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tari_rooSupply and Demand: Unwanted Part 3/9 (NCIS/SPN Crossover AU)
Author: Tari_Roo
Rating: PG13 (Gen)
Fandom: SPN/NCIS
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing.
Summary: NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.
Spoilers: set somewhere in Season 6&7 of NCIS, and AU for SPN (all seasons)
Chapter 3
There is a saying about an elephant in a room that no one wants to talk about. It was an odd saying to be sure and one he had often made note of to look up the etymology but had yet to do so.
Timothy shifted, his seat creaking in response, at a loss with what to do with himself. There was a soft hum of work in the office, the late afternoon light filling the room through the glass wall, the Navy Yard softened by ambers and yellows. None of this helped his increasing unease though.
Ziva was face planted on her desk, moaning softly as she listened to dismal on-hold muzak, Tony having already demanded that she turn off the speaker phone. If there was a hell worse than the DMV, it was trying to speak to someone from the DMV call centre. Tony meanwhile was finger stabbing his keyboard, muttering under his breath, eyes twitching between keyboard and screen.
None of this however was unusual for a post-case wind down – suspect in custody, JAG to be briefed and Abby happily confirming suspicions with evidence. No, the elephant that everyone was ignoring was standing near Gibbs’ desk, staring at a ZNN broadcast. You kinda forgot about him, until you realised that you hadn’t and yes, Tim was aware that that made no sense but he’d made the mistake of helping the guy out of the van and while he hadn’t noticed it initially now his hands were tingling.
Seriously, tingling. He felt jittery, like he’d gone too long without caffeine and was jonesing for a fix. Which was weird. Flicking his eyes around the room again, McGee sighed and tried to focus on his report but the overly bright screen was blurry and his hands were hot and damn it, he just frigging needed to …
The spike in tension was electric and Ziva shot to her feet, the phone clattering onto the desk, her eyes wide, looking for danger. Tony was ‘what, what-ting’, head swivelling like a top and Tim was surprised to find himself on his feet as well, already half a step around his desk.
“You! Knock it off!”
Gibbs was back, presumably from Abby’s and already in Dean’s face, eyes flashing with anger. Every time Gibbs got hear him, Dean lashed out, flooding the area with emotion. It was getting pretty damn annoying. They weren’t the only ones watching the standoff either, as the rest of floor had also felt the spike and were now staring.
Unrepentant, Dean glowered back at Gibbs, as if daring him to do … something. The mini face off between Kinetic and Empath stretched into uncomfortable territory in a few short seconds. With a thud and a distinct ‘clunk’, Dean’s grey duffle bag landed on the desk, shattering the moment. As Gibbs turned to snarl at the interruption, Tony said brightly, “Why not take him home, Boss. Get him settled. It’s been a long day. We’re just about done anyway.”
That seemed to be permission enough for everyone else to return to their own work, the disturbed hum resuming and perhaps that nudged Gibbs into accepting the out offered. Barely looking at them, Gibbs snatched up the duffle and growled, “Let’s go,” and shoved past Dinozzo, but Tony caught the grateful look and he shot his boss a reassuring smile.
The smooth diffusion of tension nearly faltered though when Dean hung back, seemingly unable or unwilling to follow along meekly when ordered. Before Gibbs had even really noticed, Tony snagged Dean’s arm and said softly, “Come on, man, you don’t bait the bear and then expect it to play nice later.”
Ziva, Tony and Tim watched as Gibbs and his Empath disappeared from view as the elevator doors shut and an audible and palatable sign of relief was heard. “Damn.”
“Is he not supposed to help? Make things better?” Ziva sighed as well, brushing her hair off her face, glancing up at Tony.
“Yeah, I guess. Seemed to at first.”
McGee shook his head, “I don’t know, Tony …”
Nodding, Ziva interjected with, “He seems to delight in provoking Gibbs. I thought Empaths were … gentle and easy going.”
“They are-“
“Maybe he is a dud.”
Dinozzo shrugged, just glad that the day was over and he turned to flash his colleagues a dazzling grin and said, “Don’t know, but he seems to suit Gibbs just fine.”
