“Three may keep a secret…if two of them are dead.”
Benjamin Franklin
The act of keeping a secret can, sometimes, be a difficult, frustrating, and energy-sapping task, driving even the most steadfast person right to the brink of distraction. It can be like a persistent tickle or an unrelenting itch playing constantly at the back of the mind, sleeping only periodically and then awakening at the most inopportune of times, abruptly clawing it’s way heedlessly, determinedly, up into the back of the throat and spilling out into the mouth like an ugly blob, attempting to escape the dark, wet confines and be expelled through betraying lips and teeth. There may be a momentary feeling of remorse, once the secret is passed on, but, more times than not, it also seems to bring a significant amount of relief to the teller and, usually, a sense of self-importance. At other times, the secret is passed on almost as soon as it’s given, from one person to the next, the special, concealed tidbit not even harbored long enough to know any real suppression. It almost seems to go directly against human nature to keep secrets, as if sharing the private fragment of knowledge will, somehow, validate the importance of trying to keep it unspoken and unshared in the first place.
But I don’t feel that way…never have…and am perfectly content to keep all my secrets hidden within the deepest recesses of my psyche, locking them in tight and keeping the bolt fastened securely. No one else needs to know that I loved my mother more than I loved my father or about the hidden stash of porn I found in my grandfather’s closet right after he died or how, in the days before the Earth changed and livestock was readily available for slaughter, I used to sometimes get extremely turned on while watching men eat meat. No, I have no desire to share those few items with anyone and I plan to keep them secreted away, taking them with me to the grave. Not because I feel they would damage my professional ’status’ with my colleagues and peers. Hell, no. I don’t give a flying fuck what they think of me personally; that’s for pansy-assed, pencil-pushing, pompous politicians…or teenaged girls.
Oh, I’ve got more secrets than just that small handful, some focusing around my time as a sniper for the Marine Corps and some concerning my short but extremely meaningful first marriage, but those almost seem insignificant to this one presently eating away at my soul and, I suppose, it’s because this secret could directly effect the members of my current team and not just me. I’d never recklessly put them in danger, never willingly expose them to a situation like I endured with my comrades-in-arms all those years ago while still in the Corps, and never irresponsibly risk their lives over the potential failings of some man-made, alien-influenced, hunk of fabricated metal…or whatever the hell it’s made of. I like to think I learned a lesson from that experience…a very hard lesson…but one I will never forget. The human race can’t afford to lose any more good people, especially at the hands of something designed, theoretically, to assist us toward a goal of planet-wide unity and stability.
We’ll see.
So, I’ll play along for now and closely watch this Triple A unit, keeping my secret to myself and my eyes wide open to what it really is: an interloper, a weak link, and an unwanted, human-looking burden around my neck. Morrow and Shepard couldn’t have chosen a better albatross for me to bear.
The elevator dings and I glance quickly at the display located at the corner of my computer monitor, knowing the unit should be returning relatively soon. I don’t want to seem anxious or eager, so I keep myself from looking that way but it’s damn hard. That thing has been with Ducky and Abby for an inordinately long amount of time and I’ve been tempted once…or twice…to give them a call, just to check to make sure they’re both all right and haven’t fallen prey to faulty programming or some short-circuiting mechanism. Yeah, that would be a real kicker, wouldn’t it? Two of the most important members of the entire NCIS establishment taken out by one rogue, defective, experimental android. This place would never be the same…and I would be the one to personally put that worthless shit pile of artificial intelligence permanently away, scattering the pieces with my own hands and making sure whatever alien technology I find in the remaining mess is ground to a fine pulp under my heels.
I take a deep breath and hold it in for a moment, trying to calm my fears and my anger, because I can hear Abby disembarking from the elevator…probably with the unit right at her shoulder…and she sounds like she usually does: bright, happy, and fairly bouncing with barely restrained enthusiasm. And, more importantly, unharmed. I glance her way and see I was right. She’s talking continually to it, smiling and babbling, and the thing is just nodding and trying to stay up with her long, energetic strides. The look on it’s face is almost comical, like it just doesn’t know what to make of the young woman’s liveliness, but it seems content to listen and make the periodic bobbing motion with it’s head, a small smile playing around the corners of it’s mouth.
