Title: Adaptation, a Torchwood/NCIS Crossover (14/?)

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: Don't ask me. I just take dictation for these two!

Part One is here; Part Two is here; Part Three is here; Part Four is here; Part Five is here; Part Six is here; Part Seven is here; Interlude 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

I popped the tab and took a long swig of beer. It was nearly midnight, but I was too wired to sleep. Quint and I had spent eight hours tracking down and correlating data; we might not have Commander Zigler pinned to the board but we had enough to get Gibbs his warrant.

While waiting for results, I had written my letter of resignation and taken it up to Gibbs’s office. I had a key to the office for those times when I needed to put sensitive documents on Gibbs’s desk. I didn’t know if the letter qualified, but I didn’t care. Gibbs would find it the next day. He would probably blow a gasket at first, but it was a way out for him and I was sure he would take it.

I hadn’t been home in nearly four hundred years. I wonder how much of it I remembered, how much of it I had forgotten, and how much it had changed. Primarily I wondered how easy or difficult it would be to live in a world where the Tylwyth Teg and the Bachgen’in were a part of my daily life.

I stripped down to skin and pulled on my most comfortable pair of old sweatpants. I didn’t feel like spending any time online, but I knew I had to do something if I wanted to get some sleep. Turning off the lights in the living room and kitchen, I went down to the basement. Where Gibbs had had a boat shed set-up, I had a fully equipped exercise room. A weight machine and a rower were placed on either corner at the far end. The largest area was taken up by a springy wooden floor perfect for yoga, tai-chi, or, in my case, the rhyfelwr y Tylwyth, the warrior training exercises every Tylwyth child practiced from the time they could stand without assistance.

I centered myself in my own power and started to move. Lunge, chop, turn, hand up, cast, control, return, repeat in the other direction, physical and magickal blending together smoothly, again and again. Sweat ran down my torso to soak into my pants; thank God for moisture control fabric. Again, this time higher up, treading air underfoot as much as I could. Repeat again, until I reached the altered state that allowed full control of the energies within.

I didn’t notice the time until the pounding on the door pulled me out of my trance. Glancing at the clock, I realized I had been at it for an hour and a half. My muscles ached and all I wanted was a shower and a bed, but there were only two people who would show up unannounced late at night and one of them had called me from her warm bed at Ducky’s just a few minutes before I got home.

I pressed a button in the control panel set on the wall at the foot of the stairs. “Come in. I’m downstairs.”

I heard him storm in. He didn’t bother to turn on the lights. While Abby and I had been married Gibbs had been a frequent visitor; he knew the way to the exercise room. I walked back to the center of the floor and waited.

“McGee!” He came down the stairs two steps at a time, as usual. “What the hell is this?”

I studied the piece of paper in his hand. “I believe it’s my letter of resignation. I told you to expect one.”

The wind seemed to be momentarily knocked out of him. He stopped in midstride, glancing down at the letter and then back up at me. “I thought you would have more fight than this, McGee,” he whispered.

“I do. In fact, I was bred to do just that. Outfight, outthink, outguess, and outplan. I can fight legions for you, Jethro. I just can’t fight you.”

“It all seems so easy for you…”

The rush of anger had me in motion before I even thought about it. I grabbed the lapels of Gibbs’s corduroy jacket and slammed him against the nearest wall.

“Easy? Easy to stand behind you for years, guarding you, never getting more than a look or a smack? Hoping for a smile or a well done McGee as if I were a puppy and not the Heir to the Keeper of the Wards of the Winter King? The day I was born my father received nine offers of alliance! God! And then, when I find out you do feel something for me, it’s just to be pushed away because you’re afraid for your masculinity?” I dropped my glamour and let him See me. “I…. fuck it.”

I smashed my mouth against his, without gentleness or finesse. His muscles tensed and for a moment I thought he was going to push me away, but then, amazingly, his hands came up to cradle the back of my head. He took control of the kiss, holding me in place with his hands and the angle of his head, his tongue sweeping into my open mouth and tangling with mine. My hands fell to his waist almost of their own volition, gripping, kneading, as I pressed my hips against his and let him feel my erection.

His head came up and he stared into my eyes. I waited, holding my breath. After a few moments, his whole body seemed to sag as he pressed his forehead against mine. “Don’t let me get cold feet.”

I grabbed his hand and pulled him upstairs as fast as I could. By the time we got to the bedroom we were laughing like two kids playing hooky. He reached for the light switch but I stopped him, taking his hand and pressing it to my cheek, feeling the shiver that ran through him.

I felt for the box of long matches I kept on the dresser. Striking one, I lit the candles in the four-armed Georgian silver candelabra Ducky had given Abby and I as a wedding gift. The soft glow illuminated the navy blue silk comforter and pillows, but kept the rest in shadows. Gibbs looked at me and then at the bed.

“Last chance,” I said, stepping back.

Gibbs closed his eyes and took in a huge mouthful of air, as if drawing courage into himself. Then, opening his eyes, he smiled as he took of his jacket and pulled the sweater underneath over his head. He toed off his shoes and pulled off his socks.

“There. We’re even now.”

I shook my head, grinning at him. “Nope. You’ve got underwear under the jeans.”

“I do? You sure about that, McGee?”

I reached for his belt buckle. “One way to find out.” I pulled off the belt and undid the fly. He was, in fact, wearing underwear. “Tighty whities. I had you pegged for a boxers sort of guy.”

“Nah. Fabric gets caught on zippers.”

I laughed, pushing down on the jeans and the underwear until he was naked and I could see him for the first time. He was long and lean and muscular. A soft mat of salt-and-pepper curly hair on his upper chest narrowed to a single line that went past his belly button and down to his groin, where it widened again. I ran my hands lightly across his shoulders and then down, circling my thumbs on either side of that single line of hair until I reached his pubic bone. He hissed softly.

“Now you’re the overdressed one,” he said.

“So fix it.”

He pulled on the string holding the sweat pants on my waist and giving the fabric an assisting tug when it hung on my hips. I stepped out of them when they hit the floor.

“You don’t have any body hair,” he said as he tried to mimic my actions. “It’s more like… down. Feathery.”

The feel of his hands sliding on my skin sent shivers down my back. “It’s a race thing.”

We were both hard, and our breaths were starting to hitch as arousal intensified each touch. I took his hand and pulled him to the bed. He lay down and scooted over to make a space for me.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said. “I mean, I know what I makes me howl, but…”

I leaned down and kissed him, pressing him into the pillows. “We’ll figure it out as we go along.”