Rolling her eyes, Ziva flopped back into her chair and slammed the now beeping phone back on to the set and muttered something under her breath. Tony just twirled in his chair, alternating between watching her and shutting down his PC.
McGee though remained standing, watching the elevator still, feeling.... Well, to be honest he wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling. The constant buzz was gone, the itch, the nagging drive. And in its place was a growing bud of anger. Forcing himself back into motion before Tony noticed his daze, Tim sat down stiffly struggling to define just what it was that bothered him. The keyboard now felt cool and familiar under his hands, the screen crisp and clear.
There was one thing that McGee was perfectly certain of though – he didn’t like being manipulated. Thank goodness Gibbs only had this Empath for two weeks.
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The house was shrouded in the cool greys of early evening by the time Gibbs pulled up, the sharp smells of pizza and garlic filling the car. He body checked the front door open, hands full and dropped dinner on the kitchen counter, before flicking on a few light switches kinetically. Dean didn’t seem to notice or care that two lamps turned themselves on as he passed, but he did nudge the door closed with his foot.
Gibbs stepped out of the kitchen, beer in hand and studied his guest, or roomie as it were. Whether it was his normal state of being or the excitement of a day away from the Centre but the guy looked done in. “Guest room is this way,” and Gibbs led the way down the hall.
The light was already on and Jethro opened the on-suite bathroom door and said to Dean, who was still standing in the hall, “Towels and stuff are under the sink, faucet needs a good thump to get the pressure up.”
He waited but Dean didn’t move and rather than tug or push or pull, Gibbs just brushed past him, feeling a sharp buzz of static and said, “Shower, shave, take a nap, I don’t care. Dinner’s ready whenever you want, but its lights out at 9.”
He felt the cool gaze on his back as he walked back to the kitchen but eventually he heard the bedroom door close and a few minutes later the sound of the shower starting up. Jethro stood in the kitchen eating a slice of pizza, beer close at hand, considering his options. The overhead light buzzed in the silence, the distant shower almost white noise in the background, the sounds of traffic from the main road several blocks over was intermittent.
He didn’t have house guests all that often and it felt a little off having someone here now. He was also concerned that Dean was going to make a break for it in the night. Nothing about the guy screamed co-operation or towing the party line. There was one option though, short of locking up the house and handcuffing the guy to the bed.
Gibbs had had no real practical experience with his telekinesis. It had always been latent and weak, flaring up in extreme circumstances, limited to small things like light switches, and nudges. But he’d had the orientation training years ago and the crash course on dealing with an Empath a few days ago so…
Leaning back on the counter and concentrating on the sounds around him, Gibbs stretched his mind out, only not to flip a switch or shut a door but to feel the thrum of connection between him and Dean. A true connection would be instantaneous and solid and real but as per instructions, Gibbs’s connection was tentative, more based on proximity than anything else. But it was still there, a soft line, a thread of emotion and as he visualised the thread he felt it strengthen and pulse and for a split second he felt the warmth of water and a lingering despair before it was all shut down – firmly.
The urge to revisit the connection was huge and Gibbs both heard the shower shut off and felt it. Felt a mix of anxiety and fear before that too was shut off, locked out. But the visualisation had achieved its purpose and Gibbs was certain that should Dean try and sneak out or worse attack him, he would feel it first. Already he knew Dean was out of the shower and in the bedroom, a steady pulse of repressed emotion and power.
Sipping on his beer, Gibbs carefully locked away his own emotions, not wanting a perceptive and manipulative Empath to push him into any rash behaviour and he tried another ‘trick’ from the crash course. He sent a soft but insistent summons along the connection. Dean was slow to answer but come he did anyway, barefoot and suspicious.
“Pizza’s getting cold. Don’t have a TV, but there books in the den. I’ll be in the basement.” He put as much intention and ‘order’ in that sentence as he could, stressing through their link, however tentative and temporary as it was, that he would be watching and vigilant.
Dean barely batted an eyelid at the implications sent his way and just watched silently as Gibbs left the room, heading down the stairs to the basement.
