’s goin’ on in ten.”
The whole Pod watched while Tim worked his magic. Dean mumbled, “And what that disaster on two feet did to my desk is a crime. I’m gonna mess him up if I ever see him again.” He and Cosmo both went to fix their desks. Jimmy had disappeared down to the Morgue with Ducky the second they’d arrived. And Tony was busy with things at his desk, mostly trying to catch up with the bale of paper work he had to do as SFA. He did admit that the little trick Tim had pulled with the internal programming for a lot of the forms had cut it down by about a third. No one seemed to be willing to try to change it, although a few had complained about sharing forms; Vance had told them to shut up in no uncertain terms, realizing the savings in time created a nice cut in overtime hours.
So Tim collated a ton of data and found ― nothing. He presented what little data he had, which was: the Admiral hadn’t pissed off a soul. At least no one that had the where-with-all to pay for a hit, even an inept one. So they were back to square one again. No one was happy.
Gibbs had Tony send an email requesting the Admiral get his lists in ASAP. Tony mumbled something about ‘insubordination’ and ‘nagging a friggin’ admiral’, but sent it.
A few minutes later Tim stretched and moaned. “Man, I need to get up an’ move around. I’m still stiff as a board.”
Tony nodded. “We had a good run. You want to go down to the gym and do some yoga?”
“Yeah. Might be just the thing. Who’s with?” Tim stood up followed by Dean and Cos.
Tony dialed Jimmy and asked if he wanted to come; he was a bit surprised when Abby’s voice announced, “Me too, please.”
“Sure, Abs, anything you like. Just be ready to keep up ... no shame if you have to drop out, though.”
“Okay. Meet in the gym in a few.”
It didn’t take long for everyone to get to the gym and dress out. Abby took the longest, only because she had to run out to her car to get her bag.
Tony eyed the group. “Okay, we’re gonna take it a bit easy, seein’ as how Digimon just got himself shot. So ... Sun Salutation.” And with that he started calling the asanas.
Abby, ever the chatter box, started talking to Dean who was on her right. He just ignored her as he wasn’t a talker during yoga; he preferred to find a quiet space in his head and try to stop his mental noise. She quickly gave up on him, realizing that she was bothering him. She then tried Jimmy on her other side.
Jimmy eyed her from his Downward Dog pose, then decided. “Abby, don’t chatter. We’re all trying to find a quiet space. No one wants to listen to your opinion of ... whatever new group this is. Later ... maybe.”
Abby wondered if she should be insulted and decided to pout. Not that it did her much good. No one even noticed.
Since Tim was still on the injured list, Tony took it easy on them, only leading them through an hour of Iyengar instead of Bikram. Then he eased into a few stretches. After that he announced, “Savasana.” He waited while everyone got comfortable. “Okay ... five minutes.”
Tony and Gibbs were both aware that Abby had the patience of a two-year-old. Tony was of the opinion that she had to be so patient with her tests that she ran out of it. Gibbs thought that she’d just never been taught patience as her parents tried to make up for the fact that they were deaf by letting her run wild. They agreed that she had to learn some or she was going to run afoul of the wrong person at the wrong time.
“Abby. Be still. Let your busy brain calm down.”
Abby settled back with a huff. She knew that squirming all around wasn’t doing the others any good, but she wanted to be up and doing. Now.
Gibbs’ warning, “Abby,” settled her for a few moments.
Someone on the other side of the gym snickered and said, just loud enough, “Well, I never thought I’d see anyone get that squint to shut up for more than three seconds.”
Tim rolled over and eyed the speaker with considerable displeasure. “I’m sure I didn’t hear you right. One, Abby is a very exceptional forensic scientist; therefore, her brain is hyper active. Two ...” he thought for a moment. “Well, there is no two. Jerk.”
“Yeah? And you’re just Gibbs’ nerd.”
Tim snorted, “I’m not. I’ll have you know that I’m a geek. One definition of a geek is a knowledgeable person who makes six to eight figures doing something they like. You, on the other hand, are an ignorant, knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing, cretinous twat-waffle and a total waste of resources.”
Tony muttered, “No, Timmy, don’t hold back, tell us how you really feel.”
As you might suspect, that didn’t go down well with the loud mouth. “Yeah, well, we’ll just see about that.”
Tim stretched a bit, making muscles ripple. “Okay ... fine ... mats, now.” He walked onto the mats and waited. “Well? You comin’? And what the hell is your name? I can’t keep thinking of you as dumbass.”
