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Legends (7/?)
Title: Legends (7/?)
Author: Merucha
Characters: Tim McGee, Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, plus the usual Torchwood and NCIS suspects
Rating: Some chapters definitely not safe for work.
Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?
Summary: After the events of Bloodbath, Tim McGee accepts a offer from a total stranger
Author's Note: A few weeks ago I was watching some NCIS episodes and came across Bloodbath. I hated both Abby and Gibbs in it. I hated the humiliation of making Tim kneel all day for something that was someone else's fault. I fumed for days (I am a bit obssessive about things from time to time). Then, a few days ago, this popped up. As usual, AU like nobody's business.
Part one here; Part two here; Part three here; Part four is here ; Part five is here; Part six is here
The Kass Brothers shop was a dingy little storefront in a dingy strip mall on the Virginia side of the Potomac. Tim slid the rental SUV into the space next to the blue NCIS sedan. Sitting next to him, Tish checked her gun. It still startled him to see how competent she was with it; four years before, when she had shown up at Jack's door, shivering and half-delirious with fever, he wouldn't have bet money on her survival, much less becoming a damn good agent.
Jack and Ianto were away at some sort of multi-agency meeting and had offered their guest room to Tim while his flat was being painted. He had been woken by hammering on the door. When he had opened it, gun in hand, she had nearly collapsed against him. He had managed to calm her down by wrapping her in Jack's bathrobe and tucking her into Jack and Ianto's bed. Then he had called Martha.
“We were in the same war but in different battlefields. Hers was harder than mine in many ways,” she had told him. “I can't take her to hospital. Would you take care of her until I make other arrangements?”
He had agreed. At first he had paid no attention to her babbling, but at some point in the night he had started to listen. And he had learned about the year that never was.
"Tim?”
He smiled at her. “Sorry. Woolgathering a bit. Let's go.”
They joined Tony and Ziva at the shop's back door. Tony gave him a severe look. “You realize that we cannot use anything we find as evidence?” he whispered.
Tim snorted. “You think this is ever going to court?”
“Didn't think so.” Tony tried the door. “Locked.”
“No problem.”
Tim took what everyone in the team referred to as his toy, adjusted a few settings, and pointed it at the door. There was a soft hum and a click. Tony grabbed the handle and pulled. The door opened.
“Damn, McAlien Geek, you've got great toys.”
“And you ain't seen nothing yet, Tony.” He made an after you gesture. “Allons-y.”
They stepped into a cramped room, packed to the roof with old boxes. In one corner and old card table held a coffee maker, coffee supplies, and some foam cups. Beyond that was a doorway without a door and a shower curtain blocking the view. They could hear voices in the room beyond. Tony motioned them to spread out, then, grinning, kicked over a stack of boxes. They crashed to the ground with a satisfying din of broken glass and crunched metal.
When the two men walked into the room, they found themselves on the business end of four guns, two of them being held to their temples by two beautiful women that looked like they would pull the triggers without giving it a second thought.
“Hello,” Tony flashed his credentials. “We want to ask you a few questions.”
“Hey! You can't come in here without a...”
His mouth closed with a snap as the gun being held to his head clicked ominously. Tony smiled gently.
“Now, Tish. Mr. Kass is going to be really helpful. Why don't you and Ziva search the place while we talk? Keys, Mr. Kass.”
The keys were reluctantly handed over. As the women left the room, Ziva said to Tish in a considering tone, “That's an useful trick.”
“Absolutely,” was the smug rejoinder. “That click is the best ever period for that sort of sentence.”
Tony herded them to the coffee table and there they sat, hands folded, looking less like the brawlers their records said they were and more like two tourists who had gotten lost in the wrong part of town and wanted desperately to get out alive.
“You kidnapped, tortured, and killed a man last Friday.” Tony said. “You didn't expect anyone to find the body until Monday. Unfortunately for you, a subcontractor was a little behind schedule and he decided to go in over the weekend and get caught up.”
“Look,” the older of the men was trying to sound unafraid, “we don't know what you're talking about. We're electrical contractors for god's sake, not... contract killers or whatever you think we are.”
Tim slid his phone in front of them. A slide show played slowly enough to let the viewer get a very good look at each image. It showed the Kass brothers dragging an unconscious Michael Sexton into the half-finished building. It showed them coming out without him. It also showed a closeup of one of the brothers' hand and arm, with red burns on the palm, wrist, and half-way up the arm.
“Can we start again?” Tony said.
“Look. Can we make a deal or something?”
“Or something.” Tim holstered his gun. Pouring two cups of coffee, he set them in front of the men. “Tell us about it.”
The older man sighed. “A couple of years ago we got into some trouble. Money not coming in, we were going to lose the business. This guy, Liam, lent us the money to keep going.” He sipped at the coffee, made a face. Tim opened a couple of sugar packets and poured the contents into the cups. “Thanks. Anyway, he never wanted anything but that we let him use this place for storage from time to time. Then last Thursday he showed up and told us he was calling in his favor. God.”
“Where can we find this Liam?”
“I don't know.” At the look on Tony's face, he held up his hands. “I don't know! After the first meeting he told us to send messages through his buddy Nick."
“Nick Quaderi,” Ziva said from the doorway, holding up a business card. “We have the address.”
