Title: Adaptation, a Torchwood/NCIS Crossover (4/?)

Author: Emma

Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Tim McGee, LJ Gibbs, Ducky Mallard, others

Rating: Starts PG, but hey, it’s got Jack and Ianto in it (not to mention Tim & Jethro!)

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: Tim McGee’s worlds collide as Torchwood is drawn into an NCIS case

Author's Note: This is part of an AU where Gwen and Owen were killed by Gray. So if you want to know why Martha is married to Rhys, why Jack and Ianto have a CP, two sons and two adopted daughters, and why Andy and Ianto are Kings of an alien race that settled on Earth millennia ago, you may want to read Evolution and Bred in the Bone first

 

Author’s Note: This is the Truman http://www.navsource.org/archives/02/75.htm

Part One is here; Part Two is here; Part Three is here


Gibbs inhaled deeply, then took a sip and leaned back in obvious bliss. “You know, I might be persuaded to ignore an invasion if you promised me a never ending supply of this stuff.”

Jones chuckled, while Ducky and I did our best not to sigh with relief. Gibbs had watched closely as Jones made the coffee. Jones made it easy for him, making sure he didn’t block the view of the coffee maker even for an instant. It might have looked like suspicion to the others, but Ducky and I knew Gibbs well enough to know he was using the time to think. There were certain areas of his life where Gibbs didn’t like surprises, and his friendships were at the top of the list. He needed time to organize the new facts into a coherent whole. Whether the friendships would survive I couldn’t guess.

Harkness waited until he had swallowed. “Are you sure you should have drunk that, Director?”

Gibbs shrugged. “Ducky and McGee both vouch for him. You too, I suppose. And it’s Gibbs.”

I was glad I was sitting down, because I didn't think my shaking knees would hold me up. I wasn’t optimistic enough to believe there wouldn’t be a long and serious interrogation in my future, but Gibbs had decided to withhold judgment.

“Fair enough,” Harkness said. “And it’s Jack. Tell me about this operation.”

“We got a tip that there was a smuggling ring operating from the Truman. Archeological artifacts, very good ones. They had started to backtrack the pipeline from several high-brow art galleries here in Washington. Four days ago they dropped out of sight. Their car was found in one of the parking lots in Norfolk. The marine's body was in the trunk.”

“Artifacts?” Harkness leaned forward. “Do you have any images?”

I reached across the desk, picked up the wireless keyboard, and turned the monitor so Harkness could see it. “Here. Ziva sent me a file early on. Pictures of the things they saw at the galleries.”

He took the keyboard and started flipping through the list. “Canopic jar with the head of Hapy, possibly 1200 to 1050 B.C., nice chunk of change... Persian gold bracelets, pair, gold fretwork with turquoise and carnelian beads, 250 B.C., maybe? That is definitely a prize winner, probably over thirty thousand pounds.... Bronze bowl, probably Urartu, 7th century B.C., very, very good... A bronze head of Zeus, Roman, second century A.D, a little over five thousand pounds... Oh. Ianto, look at this.”

Jones came to look over his shoulder, leaning comfortably against him. “That is not good news.”

The rest of us crowded around them, including Gibbs. “Incomplete sistrum, carved out of green marble, handle mostly missing, possibly a head of Hathor with metal beads strung between the horns above the sun disk.” I read the label underneath. “Egyptian, 26th Dynasty. What's so not good news about that?”

“That's not a sistrum. That's part of a Silurian sonic projector.” Jack tapped the screen. “The only known cache of Silurian artifacts of this caliber is in Torchwood Cardiff's strongest secure archive vault. A few pieces have surfaced here and there, usually pots and bowls that pass as Mayan or ancient Egyptian. Nothing like this.”

Gibbs returned to his chair. “So tell me about these Silurians.”

“The Silurians are Earth's first sentient species. They are reptilian in evolutionary descent. They had an advanced civilization, built large cities, and kept a certain early hominid as a pet and even did genetic experiments on them. One side effect of the experiments, which were the equivalent of our breeding better beef cattle, is that the hominid developed intelligence. At about the same time, their scientists discovered a small planet heading for Earth on a crash course. The Silurians created vast hibernation chambers and sealed themselves underground. Unfortunately, or fortunately for us, the hibernation technology failed or was sabotaged and they never awoke until it was too late. By the time they emerged, humans had established their dominance. We've had a few encounters, friendly and unfriendly, but they are basically a remnant population. Dying out slowly.”

Gibbs stared at Harkness as if trying to see inside his skull. “So you're telling me that these reptile things bred the human race?”

Harkness shrugged, holding out his hands in the classic what can I tell you gesture. “Oops?”

“All right, say I... accept... your story. Why are they here now?”

“That might not be the most pressing question, Jethro,” Ducky said. “The how might be more important. That dead marine downstairs looks exactly like a human being until you cut him open. If the Silurians can disguise themselves so effectively, your invasion joke might not be much of one.”

“According to our records, the Silurians were fanatical about protecting their genetic purity.” Harkness handed the keyboard back. “But maybe some bright lad has convinced them to try something new. In their eyes we took what was theirs, and there’s always been some who really would like to take it back.” He steepled his fingers under his chin. “I should have brought John.”

“Who’s John?” Gibbs asked.

“My lab guy. The man can trace one molecule of any compound back to its point of origin through city traffic. We need that body downstairs scoured for clues of any sort.”

“Abby,” I said. At Harkness’s questioning look, I explained. “Our former forensic lab tech. She teaches at Georgetown these days, but she’s on sabbatical, finishing up a book. She would come back in a heartbeat if she knew about Tony and Ziva.”

He turned to Gibbs. “Can we get her?”

“Don’t ask me. The last time I spoke to her she threw a vase at my head.”

The impulse to jump to Abby’s defense had never quite left me. “You shouldn’t have given her a hard time about her dating habits, boss. It wasn’t as if we had been still married.”

Harkness gave me a hard look. “Ex-wives with issues can be very disruptive in a situation like this.”

“Abby and I get along just fine. The only problem we ever had was being married.” I fished out my cell phone and pressed 1. “Hey, Abby… yeah… we need your help, Abbs… Abby… no, listen… Abby! It’s Tony and Ziva. They’re missing and we need serious lab help. Thomlinson isn’t going to cut it... Good. See you.”

I put the phone away. “She'll be here in about an hour.”

“McGee,” Gibbs said abruptly, “Does Abby know... about you?”

I grinned at him. If I always wanted to defend Abby, Gibbs always wanted to protect her. “Of course she does. It's not possible to maintain a glamour when... well, you know.”

“And she let you go?”

For a brief second I contemplated just telling him the truth, telling him that there was a Gibbs-sized hole between Abby and I. We loved each other, but we loved him too, and we were incomplete without him. I heard a soft sigh, something most human ears would not have picked up, and I turned my head and met my King's eyes. He was looking at me, and there was compassion in his eyes, and a kind of odd hope.

I turned back to Gibbs, heart pounding. “What makes you think she has?”