But there’s something else I can’t help but notice now, something that sets my teeth on edge and makes my ire rise once again: it’s walking with a more relaxed, laid-back gait and looks, unbelievably, like it’s just been out for a couple of drinks with some close friends. I don’t like that appearance on it at all. As I look closer, I can see it’s impeccably dressed form is vastly different, too. Now, it almost seems casually attired. The suit coat is off and draped nonchalantly over one shoulder, the tails of the carefully pressed dress shirt are untucked and hanging out, the collar is unbuttoned and the tie is missing, and the long sleeves are rolled up to just below it’s elbows, exposing strong looking forearms covered in a slight dusting of very real looking hair.
It looks human…and I have to forcibly swallow back the bile that rises unexpectedly into my throat.
I can see both Todd and McGee have stopped their individual tasks as Abby approaches, their eyes quickly flicking surreptitiously back and forth between the approaching duo, and I’m perfectly aware they’ve just been hanging around for this reason. They could have headed for home an hour ago but both weren’t about to leave for the day without seeing what would happen when the Triple A came back up. They want to hear what the examination revealed and, more importantly, they want to hear what Abby and Ducky think about our newest NCIS tool.
“Gibbs!” Abby almost squeals with delight as she moves past Todd’s desk and throws her arms out wide, her pale eyes shining with devilment. “Congratulations, it’s a boy!”
McGee barks out a quick laugh and swiftly averts his face. I shoot him a stern look that goes relatively unnoticed before refocusing my attention totally on my boisterous tech.
“Abby!” Cait’s voice has that scolding, slightly appalled tone it gets when she’s unsuccessfully trying to recapture the prim and proper little Catholic girl she might have been when she was twelve. But there’s a hint of a smile playing around her mouth, too, and I know she thinks Abby’s remark is funny. “I think we can all tell DiNozzo represents a male.”
“Well, he represents a male a lot more than I bet you can imagine,” she almost crows in delight, her dark eyebrows arching wickedly and her mouth forming a knowing smirk. “A *lot* more.”
The statement makes me frown. Just why in the hell would it be made to…
“Why would an android need sexual organs?” McGee’s pertinent question silences my concerns and aptly asks exactly what I’m thinking. “They can’t biologically reproduce.” He hesitates for a moment, his expression slowly turning a bit sickly. “They *can’t*, can they?”
“Well, no,” Abby begins, rolling her eyes, and I know I have to change the direction of this conversation immediately, before she has the chance to gear up and proceed with her explanation. “Reproduction requires…”
“Abby,” I growl out my displeasure and wait as she swings her gaze back my way. She drops her chin slightly and looks at me from under the fan of her dark lashes, like some wayward child, and I have to resist the urge to reach out and smack her impertinent, little ass. She can play ‘coy’ all she wants with others but she knows I don’t do that game. “Just stick to the relevant information.”
“But, Gibbs,” there’s a slight, petulant whine to her voice, “penises *are* relevant.” My stern gaze makes the dark pout slowly slip from her face. She sighs deeply and then immediately hands me the thick folder she’s brought up from the lab, her quick mind recognizing my mood. “Okay, here’re the results of the tests Ducky and I ran and the conclusions of our examinations.” She turns just a bit and watches as…it…silently retakes the seat behind the desk that’s been assigned while it works here. “It’s just as the information we received months ago described…with that not-so-little penis surprise added in…” she’s smiling as she turns back to me and I have to wonder just how ‘personal‘ she got with the unit, “and all the systems check out like they should. As far as we can tell, he’s a real close cousin to that rocking H7 humanoid robot created by Doctor Nishiwaki and his colleagues from the Digital Human Research Center in Tokyo several years ago…only better.”
Better. Right. I’ll be the judge of that…and, maybe, even the jury and the executioner before this is all over.
“Oh, it’s much, much more than merely ‘better‘, my dear Abigail,” Ducky’s cultured voice insists from somewhere to my left and I glance over to watch as our medical examiner enters from the area just past the spare desk located near McGee’s position. He stops and looks pointedly at me. “Our new unit is an ingenious mix of technology and biology, it’s body equipped with visual, auditory, and other sensory capabilities that slightly exceed human abilities. It understands written and verbal communication,” he turns to take a few steps toward the Triple A, “and is even fluent in a host of foreign languages, aren’t you, my new friend? But, best of all,” his blue eyes swing back toward me and I can see his pleasure simmering just under the surface, “it has the ability to reason and can mirror our own extensive, contextual knowledge of the real world.”