Author: Merucha
Characters: Tim McGee, Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, plus the usual Torchwood and NCIS suspects
Rating: Some chapters definitely not safe for work.
Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?
Summary: After the events of Bloodbath, Tim McGee accepts a offer from a total stranger
Author's Note: A few weeks ago I was watching some NCIS episodes and came across Bloodbath. I hated both Abby and Gibbs in it. I hated the humiliation of making Tim kneel all day for something that was someone else's fault. I fumed for days (I am a bit obssessive about things from time to time). Then, a few days ago, this popped up. As usual, AU like nobody's business.
Part one here; Part two here; Part three here; Part four is here ; Part five is here; Part six is here
The Kass Brothers shop was a dingy little storefront in a dingy strip mall on the Virginia side of the Potomac. Tim slid the rental SUV into the space next to the blue NCIS sedan. Sitting next to him, Tish checked her gun. It still startled him to see how competent she was with it; four years before, when she had shown up at Jack's door, shivering and half-delirious with fever, he wouldn't have bet money on her survival, much less becoming a damn good agent.
Jack and Ianto were away at some sort of multi-agency meeting and had offered their guest room to Tim while his flat was being painted. He had been woken by hammering on the door. When he had opened it, gun in hand, she had nearly collapsed against him. He had managed to calm her down by wrapping her in Jack's bathrobe and tucking her into Jack and Ianto's bed. Then he had called Martha.
“We were in the same war but in different battlefields. Hers was harder than mine in many ways,” she had told him. “I can't take her to hospital. Would you take care of her until I make other arrangements?”
He had agreed. At first he had paid no attention to her babbling, but at some point in the night he had started to listen. And he had learned about the year that never was.
"Tim?”
He smiled at her. “Sorry. Woolgathering a bit. Let's go.”
They joined Tony and Ziva at the shop's back door. Tony gave him a severe look. “You realize that we cannot use anything we find as evidence?” he whispered.
Tim snorted. “You think this is ever going to court?”
“Didn't think so.” Tony tried the door. “Locked.”
“No problem.”
Tim took what everyone in the team referred to as his toy, adjusted a few settings, and pointed it at the door. There was a soft hum and a click. Tony grabbed the handle and pulled. The door opened.
“Damn, McAlien Geek, you've got great toys.”
“And you ain't seen nothing yet, Tony.” He made an after you gesture. “Allons-y.”
They stepped into a cramped room, packed to the roof with old boxes. In one corner and old card table held a coffee maker, coffee supplies, and some foam cups. Beyond that was a doorway without a door and a shower curtain blocking the view. They could hear voices in the room beyond. Tony motioned them to spread out, then, grinning, kicked over a stack of boxes. They crashed to the ground with a satisfying din of broken glass and crunched metal.
When the two men walked into the room, they found themselves on the business end of four guns, two of them being held to their temples by two beautiful women that looked like they would pull the triggers without giving it a second thought.
“Hello,” Tony flashed his credentials. “We want to ask you a few questions.”
“Hey! You can't come in here without a...”
His mouth closed with a snap as the gun being held to his head clicked ominously. Tony smiled gently.
“Now, Tish. Mr. Kass is going to be really helpful. Why don't you and Ziva search the place while we talk? Keys, Mr. Kass.”
The keys were reluctantly handed over. As the women left the room, Ziva said to Tish in a considering tone, “That's an useful trick.”
“Absolutely,” was the smug rejoinder. “That click is the best ever period for that sort of sentence.”
Tony herded them to the coffee table and there they sat, hands folded, looking less like the brawlers their records said they were and more like two tourists who had gotten lost in the wrong part of town and wanted desperately to get out alive.
“You kidnapped, tortured, and killed a man last Friday.” Tony said. “You didn't expect anyone to find the body until Monday. Unfortunately for you, a subcontractor was a little behind schedule and he decided to go in over the weekend and get caught up.”
“Look,” the older of the men was trying to sound unafraid, “we don't know what you're talking about. We're electrical contractors for god's sake, not... contract killers or whatever you think we are.”
Tim slid his phone in front of them. A slide show played slowly enough to let the viewer get a very good look at each image. It showed the Kass brothers dragging an unconscious Michael Sexton into the half-finished building. It showed them coming out without him. It also showed a closeup of one of the brothers' hand and arm, with red burns on the palm, wrist, and half-way up the arm.
“Can we start again?” Tony said.
“Look. Can we make a deal or something?”
“Or something.” Tim holstered his gun. Pouring two cups of coffee, he set them in front of the men. “Tell us about it.”
The older man sighed. “A couple of years ago we got into some trouble. Money not coming in, we were going to lose the business. This guy, Liam, lent us the money to keep going.” He sipped at the coffee, made a face. Tim opened a couple of sugar packets and poured the contents into the cups. “Thanks. Anyway, he never wanted anything but that we let him use this place for storage from time to time. Then last Thursday he showed up and told us he was calling in his favor. God.”
“Where can we find this Liam?”
“I don't know.” At the look on Tony's face, he held up his hands. “I don't know! After the first meeting he told us to send messages through his buddy Nick."
“Nick Quaderi,” Ziva said from the doorway, holding up a business card. “We have the address.”
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