Hangover

The NCIS team left New York a few days later—approximately the time it took both Abby and McGee to get through processing at the hospital. There wasn't anything really wrong with either of them—a few cuts and bruises for Abby, a couple toxins in McGee's blood—but Gibbs wanted to be sure, and Taylor wanted to swab them for any evidence he could find. Taylor also wanted them to stay in town while he and his team completed their sweep of the crashed helicopter, but Gibbs had politely, but firmly, pointed out that he and his team had work to do. A marine had been found dead in Washington, and it was time for them all to put the excitement behind them.

Or at least that was what he said. Once they got back to Washington, it became clear that actually, it was only Tony and Ziva who had work to do. Abby and McGee were both ordered to take a week off and relax—Abby, after all, still had a number of days left to her vacation.

The Marine was a refreshingly simple murder, and it was barely a day after their return to Washington that Ziva and Tony found themselves alone in the office, writing up the case report. Ziva was typing away at her computer with a strange intensity.

Tony's eyes drifted away toward his co-worker. "What did that poor keyboard ever do to you?" He asked. "Beating it to death isn't going to make the letters come out any faster."

Ziva just snorted and continued pounding away.

A small grin curved the edges of Tony's mouth, and he pushed his chair back. "Why didn't you shoot him?"

"Why…?" Ziva's head shot up. Seeing his smirk, she glared and turned back to the computer. "It was a hostage situation. A hostage situation caused by YOUR buffoonery, I might add."

"You've made headshots before at that range. Hostage or no hostage."

"You were not exactly making it easier for me." Ziva pointed out. "Next time your idiocy gets you captured, lean AWAY from the target's head, so as to give a clearer shot."

"Hm, now I seem to remember explaining that," answered Tony, adopting a thoughtful pose. "Unlike YOU, I actually trusted our grey-suited friend."

"Only because he told you his plan on the way up the stairs."

"I still trusted him to be telling the truth," pointed out Tony. "And I was doing my dead best to KEEP you from shooting him in the head, but that doesn't mean I'm not curious as to why you didn't."

"I told you. Hostage situation. I have been told one should try to talk and not shoot during hostage situations. Accordingly, I have been trying to talk. More."

"C'mon, tell the truth." Tony teased her. "You were afraid of hitting me, weren't you?"

Ziva snorted. "Oh please. Don't flatter yourself, Tony."

Sighing, Tony placed a hand on his chest. "You wound me. Figuratively speaking. But that only leaves one other possible explanation for why you'd pass up a perfectly good shot."

"Like what?"

Tony's grin turned delightfully mischevious. "You were afraid of hitting HIM."

A flood of violent Hebrew attacked the smirking NCIS agent.

"Take your orc shaman over the ridge, would you?" Abby asked, squinting at the screen. "Hopefully it'll draw out those demons to where my dwarf rogue can hit them."

"Why am I always the bait?" McGee grimaced, clicking away at his keyboard.

"Be-cause you have a butt-load of hit-points and can heal yourself."

"It still costs mana," grumbled McGee.

"Plus, everyone hates orcs." Abby pointed out. She threw the analyst a look. "Why'd you go for an orc, McGee? It's like you're practically inviting people to attack you. Especially here, in the middle of an elf village."

Giving her a sidelong glance, McGee answered: "Going to the elf village was YOUR idea."

"Oh right." Abby shrugged innocently. "You still agreed to it."

"Well just because…" McGee's attention was suddenly grabbed by the screen. "Uh-oh. Bait's working, here they come."

The next few minutes were filled with the sounds of fiery explosions, complex spells, and frantic clicking. At length the sounds faded and the two relaxed in their chairs.

"Ah…" Abby sighed. "Okay. What say we go to the paladin monastery next?"

"Abs, we've been at this all day."

"And your point is?"

McGee gave a sigh of his own. "I was wondering if we could just… take a break for a minute and talk. Just the two of us."

Ab's face stilled. She suddenly looked very small and frightened. "Wha—what is there to talk about?" She asked.

"We each nearly died, Abby." McGee pointed out. "Don't you think that merits a little discussion?"

