monkeybard: (autumn blessings)
monkeybard ([personal profile] monkeybard) wrote2011-10-18 09:29 am

A Good Day (NCIS) - Oct Reader Prompt Fic #2

Title: A Good Day
Author: MonkeyBard
Universe: NCIS
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Length: 1378
Reader prompt: We have Gibbs (the ex marine), Ziva (the ex Mossad agent) and Tony (the ex cop)....all pretty kick ass in their own right, but I would love to see a story where it's the resident nerd, McGee, who saves the day. And not necessarily by using his brains. Bonus points if you can work in a kiss, a reference to Shakespeare and a dill pickle. ;)
Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] ryalin1 for giving me an excuse to visit a show I love but have never ficced before! Sorry I couldn't work in the kiss, but I hope I still get partial credit for the dill pickle and an obscure Shakespearean reference.
Author's Note: This falls somewhere between "Cover Story" and "Judgment Day, Part 1" (aka, after the team discovers Tim's famous alter ego, Thom E. Gemcity, and before the finale of Season 5). I couldn't do a whole casefic like I wanted, but here at least is act four and the epilogue. Unbeta'd, so any weirdness and/or errors are my own.
Disclaimer: Not mine, blah, blah, woof, woof, etc.


Bagged and tagged. It was a morbid thought and, fortunately, only half-accurate. Tim pushed it away and surveyed the situation with as impassive an eye as he could considering his teammates' current state--on the floor, hands bound behind their backs, with canvas bags over their heads. They looked battered but not nearly as badly as he'd feared, with the exception of Tony's ankle. It had been roughly splinted with scrap metal and duct tape. There was no way Tony was getting out on foot, and Tim knew neither of the others would have abandoned him even had the opportunity to escape arisen.

Two guards stood at the heavy metal door, one on this side, one on the other. Maurier, the ring-leader, faced the captives, his Beretta out and waving more randomly than Tim liked. Finally, there was Philippe Tautou, Maurier's right-hand and the man who stood to lose the most when his boss figured out Tautou had betrayed him to NCIS. That was how Tim had managed to infiltrate the human-trafficking organization in the first place, and why he stood here now.

"I have no vice of mercy in me," Maurier said, continuing his monologue in properly villainous fashion. Had this been television, Tim would have laughed at the man's overly dramatic flair. As it was, he stifled the urge to punch him for being so pretentious when the circumstances were so grim. Who quoted Troilus and Cressida, for Pete's sake? Poser.

Gibbs spoke then, his gruff voice muffled by the bag. Tim was relieved to hear him, and to see Tony shift slightly against the cold concrete floor of the warehouse. The two of them, at least, were awake and alert. Ziva made neither movement nor sound, but that didn't mean anything. He'd seen her hold perfectly still for long periods of time, waiting, alert, ready to respond on a split-second's order.

He only wished he could tell them all that he was there, that back-up was on its way and should arrive any minute. But that was impossible. He couldn't alert them to his presence without blowing his cover.

Why did Gibbs have to egg Maurier on like that? But that was Gibbs. Hell, that was Tony, too. And Ziva, when the occasion warranted it. Tim's gaze flickered to the Mossad liaison officer and he thought he saw her move. Was it his imagination? Wishful thinking on his part? Maybe it was an involuntary twitch. Or had she found some way to free herself and was simply biding her time until she could take her captor by surprise?

Maurier leveled his gun at Gibbs, fury in his eyes. The moment was soon; Tim could feel it. Back-up or no, this was about to go down. His eyes flashed to Tautou. The man looked nervous but resolute. Tim nodded his head ever so slightly and shot a quick glance at the guard, a question in his eyes. Tautou gave a single tight nod in reply.

Tony was into the act now. Goading Maurier. His voice was tight with pain, but it didn't stop him. He was quoting some movie, no doubt, although Tim couldn't guess which one. Shakespeare was easy to pick out. There were less than 40 plays, four epic poems, and only 154 sonnets. The number of movies that Tony could reference from his memory at any given moment probably counted in the thousands. Tim had to give him credit, though; his non sequitur about the dill pickle in the latest Coen Brothers' film was just the distraction Tim needed.

Agitated by Gibbs' blithe insults and Tony's cinematic randomness, Maurier at last lost focus. Tim tackled Maurier, knocking the gun from his hand and sending it skittering across the floor towards Ziva. Tautou intercepted the first guard just as the man was bringing his weapon to bear. Tim could hear the two of them struggling, but couldn't spare a heartbeat to check on them. Maurier was putting up a hell of a fight.