“And that’s a good thing?” I have to ask, knowing I should act more pleased with their report but I’m just unable to share in any of their unnerving enthusiasm at this point.
I can’t miss Ducky’s frown or his knowing look. I’ve never related the tale of my past experience with robots to him but I think he suspects something has turned me sour to them. He’s a sly, old fox and knows me much too well, so I’ll have to be careful if I plan on maintaining my secret. I try to keep my expression as bland as possible and just wait for his response.
“Of course it’s a good thing,” he replies steadily, still watching me closely with those knowing eyes. “The alien technology it carries allows it to process a range of human characteristics. It has emotions, creativity, intuition, will, sexual identity…”
“I’ll say it does,” Abby mumbles tartly under her breath and McGee strangles back another laugh, turning it into a soft cough before completely stopping.
“Wait a minute,” Todd is rising from her desk and moving toward the Triple A’s position, folding her arms across her chest and looking down at the silent, seated unit. It’s clear, green eyes stare back at her steadily but I’ll be damn if I can detect any expression on that manufactured face. “If it has emotions, how is it we’ve not seen any of them yet? I mean,” she shrugs and tries not to look embarrassed by her query, glancing quickly away from the unit, “if it has emotions, shouldn’t we be seeing them?”
“Ah, I see. Just what did you have in mind, Caitlin?” Ducky asks a bit shrewdly, tilting his head to one side.
“Well, I don’t know,” she sounds a bit exasperated and I can understand her attitude. So far, all I’ve seen are a few small smiles and some strangely child-like expressions but, other than that, nothing. “Does it even laugh?”
“Has it heard *you* laugh yet?” Ducky asks pointedly, waving a hand distractedly toward McGee’s position without looking at the young agent. “And don’t equate that stifled bit of noise we just heard from Timothy as a true laugh.”
“I guess not,” Todd confesses but still looks confused. Yeah, join the club, Cait…I feel the same way. “What has that got to do with anything?”
“This unit,” Ducky moves close and places a hand lightly on the Triple A’s closest shoulder, “is programmed to respond accordingly to the emotions it receives from it’s new team.” He casts his gaze toward each of us and ends, of course, with me. Yep. Sly, old fox. I remain stoic until his eyes finally shift back to Todd. “He needs to have close contact with each of you, personally, one at a time.” Now, just wait one damn minute. I didn’t expect *this* shit. “He will learn from each of you and will respond appropriately.”
Ducky tilts his chin down and studies the unit’s bent head and I suddenly see something I never expected from a robot: it’s cheeks are slightly flushed, like it’s embarrassed or self-conscious by the line of our questioning, and, unbelievably, it seems to be uncomfortable with the conversation going on around it. That can’t be right. Since when can a damn robot have feelings like that?
Since alien technology, I suppose. Well, crap.
“Awww,” Abby is moving close to it and hikes a hip up on the edge of it’s desk, looking down at the bent head and trying, I guess, to administer a little comfort, “don’t be upset, Tony. Everything will be all right.”
“Tony?” McGee squawks out, confusion falling over his face. “I thought it was going to be called ‘DiNozzo‘.”
“We just can’t keep calling it ‘DiNozzo’ every time we speak to it,” Abby’s adamant, her eyes sparking with indignation. “How cold is that?” Her stare flashes a bit in annoyance. “It needs a first name, too, *Timmy*.”
“What‘s wrong with ‘DiNozzo‘?” Todd asks and I feel a strange flush of pride. Straight Cait goes right to the heart…always. “It’s an android. Who gives androids first names anyway?”
“Historically speaking,” McGee is rising from his seat and I have a sinking suspicion the Elf Lord is about ready to rear his ugly head, “robots have been given human names since their inception.”
“Human *first* names?” Todd stresses, not looking one bit convinced.
McGee nods and takes a few steps into the fray, rubbing his hands together briskly. Crap, here we go. “Well, sure…um, kind of.” Does he really think *that* will convince anyone? “There was Robby the Robot…”
“Tim,” Todd is frowning now and lets loose a small sigh, “I don’t think ‘the Robot’ can be classified as a last name, so Robby was probably it’s only name.”