As it usually did time seemed to evaporate down there and before he knew it, it was after 9, nearly 10 and for a panicked moment Gibbs had to feel for Dean but found him exactly where he was supposed to be. In bed, asleep.
When Jethro awoke the next morning, he had a faint metallic taste in his mouth and the vague recollection of unpleasant dreams already fading from memory. As he blinked against the semi-light of oh-dark-thirty the only impression of the dreams that lingered was that they were the kind that you were glad to wake up from, relieved that they weren’t true.
Soft pre-dawn light was already smudging true darkness into day and Gibbs lay for a few minutes just listening to the early morning, strangely reluctant to broach the day and leave the comfort of his bed. If there were birds, they were in someone else’s yard. The ticks and groans of the house were sporadic and he didn’t need to reach out to know that Dean was still down the hall, breathing quietly in his sleep.
He felt calmer, more in control than he had in months and rather than let the usual flare of anger spark up at the idea of needing help to stay in control of his own emotions and abilities, Jethro made a decision. If he did this right, he’d never need another loan Empath, so it was better to just use Dean’s presence, let it do… whatever it was that he needed and then … be done. And with the least amount of drama.
After showering, shaving and completing his ablutions, Gibbs padded down the hall, knocked lightly on the door and sent a wakeup call as well. Normally, he would have gone on a run first and eaten breakfast on the way in, picking up a coffee but since he had a guest….
He was putting two slices of bread into the toaster when he heard Dean enter the kitchen. “You want bacon and eggs, or just cereal?” Gibbs turned around and noted the bed-head, bleary eyes and rumpled t-shirt. While no answer was expected, the guy could still nod or point but Dean just stood there, waiting.
The toast popped suddenly and Gibbs ground out, his resolution not to get angry already failing, “What? It’s a simple question… what do you want to eat?”
Dean blinked slowly and shuffled his feet a little but it was the tightening of his fist … no hand that finally clued Gibbs in. He was clutching a taser, his knuckles already white and tense, even though the rest of him still looked half asleep.
‘Shit.’ Jethro had forgotten but obviously Dean had not, could not, was conditioned not to.
“Now?” Gibbs blurted out, his own hands suddenly sweaty at the prospect of touching Dean again. He got the distinct impression that this was not something to do on a full stomach.
Gibbs held out his hand for the taser and it took a few seconds but eventually, reluctantly, Dean handed it over. It was small, light, looked well worn and used. It didn’t matter where, he just had to touch the taser briefly on skin, feel the connection break and then turn it off.
Looking down at the thing, the smell of toast wafting through the room, Gibbs got as good a feel on the connection he could and asked, “Ready?”
Dean looked ready, had transferred the white knuckle grip to the counter and nodded briefly. Gibbs flicked the taser on and quickly held it to Dean’s arm, hoping the break would be easy ….
It was like being dunked in ice water, it literally took his breath away and a yawning absence flooded through him, chilling him to the core. He dropped the taser from nerveless fingers and shook his head to clear the disorientation.
In the absence of the connection, Gibbs was surprised to open his eyes and see Dean writhing on the floor, his limbs in a rictus of pain. “What the hell?”
Dropping to his knees, hands automatically reaching out to still the tremors, his touch seemed to bring instant relief. Chest heaving, a thin sheen of sweat on his face, Dean slowly stilled as the spasms and tremors eased. “That happen every time?” Gibbs stammered, horrified.
The cynic within, the part of him that made him a good investigator was wondering if perhaps he was being played here and a nice piece of acting going on. Jethro, however, noted the very real fear seeping through from the man on the floor, the struggle to get himself back under control. Not acting then.
Dean nodded slowly, already trying to get up and Gibbs found himself helping Dean onto his knees where he was suddenly presented with a bowed head and shaking shoulders. A rising swell of nausea at the thought of someone, anyone having to do this - no, have this done to them – every day made Gibbs’s stomach curdle within and he leapt to his feet. Dean remained on his knees, head bowed.
Gibbs raised shaking hands to his face and ran them through his hair, trying to get his own emotions under control. Wrong, wrong, wrong, screamed at him – just wrong.
