“Save me Unca Tim! Save Me….”
Timothy McGee, agent for NCIS wakes up, panting and knowing that something somewhere is terribly, horribly wrong.
“Save me, Unca Tim. I wanna hear your stories.” A soft child’s voice, blonde hair and pleading blue eyes shimmer and start to fade in his mind. What the hell? He doesn’t have any nieces or nephews, does he?
“Donny?” The name sounds familiar but he doesn’t know why.
He looks at the clock, it’s 8:30 on a Thursday. He would or should be at work, but they’d drawn the holiday weekend off and Gibbs had argued with the director that they needed the down time. It had been a rough week, several agents had almost quit, including the MCRT team and Gibbs had demanded that they be given the weekend off. As the Thanksgiving Holidays were the next time for anyone to be off, Gibbs and the team had the seniority and thus the winning bid for the weekend. Personally, Tim didn’t mind having a four day weekend, but he can imagine how some of the others might be observing it. Gibbs in his basement, babying yet another boat with a bottle of bourbon close by. Tony watching the special parades and then football games. As for Ziva, the Israeli didn’t really have to celebrate the holiday, but she might start making preparations for Hanukkah. Ducky and Jimmy will most likely be celebrating together, the younger man making sure that the elderly ME was eating properly after losing his mother just a few months prior.
Tim glances once more around his apartment. Something still feels, he can’t exactly say wrong, but definitely not where it is supposed to be. Then again, he had let Jethro, his adopted furball go home with Abby.
He gets up, stretches, and heads into the shower. As he’s doing so, he still can’t help wondering why he feels so uneasy. It’s rare for him to feel this way. The last time he’d done so, he’d lost part of his memories to the past. He makes a note to call Sarah, and then groans as he remembers that he’d lost a bet to Tony earlier that week and has to pick up the senior agent’s laundry from the dry cleaners before they close for the weekend.
“Merrows!” Gibbs smiles as he sees an old black tom cat cautiously enter his yard. He’s seen the old tom before, but he doesn’t know why it’s approaching him until he sees the collar.
“Samson?” Memories, good and bad come flashing back and he sits down on his deck, grasping at the railing. The old tom continues forward and licks his hand. Gibbs automatically starts petting the green-eyed feline, who just purrs in satisfaction for a few seconds before nipping at his fingers.
“Hey! What’s that for?” He can’t help the exclamation, but the old tom just sits there and silently glares at him. Clearly the cat is trying to tell him something, but he doesn’t know just what it could be. He glares back at the cat, takes a sip of his coffee and stares at the now cooling brew. He wonders why the cat is here, in his yard after so many years being absent. Or had he? He knows that he’d felt a comforting presence watching over the house; had it been Samson all this time?
“Merrs.” The black head bumps against his hand, demanding attention. Gibbs runs his hand over the fur, remembering a couple of redheads who loved to pet the kitten, then the cat who had taken over their lives for a short period of time. Soft purring and kneading against his legs, brings his his attention to one of the few things that he considered to be good.
“Granpa Jefro, you growl too much.” The voice isn’t immediately heard as the silver-haired fox relives some of the best memories of his life. It isn’t until the cat falls asleep in his lap that Gibbs even thinks about the words that he’d heard, but he doesn’t pay attention to them. He’ll never be a grandfather; life and Pedro Hernandez had seen to that.
Tony wakes up and flips over, smiling as he imagines the look on Tim’s face when he has to pick up his dry cleaning. Knowing his partner, he’ll remember at the last moment and have to do it at moment just before the cleaner closes. Tony opens his phone, calls the dry cleaner to let them know that Tim will be in later to pick up his clothes, and starts making mental preparations for the rest of the day. He turns on the television and flips through the channels, absently remembering days in the past when he’d gone without any supervision because his father had been out of town on business. He still can’t believe that Senior was that irresponsible, but since the older man had come back into his life, he can only imagine what his father had been going through. No, he can’t really, he’s never been a father, and yet, he can’t help wondering what kind of father he would make.
“I wuvs you, Daddy.” A sad, childish voice seems to echo in his mind and he shakes his head. He didn’t want to think about children at the moment. Jeanne Benoit and Jenny Shepherd had almost killed his desire to have children. How could he have a child, if he himself was constantly being targeted. Not to mention the grief that Gibbs still went through every year with the loss of not only a child but his wife as well. No, Tony didn’t need those kind of emotions at the moment, and yet, that voice. Tony stretches again, rolls out of bed and heads into the shower. As per their agreement, he will provide the beer and pizza, he just has to pick it up on his way to Tim’s and as it is a holiday, the only pizza he can get will have to be a take and bake, but he knows where he can get some fresh ingredients to finish up what the two of them will need for the day. All he has to do is go to Wal-Mart and get them.
Abigail Sciuto smiles in her sleep. She loves being called Aunt Abby no matter who it is, but she can’t help wishing one of her friends would hurry up and get married so that she can be a babysitter for them. She reaches out and her hand is immediately washed by a long tongue. She giggles and wakes up, grabbing the furry head of Jethro “Butch” McGee.
“Hey boy, it’s going to be a good turkey day, yes it is. We’re going over to Duckman’s house and have turkey and dressing and all the fixings. Are you ready for a Happy Thanksgiving?”
“Wurf!” comes the immediate reply and she puts a hand over his muzzle.
“Shh, you can only stay if you’re quiet. We’ll have to take you back over to Timmy’s later, but for now let’s get ready for a good day over at Ducky’s.”
A long slurpy kiss is her only reply and she giggles again as she heads into the bathroom. Jethro sighs as he feels invisible fingers touching his fur. He knows that something is wrong, but until he can get back to his human, he’s not sure what he can do. For now, he listens to a soft voice, telling him what a good doggie he is and to take care of Unca Tim.
Jimmy Palmer is sitting at the counter of his favorite coffee shop. His diabetes has been bothering him a bit lately, so he’s talking to the barista, explaining how he’ll have to change his order in the upcoming weeks depending on how well his body adapts to the new medications that he will be taking.
As he finishes his order and places one for himself, Ducky and Abby, he shakes his head. A blonde haired child with blue eyes is silently pleading for help. He thinks it’s just an illusion, but he’ll talk to Ducky about it once he gets to his friend’s house.
Dr. Donald Mallard is chuckling to himself as he bastes the turkey. He’s been up for several hours now, cooking the bird, making pies, getting his home ready for the people who will show up even though he knows that it will most likely be just Jimmy Palmer and Abigail Sciuto. Gibbs never darkens his doorstep unless it’s an emergency, while Timothy and Anthony will most likely be watching some game or other on the television while eating pizza and drinking cold beers. He’s quite proud of his youngsters, they’ve all matured into quite a team. He thinks for a moment, and then picks up his telephone.
“Hello Ziva, I was wondering if you would like to join Abigail, Mr. Palmer and myself for a Thanksgiving luncheon. Wonderful. Yes, if you would like to bring a fruit or vegetable tray that would be splendid. Let’s plan for about one o’clock shall we?”
As he hangs up the phone he thinks again about calling Gibbs, but shakes his head and starts to mix up a pan of corn casserole, while plotting what to have Abby make for dessert.
“Granpa Duck? Can you hear me?”
Ducky smiles as he keeps making his preparations. He keeps hoping he’ll live long enough for one of the team to get married and have children; this old house could use some new and young faces to keep it going. He sighs and continues cooking, not seeing a tear-streaked face fading away.