Tony eyed Gibbs, who nodded. Both men knew that there was no convincing Tim to back down once he got started, but Tony needed to be reassured that Tim could handle this. There would be no question except that he was still recovering. Gibbs was of the opinion that Tim could handle this, so was Tony, so they all just gathered around to see the beat down.
Abby bit her lip but kept silent too. There was no way she was going to embarrass Tim, but she was worried.
Remy patted her on the arm. “No worry, chéri, he be fine.” Abby nodded, then turned to watch.
Special Agent Sam French turned out to be one of those weedy wanna-be sorts who spent way too much time trying to prove that they were manly men. The kind that got involved in a pissing contest at the drop of an insult.
While all the insults and posturing were going on, no one noticed a man come into the gym from a side door. He was accompanied by a couple of younger men who seemed to be some sort of bodyguards or personal assistants. They were all in Service Dress Blues, the Navy version of a business suit. They eased into the group around the mats to watch.
Tim stepped onto the mat. “Okay, Sammy, let’s do this.”
“Don’t call me Sammy.” Sam kicked off his sneakers and stepped onto the mat.
“I’ll call you anything I like.” Tim didn’t look like he really cared one way or the other what Sam liked or didn’t. He looked like he was going to kick ass, fuck taking names.
Tony nudged Gibbs. “Over there.” He nodded in the direction of the three strangers, or rather, two strangers and Tim’s father.
Gibbs eyed the men for a moment then shrugged, “He’s gonna get an eyeful. Serve him right.” He turned back to the mat. “You gonna referee?”
Tony shook his head. “Oh, hell no. Not gettin’ between Digimon and his prey. I’ll go keep Abby from having a stroke.” He snickered softly as he eased through the crowd to Abby’s side.
Gibbs eyed both men and decided to keep out of it too. If it was needed, he’d step in.
Tim was just standing in the middle of the mat waiting for Sam to do something beside run his mouth.
He finally said, “You gonna actually fuckn’ do something, or just run your damn ignorant mouth? I’m not makin’ the first move.”
It seemed that Sam was just waiting for an invitation. He took a stupid swing at Tim, one of those wild, round house head shots that look so neat on TV, but will get your ass kicked in real life.
In this case, Tim grabbed the passing fist, twisted and used a shoulder throw to dump Sam on his ass. He stepped back to see if the guy would use his brain and give up. But, he evidently went by the ‘get a bigger hammer’ rule of failure. Instead of demonstrating common sense and backing off, he scrambled to his feet and tried a sloppy front heel kick. Tim just stepped back and let him find out that launching a kick that way only resulted in landing on his ass again. He waited until Sam was back on his feet again, then used a low spinning sweep kick to drop him on his ass for the third, and final, time. Tim flipped Sam onto his stomach and finished the fight by turning his hands back to back and gripping his middle fingers. “Give.”
“I yield.” Sam grumbled his way to his feet, bowed with ill grace and left, red-faced and embarrassed.
“Well. Great sport ... not.”
There was some cheering from the audience but Abby was ecstatic, yelling, “Way ta go, Timmy!” and bouncing around like a rabbit on crack.
Tim flopped down on a bench and grumbled, “Idiot.”
Remy patted him on the shoulder and offered, “Done good, homme. No fuss, no muss. Good form. An’ ... ‘er come yo papa.”
Tim glanced up from looking for a towel. “Father.” He nodded then looked over his shoulder to take the towel Dean offered. “Thanks, man.”
“You ... I’m very proud of you. That was some display of skills.”
Tim eyed him for a moment then said, “Do you have that list? I need to get it into the system and do my magic.”
John McGee handed a flash drive to Tim McGee then said, “I hope you’re feeling better? Not that you showed any discomfort during that amazing fight. Well done.”
Tim kept his jaw from dropping by main force of will. “Thank you, sir. This way.” He started for the stairs but was stopped by Tony.
“You go change. I have no intention of sitting next to you in a sweat. Go. I’ll see that the admiral gets where he belongs.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Tim gave himself the sniff test. “Gah! Shower time.”
Admiral McGee was joined by his staff, or the two he’d permitted to accompany him to NCIS. He actually had a staff of eight, people who guarded him, people who kept his schedule straight, people who kept him from being annoyed by people he didn’t want to talk to, and someone to keep them all on point. He wondered when he’d accumulated so many bodies.
