Death, Kindly Stop For Me
Disclaimer: All names and trademarks recognised as "NCIS" do not belong to me; I've just borrowed the characters for my own purpose. The title is inspired by the Emily Dickinson poem Because I could not stop for Death.
Genre: Tragedy, Gen
Warnings: Character death!!
Summary: Four times Team Gibbs died and one time they didn't. Character death.
A/N I felt like killing characters. Sorry.
i. four times team gibbs died
"You're a bloody idiot, Probie," Tony scolds as blood creeps through the material underneath his palms.
Tim tries to shrug indifferently, but it hurts. "I wasn't thinking," he manages to gasp. His eyes flicker and Tony reaches out; grabs his hand.
"Clearly," Tony remarks dryly. "No, McGee, stay with me."
Tim opens one eye and glances up at Tony. With a ghost of a smile, he says, "Sorry. Next time I'll let you take the bullet, shall I?"
There is a shuddering sigh and Tony shouts, "No. No! Not like this!" Tony's hand feels someone squeeze it lightly.
"Did you – plan – to go out with a bang?" Ziva asks, trying to avoid looking at the man in her lap and the agent standing next to the banged-up car.
Tony manages a shuddering laugh. "Though it would be saving lives," he coughs, "not . . .: He trails off and struggles to look at Tim.
. . . Not accidently being run down by your friend, Ziva finishes silently. Later, they'd tell him it wasn't his fault. He won't believe them. But now, it does not matter.
Tony glances up at Ziva one last time and says with finality, "We would have had amazing sex."
She's fragile as she struggles to sit up. Firm hands are there to guide her; but she pushes them away. She coughs and sweeps dull, matted hair from her face.
"Ziva," Tim sighs as he watches her struggle. "Please."
"I am fine," she mutters, though all can she she's not. After everything with Mossad, with NCIS, it is her own body that betrays her.
"No, Ziva," Tim says slowly, "you're not." You heard what the doctors said."
"They don't always know best." Ziva coughs and falls to her pillow. She gasps, and grapples at thin air.
The machine flat lines.
"Boss? Boss!" Tony calls, scanning the warehouse wildly.
Ziva and Tim race up to him. "What's going on?" Tim pants as Ziva points her gun at the shadows.
"Don't know," Tony mutters. "One moment Gibbs' here, the next he's not." Tony is frowning and concern creases his forehead. "I think he's hurt."
"Listen." Tim hushes them, and they hear something stagger and fall. They raise their weapons and move out slowly.
At first it's a leg, then a body and an arm. Tony yells, "Gibbs!" There's a groan, and a gasp, in reply.
He's dead before they even reach him.
v. and one time they didn't
The house explodes, raining burnt wood and melted plastic. There is smoke, a lot of it, and it's hard to see. Gibbs blinks, twice, and slowly the clouded fog disappears.
"Everyone okay?" he asks.
Someone coughs beside him. "Just peachy, boss," Tony replies, fanning smoke from his face. He sits up and rubs his head. "I hate bombs."
"Never met many who liked them." Gibbs rolls his eyes. "McGee? Ziva?"
"I am fine," Ziva's muffled voice says, "if someone would get off me."
"Sorry," Tim coughs and detangles himself from Ziva. "Sorry."
"Everyone okay?" Gibbs repeats.
There are three affirmatives.