Tim reeled back from the punch to his side and returned it doubly with a swift blow to Maurier's temple and a knee to the trafficker's gut. Maurier fell to his knees and Tim took his advantage, driving his fist hard upward under Maurier's jaw. He heard a crack--of bone snapping or teeth striking, he couldn't guess--and Maurier tumbled backward. His head struck concrete and any doubt whether or not he was still conscious after Tim's last hit became moot.

Tim spun to see if Tautou needed help. The man was wrestling now with the second guard, fighting for possession of his PPSh submachine gun. The first guard lay bloody and motionless on the floor, his own weapon several feet away. Tim dove for it, but before he could level it, the second guard's gun went off, the report echoing painfully in the steel and concrete space. Tautou fell. Tim aimed and fired. The second guard collapsed in a wash of mingling blood.

Sucking in air and wondering if he'd ever hear properly again, Tim turned at last to his team… Only to find Ziva sitting up, Maurier's Beretta in her hands, smiling at him.

"Ziva! You're all right?" His voice sounded echoy inside his head, and he rubbed at his ear with his free hand.

Ziva nodded and he could barely hear her reply. It sounded like it was coming from a long distance down a corridor lined with sound-dampening foam. "In one piece, thank you, McGee."

"You didn't shoot."

"You didn't need me to."

Back-up arrived at that moment and controlled chaos reigned. Tim didn't mind. His teammates were safe and Maurier was in custody. His only regret was Tautou, his body torn open and bled out on the cold cement.

***

Tim's ears still rang intermittently but it was getting better by the day. He finished typing up his report, putting the finishing touches on it just as Tony limped in on aluminum crutches, one foot swathed in plaster.

"How's the ankle?" Tim asked.

"Annoying," answered Tony. "I have to stay off it for six stinking weeks. It's going to make my soles wear unevenly, wearing only one shoe. I hate that." He sat heavily, leaning the crutches against the half wall beside his desk. "But it could have been worse. Good job, McGeek."

It was probably the most thanks he was going to get, but Tim had known Tony long enough to know the gratitude was heart-felt, even if Tony wasn't inclined to show it.

"Gibbs or Ziva in yet?" Tony asked.

"I am here, yes." Ziva answered for herself, rounding the corner of her desk. "And I've brought coffee." She delivered Tim's first, taking it from the cardboard carrier and placing the large take-out cup on his desk.

"Thanks, Ziva." He smiled at her, and she returned it. She never failed to amaze him with her seeming contradictions. She often came across as cold, hardened by training and life, yet her knack for spontaneous and unexpected generosity over the little details of life was unequalled.

"What about me?" protested Tony predictably. Tim wondered if it was an act at this point, that spoiled tone of entitlement and affront. All the years they'd worked together and there were still times when Tim couldn't tell when Tony was serious or only playing with them.

"Heroes first," she teased. "McGee saved the day. McGee gets the first coffee." Ziva turned to set Gibbs's enormous cup on their boss's desk. Then she put her own cup down before finally handing the last one to Tony.

He took the coffee without a 'thanks'. "Yeah, yeah, but Gibbs isn't even here."

"Finally decided to join us, Tony?"

They all sat up straighter at Gibbs's sudden appearance on the stairs.

Tim suppressed a chuckle. Ziva could still surprise him and Tony could still keep him guessing, but Gibbs could still make the lot of them jump. Tim would never be such a source of confusion or revelation. He was too straightforward for those games--famous novelist status notwithstanding--but he didn't mind.

"Something funny, McGee?" asked Gibbs, taking his coffee and his chair in that order.

Tim shook his head but didn't stifle his smile. "No, boss. Just…having a good day."

[identity profile] vflick.livejournal.com 2011-10-18 05:56 pm (UTC)(link)
Awesome. I too enjoy this show, although I've come and gone from watching it through the years, I'm enjoying it more this season. But I don't usually ever read fic for it. However, I know the caliber this was likely to be, and I was right! A great little slice of NCIS life, thank you!

[identity profile] ryalin1.livejournal.com 2011-10-18 08:28 pm (UTC)(link)
Absolutely love it, and very proud to have helped direct your amazing talents toward a new genre. As expected, you're a natural. I hope the task was fulfilling enough to see you venture into writing for the fandom again some day.