The group made their way to the elevator and Gibbs smirked as he pointed out that there wasn’t enough room for all of them at once. NCIS was a smaller agency, and the architects and engineers hadn’t seen the need for a large elevator, so they only held eight.
Tony nodded, “You take the elevator, we’ll meet you.” He led the way to the stairs and opened the door, Remy, Dean, Cosmo, and Gibbs trotted through. It took them half the time it took the elevator to reach the floor.
Admiral McGee and Co. were startled to find the whole group waiting for them when the elevator doors opened. The fact that they weren’t even breathing hard after running up three flights of stairs wasn’t missed either.
.
Tim finished his shower in less than five minutes and got dressed, he was a bit pissed that all he had was old MarPat but just a bit. He’d intended to toss a pair of jeans and a t-shirt or henley into his ruck but had forgotten. He knew it wasn’t really allowed, but he wasn’t going out in the field and Vance had loosened up considerably. Tony said he’d finally gotten the stick out of his ass.
He didn’t bother waiting for the elevator; he took the stairs two at a time and was headed for his desk.
“Hey. Got that list input. And we put the admiral and crew in the small conference room. They can work on their own stuff until we need them. Okay?” Tony pointed to the main monitor on Tim’s desk with a grin.
“Thanks. Anything?” Tim sat down at his desk and started typing. No one was ever sure exactly what he did ―he’d gladly explain but the explanation was usually over their heads― but he got results. He said, “If there’s anything to build on, I’ll build you a mansion.”
Tim eyed the list and shook his head. “No idea what the hell. But ... financials on everyone across the board. Cross reference with any complaints about the department ... as head, Admiral McGee is responsible for all that. And ... that’s about it for starts. l didn’t find anything wrong with the financials of his team ... or him. And there’s been no reprimands or complaints filed against anyone. So that’s a dead end. But ... I wonder ... any unfounded complaints that might cause a problem...” he trailed off as he typed.
Tony shrugged. “I’m headed for coffee. Anyone?” He sniffed himself, realized that they were all still in PT and grumbled. “We all need showers and changes.”
Everyone put up their fair share, No one needed to tell him what they wanted, as they always wanted the same thing. “Got it. I’ll go ask the Admiral and his team if they want something. Everyone take a shower and change by two.”
Tony hurried through a quick shower and changed into blacks. He went to the conference room, knocked, then stuck his head in the door. Since he was at NCIS, working on NCIS investigations and not on duty, he didn’t need to salute. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I’m doing a coffee run. Anyone?” He waited while one of the aides wrote down what they wanted and collected the money. “I’ll be back in about twenty ... with luck.”
Admiral McGee cleared his throat. “Um ... I was wondering if it would be proper to invite the group to have lunch with me.”
Tony thought for a moment. “Might have something in. We’re not going anywhere much until we get a handle on this. Tim’s pissed, Gibbs is pissed, I’m pissed. In fact, everyone’s pretty much pissed as hell. I mean ... who the hell does this prick think he is, taking a shot at ... well, just about anyone in the Pod ... or Pod adjacent. That’s you or any member of family or close friends.”
John looked at Tony for a moment then said, “I see. Well, I’m still working on who it might be from my end of things. You find anything?”
“Tim’s runnin’ shit now. I’m Oscar Mike.” He took the paper and money from the aide and shut the door.
Meanwhile Tim was finding a few things of interest, mostly challenged reprimands and objections to negative reports on suppliers. Some of those were vitriolic to say the least. He sighed and rubbed his face. This was the part of investigation that made everyone crazy. It was nit-picky and boring as hell. He actually wished that Tony would pull one of his pranks. As it was, all he could do for now was run searches and read reports. And do his best not to go out of his mind. When he got his hands on this jackwad he was going to hurt him.
Tony returned with a tray of coffees followed by Dean with another. “You’ve got most of the bullpen’s order.” He took a cup and put it on his desk. “That’s mine, and the rest go into the conference room. Before I take it ... who wants lunch in the conference room with the Admiral and his bunch?” Everyone either nodded or raised a hand. “Okay. He’s gonna bring something in.”
Gibbs stopped him, saying, “Wait a sec. Be sure to let him know to order plenty. I’m down six pounds and Tim’s down eight. I know you’re down nearly eight. Ducky’s in a snit and flat out told me that, if we didn’t put on what we’ve lost, he’s gonna prescribe that nasty pudding stuff for all of us.”
