Title: Legends (18/?)
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 obsessive about things from time to time). Then, a few days ago, this popped up. As usual, AU like nobody's business.
Author's Note: Sorry this has taken so long. Real Life has been an utter beast.

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; Part nine is here; Part ten is here; Part eleven is here; Part twelve is here; Part thirteen is here:Part fourteen is here;Part fifteen is here; Part sixteen is here; Part seventeen is here

“What the fuck is that fucking bastard Jarvis up to?”

Tony stared at Leon Vance in admiration. He had listened to their report and then had, with great precision and attention to detail, shredded the Sec Nav's character, morals, and ancestry into ribbons.  The tirade had ended with the expletive-laced question spoken in an almost meditative tone.

“There's nothing in his record that would raise any flags,” Tim said.  “The Jarvis family are either career Navy or diplomatic service. He chose politics. Like most politicians, egocentric and a bit of an arse. Likes to have several fingers in the political pie and has skated quite close to the outer edge of legal in some of his operations, but nothing that would create a major ruckus.”

“Ambitions?”  Ianto asked.

Vance snorted. “This is D.C., Mr. Jones. Everybody's got ambitions.”

“And you briefed him after you left here.” Ziva told him rather than asked.

Tony looked over his shoulder at his partner. Ziva stood in the angle between the bookcase and the window, scanning the quiet street outside. It was nearly midnight. With a shock of recognition   Tony realized that it had only been two days since Tim had walked back into their lives. Tony made a mental note to ask his old Probie if the pace was always so insanely fast in his new job, then promptly discarded it. He had a feeling he already knew the answer.

“I seldom disobey presidential orders, Agent David,” Vance returned fire in the same cold tone. “And at the time there was no reason to think Jarvis was involved.”

Ziva ignored him and turned to Gibbs. “Where are the others?”

“At Ducky's. It seems Ducky's rig is better than mine.” Gibbs sounded amused. “Whatever that means.”

“A ten year old's rig is better than yours, boss,” Tony told him. “You still be on dial-up if the phone company hadn't upgraded the whole neighborhood.”

“He's coming.” Ziva ignored the byplay. “Liam. During our training exercises he always preferred a fast surprise attack to cripple his primary opposition.”

“How? He's one man. Well, if he found Saxon's stash, he has another sphere, but he has to know that he's facing three of those things,” Tony tapped his wrist, “as well as regular guns.”

“Sonofabitch,” Vance tossed back the last of the whiskey Gibbs had handed him earlier. “The Watchers. There may still be some around that listen to Jarvis.”

“Watchers?” Jack asked.

“Jarvis recruited a group of agents to spy on foreign governments from Navy ships. Answerable directly to him. The group supposedly got disbanded  last year but there have been rumors that they went rogue.”

“Tim. Let's send Mr. Jarvis to Coventry.”

Tony winced at Jack's glacial tone. Tim simply nodded. His hands flew over the laptop's keyboard. “Done.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Vance didn't actually sound too worried.

“Cutting off all communications from and to Mr. Jarvis.” Tim answered. “He won't notice a thing. Quiet night in the Navy. Friends all busy or suddenly out of town.”

Vance snorted. He reached down and pulled a Glock 26 from an ankle holster. “All right. What have you got, Ziva?”

Standing behind Vance, Tony felt safe in making a face at Tim. The NCIS Director, usually a model of bureaucratic efficiency, looked a hell of a lot more dangerous with a gun in his hand.

“Large black van cruised by then turned right.” Ziva moved away from the window. “A little too slow. Carefully spattered with fresh mud and it hasn't rained in a week. I'd give them four minutes. Side yard and solarium. Less likely to attract neighbors' attention, at least until the actual shooting starts.”

“Let's not take chances,” Gibbs said. “Leon, Ziva, upstairs. If someone's going to get clever that's how they'll do it.” He threw his keys at Ziva. “Door on the left. Nice window, easy access from the big oak.”

Tony winced. That had been Kelly's room. He pitied any idiot that went into that room; Ziva knew all about Gibbs' daughter. He watched as Jack and Ianto headed for the solarium without benefit of instruction from Gibbs. “Where d'you want me, boss?”

“You get the front. Just in case they're not as worried about the neighbors as Ziva thinks. Tim...”

He stopped cold. Tim was standing by the fireplace, eyes closed, swaying slightly. “Three in the back, two in the side yard. One on the oak.” His eyes snapped open and Tony was shocked to see that Tim's irises had turned a dark copper ringed with green, as if something had emerged from within, pushing aside their usual color. “Now.”

The kitchen door splintered under a hail of bullets. At the same time, Tim slammed his hand down on the laptop's touch pad. Every light in the house and yard came on, bright enough that Tony was momentarily blinded. He felt Gibbs push him into the foyer and behind the arch as gunfire erupted from that sounded like every room of the house.

He blinked rapidly until he had regained most of his vision. Looking around he saw Tim still standing near the fireplace, looking more like a genial host ready to receive guests than someone in the middle of a firefight. Tony tried to move towards him – what the hell did the Probie think he was doing? – but Gibbs held him in place, using his gun to point to the kitchen.

Two men rushed through the jagged hole where the door and frame used to be, guns at the ready, their useless night vision goggles hanging around their necks. Tim moved so fast that Tony could have sworn he had gone from one place to the next without actually crossing the space between them. One moment he had been by the fireplace and the next he was standing behind the two men. Tony saw him touch one of the men; it was a gentle touch, almost a caress, but the man slid down to the floor. The other one turned, screaming wildly, gun swinging in Tim's direction. Tony fired at the same time Gibbs did. The man fell on top of his partner, not knowing whether to clutch at his shoulder or his knee. Tim kicked their guns out of reach.

“Clear!” Ziva's voice came from above.

Tony put his gun back on its holster and sauntered into the living room. “Damn, Probie. That was something.”

“Sure was, Tony.” Tim grinned at him. “I'll see what's keeping Jack and Ianto.”

Tim started for the solarium. Suddenly a third man ran through the door, a Marine-issue knife aimed at his back. Tony grabbed for his gun but before he could even draw it out Gibbs appeared between Tim and his attacker, blocking him with his own body. Tony watched helplessly as the knife buried itself in Gibbs' chest.