For a moment Abby was quiet. "…yes." She finally admitted. Turning to McGee, she said: "I never… when I saw you out there, after all the... I mean, the way you traded in the… I just…" She bit her lip. "I never… thanks." Her voice cracked a little. "Thanks for… everything."

"I'd do it again." McGee told her. Something occurred to him and he blinked. "Although, I guess this time I'd arrange some sort of fail-safe so that they DIDN'T try to kill you the second I was out of hearing range." Abby gave a hiccupping sort of laugh and McGee smiled. "But apart from that… I'd do it again."

"Don't." Abby told him, looking him straight in the eye. "You have to promise me… promise me you'll NEVER do anything that stupid again. I keep… I keep replaying that bit in my head where you… you got into the boat with that lady and just… drove away and I…" Glancing away, she shook her head. "I was sure you were going to die, McGee. I was so terrified for you and I… I don't want to feel that way again." She looked up at him. "So promise me you won't do it again."

McGee seemed to think. "I can't." He confessed. "I mean, I can maybe promise I'll be smarter about it… stick a subdermal tracer in my ear canal or wear a bulletproof vest or something but… I can't promise not to try and save you again."

Abby closed her eyes. "I know."

There was a moment of silence. Clearly, McGee had something else on his mind. "Abby…" he began hesitantly. "Do you think… we could… I don't know… get back together?"

Abby's eyes flew open. "That would be a VERY bad idea right now." She insisted, pulling away a little. "Statistically, 53% of all decisions made in the wake of a life-threatening experience are poor choices. Especially dealing with relationships. There's this study that psychologists think because the body is faced with mortality, it prompts the desire to reproduce and leave something behind. I'm not sure what the exact figures on couples that get together after a mutual kidnapping, but the data suggests it can't be very good."

"Right." McGee sighed. "Sorry. I just thought…"

"Wait two weeks. THEN let's get back together."

Gibbs hung up his coat on the hook in the closet, clicking on the light as he entered the kitchen. He glanced at the phone—three messages, none of which could be very urgent. Opening up the fridge, he took out a beer, then, after a moment's thought, took out a second. He opened the door to the workshop and flicked on the light switch, illuminating the piles of lumber and the still-unfinished boat within.

A little smile graced Gibbs' lips, as he took a moment to inhale the odor of sawdust and varnish. Quietly he descended the stairs into the workshop. "Don't suppose you know much about carpentry." He said.

"Sorry." The voice came from the shadows below the stairs. "Nobody taught me growing up, and I never had the time once I was older."

"You should make time." Gibbs answered, stopping to run his hand over the smooth-grained surface of the boat's bow.

"My boss keeps me pretty busy. But I'll ask about it. Do you go off a design, or…?"

"I could. I prefer to play it by ear, though. There's some measurements I sketch out, but that's it." Gibbs turned to study the figure below the stairs. "You look good for surviving a helicopter crash." He noted.

Reese shrugged, careful not to jostle the sling his arm was in, or budge the bandages hidden under his suit. "Not my first time."

"Somehow, I believe you," answered Gibbs drily. Extending his arm, he handed Reese a beer. "What about Root?"

A wince crossed Reese's face. "Still around, best as I can tell."

Gibbs made a little grunt of disappointment. "When Taylor told me there were no bodies in the copter crash, I assumed as much." He said, turning back to the boat. "I suppose one of you could have dragged the other's body away."

"I wasn't in much shape to drag much of anything." Reese pointed out, screwing the cap off the beer bottle.

"Or stop a 5-foot woman, apparently." Moving to the workbench, Gibbs set down his bottle and picked up a piece of sandpaper.

"What can I say? She's faster than she looks. I slapped the gun out of her hand, but it went off and…" Reese gave a helpless gesture. "Can't pilot a helicopter with a giant hole in the console." He took a sip.

"Sure you can. Just not very well."

"Not well enough to avoid crashing." Reese considered. "But well enough to make it a minor impact, I suppose. Still knocked me out… when I came to, Root was gone."

"Of course she was." The sandpaper rasped back and forth along the grain of the wood. "And why didn't she kill you?"