Tony made a gagging noise and trotted off.
Again, he tapped on the door but didn’t wait to be invited in. “Excuse me. Coffee.” He passed out the drinks, easily remembering who ordered what. “Is everything okay?” The three men indicated that it was. “Good. So ... Everyone would be happy to eat with you. That would be ... Dean, Cos, Remy, Jimmy, Ducky, Tim, Gibbs, and me. Maybe Abby.” He grinned. “If she comes, don’t let her put you off. She’s smart and funny. And the only person in the Northern Hemisphere who can kill you, dispose of the body, and leave no forensic evidence. She’s a multiple Ph.D. and published.”
John glanced at his personal aide. “What the hell was that about?”
The aide shrugged. “In my experience, sir, people as smart as Dr. Sciuto and Special Agent McGee are usually a bit ... eccentric. Some people don’t take that well. Just be prepared to be inundated in geek-speak. And do not get snotty with her.”
“I see.” And John McGee did see. He trusted his aide to keep him from committing a faux pas in nearly any situation; he was ashamed to admit that he needed the man with his own son. “Okay. So ... what do we feed this group?”
The aide smirked, “A whole lot of something. I’ll just go out and take a quick poll.” He saluted, got a return, and left.
.
The aide, Captain Adam Jones, returned with a simple reply. “Anything you like as long as there’s a lot, not Subway, and hot. I think a good bet would be that Mom an’ Pop Italian place down by the river. It’s good, and they’ll send everything in good carry-out pans that we don’t have to worry will fold on us. Salad? Yeah, salad. Lots of garlic toast and ... what to drink?”
The other man shrugged, “I’d suggest letting them get their own. There’s machines down the back hall that have everything from sodas to coffee to juice and tea. Or I could go buy a selection?”
“Go buy a selection. Nothing fruity or artificially sweetened.”
“Yes, sir.” Master Chief Petty Officer Cliff saluted and left to bring back a borrowed half-barrel of ice filled with drinks. He’d managed to convince someone to open the machines for him. He’d found the half-barrel and sneaked into the back of the cafeteria to steal the ice.
“Here’s the drinks. I called in an order while I was dealing with this. I’ve got about fifteen minutes before the order is up, so I better put wheels under it.”
“Thank you, Master Chief.”
“You’re welcome, sir.” He left after saluting, trotting out the door to go get their food. He just hoped they’d ordered enough.
At the restaurant he was told that he’d need at least twice what he’d ordered the minute he mentioned DiNozzo’s name. The woman had laughed and said, “Oh, no. You feedin’ that mob a’ Mr Tony’s, you need a lot more food. I fix.” And with that she’d called into the back in Italian causing a rush and a bout of laughter. MCPO Cliff just breathed a sigh of relief. He was not happy in his job; the Admiral was an asshole of massive proportions, even his own son wasn’t that fond of him. When the chance presented itself, he was transferring, to anywhere.
He started gathering napkins and plastic flatware but was told, “Don’t bother. We’ll put in everything you need. You got help?”
“No, I don’t think I’ll need it. I came in a car.” He pointed out the window to the Navy issue Toyota.
“Okay, good. I’ll get one of the guys to help you out with all this. You better call back and have one of Mr Tony’s men help you in with it.”
“Thanks. I’ll just call ahead to make sure there’s someone waiting.” MCPO Cliff picked up as many bags as he was sure he could carry and the busboy picked up the rest. They made it to the car easily and put everything in the trunk. “Thanks.” Cliff handed the boy a five, then got into the car and drove away.
He made it through the check point without any trouble and parked near the elevator to make it easier to bring the food in.
Tony and Dean were waiting for him. He got out and handed out bags to each man, taking the last two himself. “There. I hope I ordered enough. There’s two casseroles for each man and triple garlic bread. That bag is all salads, two each.”
Tony sniffed appreciatively. “Did you get chicken farfalle with tomatoes, and that bean casserole with garlic and mozzarella?”
“Yeah. And Spinnetti Di Venezia. And baked ziti. And stuffed shells. And ... well, you’ll see. It’s not all lasagna.” He darted into the elevator and waited for the other two men to get in. “Punch the button will you?”
Dean pushed the button for the right floor.
They off-loaded and headed for the conference room. Gibbs joined them, taking a couple of bags off Dean’s hands. “Smells good.”
.