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Legends (9/?)
Title: Legends (9/?)
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; Part seven is here; Part eight is here
Tim tossed his jacket over the back of the nearest chair. God, he was tired. His body was starting to suffer after four days of almost no sleep, even though he was using all the energy conservation techniques he had learned from his clan mentors. The worst thing was that he wasn't sure he would be able to sleep tonight either.
Working as a team with Tony, Ziva, and Tish had gone fantastically well, but Gibbs was always there in the background, and he had been aware of the man's presence or absence every moment, as if Gibbs had been a part of his own body and mind. That had never happened before, even at the height of his infatuation with Jack. The Aa'el believed a soul could love many times, but belong only once. It terrified Tim that his soul could be forever bound to someone who didn't want it.
He decided on a quick shower before bed. He and Tony had stayed with Quaderi's body until Ducky and Jimmy arrived. He could still smell blood and decomposition; one of the disadvantages of all the work the family psychosurgeons had done to help him release the abilities he had unconsciously suppressed as a child was that his sense of smell had become extremely acute. Gwen was only half-kidding when she called him the Torchwood bloodhound.
He used the hotel's very expensive toiletries to dispel the memories. When he got back to Cardiff he would have to throw out everything in his bathroom because from now on he would associate the scent of sandalwood with decomposing bodies. Well, at least Jack would be happy. The man swore up one side and down the other that sandalwood distorted the scent of twentieth-century pheromones.
Tossing the wet towels to the floor, he walked back into the bedroom, dismissing the idea of his usual sweat pants and t-shirt. There were nights when even the thinnest, softest cotton felt like sandpaper against his ta'saiat. He reached back to stroke the delicate tracery of semi-sentient wires embedded directly under his skin from shoulder to buttock, proclaiming to all that knew how to look that he was an adult Aa'el of the Ta'tai family of the Ta'tau'el clan. The flare that feathered out from the main design to wrap around his hip announced to all and sundry that he had accrued great honor to his family and clan in fair battle. Tim chuckled bitterly. Genocide was a triumph he could do without.
“You're thinking too loudly.”
He turned. Ianto leaned against the jamb of the connecting door. He wore sweat pants, but was bare-chested and barefooted.
“Sorry.” Tim glanced at the other connecting door. “Bad?”
“Not enough to bother Tish, especially since Martha's there. Jack picked it up. You know how he is.” He extended his hand. “Come to bed, Tim.”
Tim took Ianto's hand and allowed himself to be led into the other room. Jack was lounging on the half-acre of pillows and duvets the Hays-Adams considered an adequate bed. He opened his arms to Tim, much as he had done to Ducky. It struck Tim that in anyone else the gesture would seem ridiculously cheesy, but coming from Jack it simply offered the recipient whatever he needed most. For Tim, it had always meant forgiveness and safety, but most of all, acceptance.
He crawled into Jack's arms, pushing his face into the curve of Jack's neck and inhaling deeply. He felt Ianto settle in behind Jack and wrap his arms around both of them. He sighed with pleasure and relaxed into their hold. After a few minutes – breathe in, breathe out, letting Jack's scent soothe him – he felt Jack's fingers come to rest lightly against the center of the ta'saiat. The wires hummed under his touch. Jack was one of a handful of aut-Aa'el who could guide aiat energy, communicating with it at an elemental level. When Tim had asked where he had learned to do it, Jack had smirked at him, leaving the tale to Tim's imagination, but Tim had seen the brief flash of sadness under the smirk. He had never asked again.
“Tony drooled over my sonic screwdriver,” he whispered, feeling the energy flow along the wires, gently burning the pattern into his skin-memory. “I wonder what he would think if I told him how I got it.”
“You fought a great enemy and you won an honorable victory,” Jack ran his fingertips over the flare. “The aiat wouldn't have done this otherwise.”
“I destroyed a whole race!”
Jack pressed his lips to his forehead. “The 456 were psychic parasites, Tim. If you hadn't pushed the Doctor into action they would have continued to feed on those kids until they died and then go looking for more.”
Tim giggled. “Pushed into action. That's a nice way to describe a mutiny.”
“He forgave both of you eventually, didn't he?”
“He didn't speak to us for a month.” Tim wriggled until he could throw one of his legs over Ianto's and settled even more comfortably into their embrace. “I was ready to beg, but the TARDIS said we just needed to give him time to get over his snit. Snit!”
Ianto snorted. “Well, it was. Sometimes he makes too much of his damn sensibilities.”
“He stayed in the library the whole time. The TARDIS said he was looking through every book and database to see if he could have done something differently. He didn't find anything.” Tim yawned. “When he came out he gave me the screwdriver and took me to Barcelona. The planet, not the city.”
It was Jack's turn to chuckle. “Usual apology from the Doc. A quick swing by the fleshpots. At least you got there. The rest of us never did.”
“It was amazing...” The sentence trailed off. “Sleep now.”
He felt Jack and Ianto rearrange themselves on either side of him. “Go ahead, Tim,” Jack whispered. “Sleep.”
