Prompt/Challenge: #510 "Coping"
Word Count: 496
Warning/Spoilers/Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS.
Summary: After one of their own almost dies, the team falls back to their old habits.
The week was long and the case strenuous. It was finally Friday night, the killer behind bars, and Gibbs released everyone saying to get some rest so they had fresh eyes on Monday. Gibbs’s eyes fell on his youngest team member, still concerned. Today was a close call, but they were all together and alive, he had to keep reminding himself.
Abby and Tony made plans. They decided they would go clubbing. Dancing was always something the pair could count on. Sweat mingled with jumping bodies. The option of flirting and hooking up with some warm body, hot on their minds. The bright pulsing lights, loud music and flowing drinks would allow them to unwind and forget that Tim almost died.
Gibbs sanded out his frustrations alone in his basement, bourbon at the ready. The wood bending to his will under his experienced hands. He would do better, work his team harder. He had to! As next time, it may not end as well as it had.
Ziva let out her anger at the gym. The punching bag bruising her hands, deep shades of blue and black, as she gave into the sensations. She was Mossad! Damn it! She should have been able to see Emerson with the gun, able to warn McGee.
Ducky mourned the friends he had lost. Some agents, like the late Pacci or Paula, some old acquaintances. He feared for his friends lives, their job was dangerous after all, and everyone had a reminder of the fragility of life today. Ducky let Palmer's chatter wash over him, as the warmth of the roaring fire and glasses of chardonnay gave way to a sense of peace.
Jimmy Palmer was all tongues. When he was nervous or afraid, he babbled. He always had, ever since he was young. He was relieved to find out that Tim was going to be okay, but that didn’t stop the pounding in his chest or the flopping of his stomach. So, when Ducky offered to finish their conversation over drinks, he gladly accepted. Life was too precious to be spent alone.
Tim McGee was all nerves. He was thankful that the team shot Emerson down before he could get his shot off. He never saw the man get behind him, not able to defend himself. His hands shook and he felt sick to his stomach. He paced his living room, eventually deciding a call to his sister might calm his nerves. After Sarah said they could meet up later this weekend, his breathing seemed to return to normal, his heart not beating as fast. He was glad he had his sister, that they could rely on each other through anything. His eyes roamed his apartment, eventually falling to his computer. His usual video game didn’t seem too appealing. He's had enough violence for one week. So, Tim, alone and surrounded by candlelight, wrote. The typewriter clacking as his words fell on paper, giving life to a new world.