“Hey, hey, look at me.” Dropping to his knees again, Gibbs reached out to lift Dean’s head, stopped himself and said sharply, “Look at me!”
Slowly, Dean did and Gibbs was relieved, no delighted, to see anger and defiance and hate … oh yes, hate reflected back at him. Not completely broken then. “I don’t know if you’re just not supposed to talk or if this … makes it difficult to talk, but I need to know – is it like this every time?”
There was no confusion, no break in the defiance directed at him, in fact there seemed to be a little contempt in the curl of his mouth, as Dean glared back at him and ever so mockingly nodded.
“Why?”
He was taking a chance asking that, Dean might not be able to answer, physically unable to access the words. The guy however seemed to be keen to try and opened his mouth, licked dry lips and forced out, pointing at Gibbs then himself, “One to one, natural.”
His voice was rough, cracked and it seemed like a struggle to string the words together. “One to many,” and this time he did a vague hand motion encompassing the room, “unnatural. Forced. Wrong.” There was a lot of emphasis on the wrong, a lot of anger imbued in that word.
And it didn’t really clear anything for Jethro. He knew there was a shortage of Empaths, knew that the few there were had be shared and that the sharing meant keeping the Empaths open to connections, not allowing permanents connections. “And this is the only way for, you know, one to many?”
But whatever ability or willingness to try to communicate dried up at the question and Dean just glared at Gibbs, both still on their knees, eye ball to eye ball. Uncertain now as to what to do, Gibbs sank back onto his knees and paused. The need to connect again, even just that tenuous almost connection from before was screaming through him. But the very real prospect of having to do this every day made the whole thing extremely unpalatable.
Maybe…?
Grimacing a little, Gibbs shifted forward, flexing his hands and tentatively raised them, palms out, waiting. If there was a flicker of disappointment, it was a micro-expression and gone in an instant, and Dean slowly lowered his head.
But even as Gibbs extended his hands, he didn’t actually touch, he held them just above Dean’s head, brushing the unseen but very tangible aura of power. He imagined warming his hands, drawing heat in, storing it, putting it away. By the time he felt ‘full’ and warm, his knees were aching and he had pins and needles in his feet.
The connection was there but without the whole live wire, touching raw power experience of yesterday and neither of them were as shaken or in Dean’s case drained. Confused eyes met his for a moment before Dean scrambled to his feet and hastily left the room. Gibbs felt good, although not as electrified as yesterday but this was almost better, more… normal.
He tested the connection a little and knew Dean was in the bedroom, and then the bathroom and then bedroom again. Pacing.
Groaning a little as he got to his feet and shook the pins and needles out, Gibbs yelled down the hall, “There’s no time for anything but cereal, so I hope you like Cornflakes!”
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Director Vance observed the NCIS Bullpen noting the ebbs and flows of agents and personnel. It could have been described as a beehive or ant colony but he never really understood or bought into the notion that anyone really saw a pattern in those insect colonies. On all the discovery channel documentaries he had sat through with his kids, the swarming mass of insects looked too chaotic to be anything more than a disarray, many hands doing what one could have achieved. Vance liked to think that NCIS, at least under his leadership, was more like a well run ship than a hive of mindless insects. And the navy metaphor was more appropriate anyway. Everyone knew their place, did their job efficiently and it all worked.
Sometimes.
Word of yesterday’s disruptions had of course reached him even though he had been in meetings for most of the day. Today though as he surveyed his ‘ship’ everything seemed to be in working order, no emotional rollercoasters, no volatile confrontations but then it looked liked Gibbs was Empath free. Perhaps a small homicide had occurred last night and Gibbs had disposed of the body already. Vance sauntered down to the bullpen, noting that only Ziva was at her desk, besides Gibbs who was hen pecking at his keyboard, no doubt typing up yesterday’s arrest. A safe enough topic to broach the man with.
“Director,” Gibbs nodded, acknowledging him. David also inclined her head, her fingers flying across the keyboard in a likewise industrious manner.