Again Reese shrugged. "I got thrown pretty far in the crash. I doubt she wanted to spend time looking for me, especially since it might have turned out I WASN'T unconscious. And…" For a moment he looked away. "…there is something of an… understanding between us."

Gibbs gave a little nod. "I gathered that." He noted. "Must say, I'm curious as to what your employer said to convince her to give up McGee like that."

"You'd have to ask him about that." Reese rolled his eyes. "But he sent me to tell you that Root won't be after McGee again—or anyone on the NCIS team, for that matter."

"So." Gibbs turned fully to look at Reese, arms crossed. "This is the 'leave her alone, she's our problem' talk?"

Reese pretended to consider this. "Pretty much." He answered at length. "Though it's a bit closer to 'don't waste your time.' Root's good at what she does, and she never leaves ANY traces. Right now, all you'd have on her was the eyewitness testimony of you and two of your agents."

"AND McGee."

"McGee was drugged. Hardly a reliable witness." Reese pointed out. "Don't get me wrong, Agent Gibbs. I've read your file, and I'm pretty sure that if you put your mind to it, you'd catch her sooner or later. But it'd take a long time—longer than your superiors would appreciate, I imagine. Especially without a real case to connect her to."

"So I just let the woman who kidnapped and attempted to murder two of my agents walk away?" Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "If you've read this 'file' you have on me, you know that's not my style."

"I'd hardly have come all the way to Washington if it wasn't." Reese snorted. "Just trust me. She's a hard person to find, but if you play it right, you can get her to find you. And she's more likely to come after us than you."

"Really." Gibbs nodded, eyes narrowed. "And how do you know that? We never did find out why she kidnapped McGee. Or how you knew McGee and Abby would be in danger."

Reese smiled and looked around the workshop. "You know…" He mused. "…this is probably one of the few places left totally free from surveillance. No security cameras, no computers, no webcams… I'll bet you don't even bring your phone down here, do you?"

"Usually I do." A light smirk tugged at the edge of Gibbs' mouth. "I made an exception this time."

"You're an old-fashioned sort, aren't you, Agent Gibbs?" Reese noted, studying the smooth lines of the boat, the chestnut brown of its surface. "A traditional cop with traditional methods. Even if you're not exactly up-to-date, though, you understand people, and the secrets that people keep. Too old to be naive, I suppose, about the secrets people—and governments-hide. Smart enough to know how to keep your own."

"And?" Gibbs cocked his head.

"And so am I." Reese said, standing to his feet. "I may not understand people, but I understand secrets. And I can keep them."

A snort broke loose from Gibbs. "So what? I'm supposed to just give up the chase on your say-so?"

"No," answered Reese, offering a smile. "You're supposed to trust me."

"Trust you. You've given me no information, no details, no rationale." Gibbs crossed his arms. "What am I supposed to trust you on?"

"On instinct." There was perhaps just a touch of amusement in Reese's voice. "That's what you do, isn't it?"

Gibbs glared at him and turned back to the boat. "Tell your partner that as long as she stays out of my jurisdiction, I'll leave the case alone." Reese inclined his head and started to move up the stairs. "And tell him..." Gibb's voice stopped Reese, "...that if I find either of you, or anyone working with you, within half-a-mile of my people, I will move heaven and earth to take the both of you down."

Reese just smiled. "You've got our number."

Gibbs turned around, a slightly puzzled look on his face, but Reese was already gone. Yet as he moved back to his carpentry, Gibbs' eye caught sight of something glittering on the stool where Reese had been.

It was a cell phone.

The End

A/N: The majority of this was done on Saturday, but I REALLY didn't like the last section, and I decided everyone who's stuck with the story for this long deserved better than a half-hearted ending. So I waited a day, came back to it, and got something I like much better.

Thanks for reading, everyone! I've enjoyed writing this crossover, and I've enjoyed reading all your many comments on it. If you liked this story, you may want to check out my account-I've written a DISGRACEFUL amount of PoI crossovers, and one rather goofy NCIS/KND crossover. In the meantime, I want to finish up on the Blue Bloods/Dark Knight Rises fic I've got about half-done, and then focus on some more original work.

I say that every time I finish one of these multi-chapter stories. Maybe it'll actually be true this time.