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; Part seven is here; Part eight is here
Tim tossed his jacket over the back of the nearest chair. God, he was tired. His body was starting to suffer after four days of almost no sleep, even though he was using all the energy conservation techniques he had learned from his clan mentors. The worst thing was that he wasn't sure he would be able to sleep tonight either.
Working as a team with Tony, Ziva, and Tish had gone fantastically well, but Gibbs was always there in the background, and he had been aware of the man's presence or absence every moment, as if Gibbs had been a part of his own body and mind. That had never happened before, even at the height of his infatuation with Jack. The Aa'el believed a soul could love many times, but belong only once. It terrified Tim that his soul could be forever bound to someone who didn't want it.
He decided on a quick shower before bed. He and Tony had stayed with Quaderi's body until Ducky and Jimmy arrived. He could still smell blood and decomposition; one of the disadvantages of all the work the family psychosurgeons had done to help him release the abilities he had unconsciously suppressed as a child was that his sense of smell had become extremely acute. Gwen was only half-kidding when she called him the Torchwood bloodhound.
He used the hotel's very expensive toiletries to dispel the memories. When he got back to Cardiff he would have to throw out everything in his bathroom because from now on he would associate the scent of sandalwood with decomposing bodies. Well, at least Jack would be happy. The man swore up one side and down the other that sandalwood distorted the scent of twentieth-century pheromones.
Tossing the wet towels to the floor, he walked back into the bedroom, dismissing the idea of his usual sweat pants and t-shirt. There were nights when even the thinnest, softest cotton felt like sandpaper against his ta'saiat. He reached back to stroke the delicate tracery of semi-sentient wires embedded directly under his skin from shoulder to buttock, proclaiming to all that knew how to look that he was an adult Aa'el of the Ta'tai family of the Ta'tau'el clan. The flare that feathered out from the main design to wrap around his hip announced to all and sundry that he had accrued great honor to his family and clan in fair battle. Tim chuckled bitterly. Genocide was a triumph he could do without.
“You're thinking too loudly.”
He turned. Ianto leaned against the jamb of the connecting door. He wore sweat pants, but was bare-chested and barefooted.
“Sorry.” Tim glanced at the other connecting door. “Bad?”
“Not enough to bother Tish, especially since Martha's there. Jack picked it up. You know how he is.” He extended his hand. “Come to bed, Tim.”
Tim took Ianto's hand and allowed himself to be led into the other room. Jack was lounging on the half-acre of pillows and duvets the Hays-Adams considered an adequate bed. He opened his arms to Tim, much as he had done to Ducky. It struck Tim that in anyone else the gesture would seem ridiculously cheesy, but coming from Jack it simply offered the recipient whatever he needed most. For Tim, it had always meant forgiveness and safety, but most of all, acceptance.
He crawled into Jack's arms, pushing his face into the curve of Jack's neck and inhaling deeply. He felt Ianto settle in behind Jack and wrap his arms around both of them. He sighed with pleasure and relaxed into their hold. After a few minutes – breathe in, breathe out, letting Jack's scent soothe him – he felt Jack's fingers come to rest lightly against the center of the ta'saiat. The wires hummed under his touch. Jack was one of a handful of aut-Aa'el who could guide aiat energy, communicating with it at an elemental level. When Tim had asked where he had learned to do it, Jack had smirked at him, leaving the tale to Tim's imagination, but Tim had seen the brief flash of sadness under the smirk. He had never asked again.
“Tony drooled over my sonic screwdriver,” he whispered, feeling the energy flow along the wires, gently burning the pattern into his skin-memory. “I wonder what he would think if I told him how I got it.”
“You fought a great enemy and you won an honorable victory,” Jack ran his fingertips over the flare. “The aiat wouldn't have done this otherwise.”
“I destroyed a whole race!”
Jack pressed his lips to his forehead. “The 456 were psychic parasites, Tim. If you hadn't pushed the Doctor into action they would have continued to feed on those kids until they died and then go looking for more.”
Tim giggled. “Pushed into action. That's a nice way to describe a mutiny.”
“He forgave both of you eventually, didn't he?”
“He didn't speak to us for a month.” Tim wriggled until he could throw one of his legs over Ianto's and settled even more comfortably into their embrace. “I was ready to beg, but the TARDIS said we just needed to give him time to get over his snit. Snit!”
Ianto snorted. “Well, it was. Sometimes he makes too much of his damn sensibilities.”
“He stayed in the library the whole time. The TARDIS said he was looking through every book and database to see if he could have done something differently. He didn't find anything.” Tim yawned. “When he came out he gave me the screwdriver and took me to Barcelona. The planet, not the city.”
It was Jack's turn to chuckle. “Usual apology from the Doc. A quick swing by the fleshpots. At least you got there. The rest of us never did.”
“It was amazing...” The sentence trailed off. “Sleep now.”
He felt Jack and Ianto rearrange themselves on either side of him. “Go ahead, Tim,” Jack whispered. “Sleep.”
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Thanks for sharing and the update!!
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Tim and Gibbs... maybe Tony did notice something
brilliant,
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