“Agent Gibbs. Interesting case yesterday.” He didn’t exactly phrase it as a question, more a statement but Gibbs raised an eyebrow and said, “Not really, Vance.”
Undeterred, Leon said softly, looking around briefly, “Dinozzo’s calling it the ‘serial slob who got a fright’?”
Unimpressed, Gibbs shrugged and replied, “The guy moved into empty naval homes, lived like a pig, and then moved out before the owners returned ... all because Family and Fleet refused to assist him after he trashed his last known address. PO Martinez caught him at it and got a baseball bat to the head. It’s not interesting, Director, it’s disgusting.”
“True, but I know a few red faced NCOs at Fleet and Family Support who failed to do anything about the complaints and now this. They thought it was just random squatters and had left it with District PD.”
“Like I said, disgusting.”
Never one to watch his step, Vance barged on with, “Good thing kinetic assisted arrests have a precedent... even with JAG. Ensign Barrows is making a lot of noise about police brutality. You gave him quite a knock, Gibbs.”
Gibbs didn’t meet Vance’s eyes, instead fidgeting with a file on his desk. Well aware of the claim and that it would hold no water due to said precedent but considering he wasn’t entirely sure who had generated or directed the kinetic shove, he ended up shrugging and saying, “Nothing he didn’t deserve.”
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Vance asked dryly, “And the emotional rollercoaster this office was subjected to? Did they deserve that too?”
Silence answered him, Gibbs still not meeting his questioning gaze, shuffling papers with no response forthcoming.
“At least tell me if I’m going to be explaining to T&E why they are short one Empath?”
Chuffing in response, Gibbs stood and said gruffly, “He’s downstairs with Abby.”
“And?”
No response again and Vance lost some of his patience and pressed, “Gibbs, I pulled a lot of strings to get you an Empath rather than you spend 2 weeks at the Centre. Is it working? I don’t want my building reeling from the backlash of your little power struggles.”
Well aware that Ziva was paying close attention to the whole conversation and that this was why Vance was having it in the bullpen rather than in his office, Gibbs sighed, “Yes. I feel better – it is working and I appreciate the effort.”
Vance raised his eyebrows, and Gibbs grunted, “We’ve reached an ... understanding, I think or at least I have.”
Vance nodded, accepting this for now but fully aware that the next few days might get more interesting. “Good - use this opportunity wisely, Gibbs. I’m not inclined to pull these favours at the drop of a hat.” With that he left, nodding at David who was now studiously occupied again.
Gibbs taped his fingers on his desk, felt the distant connection acutely, the conversation triggering the realisation that down stairs was just a little too far for real comfort.
Shoving his chair aside, Gibbs stalked down the hall to Abby’s elevator, feeling Ziva’s gaze and regard. As the doors dinged open on the lab’s level a heavy beat thudded through the floor, throbbing through his head as well.
Stepping into the lab, which was brightly lit and abuzz with machinery and two more bodies than usual, Gibbs was greeted with a delighted, “Gibbs!”
Abby tottered over on unusually high platforms, even for her and he soon had an armful of Abby Scuito. Pulling back, finishing her study of the man before her, Abby said excitedly, “You’re a little early, Gibbs but come on!”
She dragged him towards her computer and as the loud metal music continued to throb loudly through the room unconsciously Gibbs thought the music down and invisible fingers turned the volume lower.
“No way! Nice control, Gibbs,” Abby beamed and McGee, perched on the other side of the desk, looked up over the PC and said, “Yeah, Boss. Thanks.”
Pouting, Abby said, “We agreed, Timothy. Metallica was the mutually acceptable option.”
“I know Abs, but it was a little loud.”
Waving off McGee’s plea, Abby pulled up a new window on her screen and said, “I’ve confirmed that the baseball bat you found in CPO Richard’s house was the murder weapon. The bat had Martinez’s DNA all over it, Ensign Barrow’s fingerprints and ...” Abby paused for dramatic effect, “Drum roll please ...trace elements of cheese, wheat, tomato and basil. Pizza, Gibbs, pizza!”
“OK.”
“And I’ve confirmed that Ensign Barrows’ fingerprints were on the tv remote, tv itself, kitchen, bathroom and many many soda cans – in both houses. This guy was, is an idiot, Gibbs.”
McGee snorted his agreement, the sound of typing now audible beneath the still pulsing music. “Good work, Abs.”
Abby bounced on her heels, swinging her hands a little, smiling at Gibbs. Her pigtails swished with the motion and Gibbs fought the smile that threatened to emerge.
A light bulb clicked and Abby exclaimed, “Oh, right. He’s in the other lab.” Grabbing Gibb’s hand, she tugged him along and through the glass doors, explaining, “He’s fixing my old gas chromatograph, who was feeling a little put out with being replaced, but now!”
It looked more like Dean was gutting it than anything else. He barely looked up to acknowledge them, sitting cross-legged on the floor, the innards of the machine spread out around him. Gibbs however didn’t need the acknowledgment. The increase in anxiety the conversation with Vance had triggered had already been assuaged when he entered the lab and now the sight of Dean, content and at east, completely relaxed his nerves.
Now, however, probably picking up on that, Dean raised one eye to Gibbs, a mocking smile twitching his lips but Jethro didn’t rise to the bait.
Oblivious to the exchange, Abby said happily, “I’m going to ask him to check out my car later. Dean’s real handy .... with machines.” Abby stressed the pause and laid in on the innuendo which Dean responded to with a quick smile and a wink. Slightly taken aback at the change the smile made, Gibbs revised his plan of dragging his Empath upstairs and muttered instead, “Good to hear, Abs. Later.”
“Bye, Gibbs!”
As Gibbs passed McGee, they shared a look and a nod of understanding. Tim would keep an eye on Dean and call if there was any ... manipulation going on.
The rest of the day was pretty ordinary, filled with the paperwork of wrapping up a case and if Gibbs visited Abby more than usual no one said anything, even if Abby looked as pleased as punch with each visit. Dinozzo returned from briefing the JAG prosecutor, Ziva handed in her reports and Gibbs couldn’t help but resent his good mood, just a little, despite his early morning resolution.
He collected Dean from the lab at the end of the day and gave Abs a kiss on the cheek as his forensic expert packed her skull festooned handbag. “Be nice, Gibbs,” was her parting instruction, and she waved goodbye to Dean, his farewell hug already bestowed.
The trip home was quiet, an underlying tone of unease present but far better than yesterday. Dean sat in the kitchen and sipped a beer while Gibbs grilled two steaks and nuked a packet of vegetables.
The meal over – eaten in silence – Gibbs considered maybe inviting Dean downstairs but his Empath got up, put his plate in the sink and gave a two fingered wave goodnight, his intent clear.
The house was still, wrapped in slumbering darkness when the vibrating alert of his cellphone drew Gibbs groggily from his sleep. Groaning, he snapped the phone open and growled, “What?”
“Agent Gibbs?”
“Yeah?”
“This is Metro PD Dispatch. We have an emergency in progress, an apartment block fire in Southwest, on 12th. Your immediate assistance is required.”
It took a moment to process, but just a moment and Gibbs said, “And you’re calling me?”
“Yes, sir. You are a registered Telekinetic with a resident Empath. The Fire Department is trying to reach trapped residents, sir and your assistance is required.”
‘Ah.’ One of the conditions of getting an Empath, however briefly, was being on call for emergencies which needed telekinetic support.
“Right, 12th in Southwest. I’m on my way.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Flipping the phone closed, Gibbs looked over to see Dean standing in the doorway, already dressed and ready to go.
“Smart ass.”
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-In response to the public outcry around the Galvaston Suicides, Congress has passed the legislation which requires all Telekinetics and Empaths to report to the nearest T&E Centre and be registered and tested. Failure to do so will be a criminal offence. With the sharp increase in telekinetic crimes, several police departments and the FBI have established T&E divisions manned by both normal and telekinetic personnel. In addition, the legislation makes provision of the secondment of telekinetics and empaths into emergency response and military service.-
-ZNN Broadcast, 1987