Atta girl. Let’s spread the common sense around a bit more, can we?
“Well, then,” but McGee doesn’t look deterred in the least by her observation and is pressing on, “there’s Andrew Martin from Bicentennial Man and Roy Batty from Blade Runner…”
“I think you both are missing Abby’s point here,” Ducky sighs, blithely interrupting, and I’m not really sure I want to know where he’s planning on taking this exchange. “Our new unit is going to be working side by side with all of you, absorbing and processing the way you interact with and react to other human beings and situations. You’ll be providing your names to witnesses and to potential suspects, you’ll be identifying yourselves while gathering information from other agencies but, more importantly, the whole idea of having this remarkable tool at our disposal is to let it become an active, functioning, contributing member of this team. To successfully accomplish this, it must appear, by all standards, to be human in every way. What could be more simple than providing it with a complete human name?”
There’s silence as we all turn our thoughts inward and digest Ducky’s words. I don’t know what the others are thinking but, as much as I believe my old friend truly is being honest in his assessment of the situation, I can’t agree with him. Nothing will ever or can ever take the place of a real, live human. It goes against everything I believe. There are split-second decisions that sometimes have to be made, when life hangs in the balance, decisions hinging on experience and familiarity and training, and no amount of alien technology imbedded within some artificial intelligence will ever be able to do the work of one, fully functional, human mind.
Todd softly clears her throat and shifts her gaze back to Abby. “So, why ‘Tony’?”
Abby offers an open, sincere smile. “Well, his primary creator is the well-known Italian-American biochemist Gianmarco Nozzo and I just thought it would be nice to give a good, Italian boy a good, Italian name.”
“I like it.”
The Triple A’s sudden statement takes me by surprise, hell, it takes *everyone* by surprise, as does the genuine smile of gratitude it bestows upon Abby. There’s pleasure reflected in those green eyes and, I swear, if I didn’t know any better, I could really believe it was actually a living, breathing human.
But it’s not…
“Okay, enough of this,” I cut through all this needless crap and get back to what’s really important here. Name or no name, that thing will answer to whatever I decide to call it, if anything at all. I level my gaze at Ducky. “This ‘close, personal contact’ you say it has to have with each of us…why’s that so important?” And, more precisely, how do I get out of it?
Ducky’s walking back in my direction and pointing toward the folder in my possession, like I should have already thoroughly read what Abby just handed me only moments ago. “Personal rapid imprinting is part of the transfer process and it will allow Tony,” he casts a quick, almost-fatherly look toward the still-smiling android before gazing back at me, “the opportunity to get to know each of us much faster than say, oh…the months and years we’ve all had by just being around each other.” He arches a knowing eyebrow and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “It’s all quite painless, Jethro. All you have to do is spend some time with our new team member and it will simply learn from what it observes.”
And that’s exactly what I don’t want it to do. Not from me anyway.
“You mean, I can take it home with me?” Abby asks, a bit too gleefully for my liking and I immediately get a strange vision of uncomfortable body piercings and of dark eye liner and of morbid, satin-lined coffins. The thing looks spooky enough to me already…I don’t know what I’d do if Abby turned the unit Goth.
But what really yanks my chain is the thought of this thing actually being alone with Abby, even in her own, familiar surroundings, and my stomach instantly forms into one, tight knot. Ain‘t never going to happen, not if I have any say in the matter. “N…”
“Yes.” A sharp, curt voice cuts me off before I can even complete my growled, negative response and I look up to see Jen Shepard slowly descending the stairs, her eyes keenly focused on the Triple A unit where it sits calmly at it’s desk. She smoothly comes the rest of the way down, a vision of professional calm and control, and lets her gaze rake over all of us, making sure she has our collective, undivided attention. “You all will be spending time, individually, with our new unit to insure a successful, complete imprinting but only after Director Morrow and I have had our own opportunity to do so. It’s vitally important that this remarkable addition is indoctrinated correctly,” her eyes find mine and lock and, I swear, I can see a spark of fanaticism gleaming in those blue depths, “and I’m relying on each of you to do your best to ensure a smooth transition.” Crap. “I’m, also, depending on you all to uphold the standards of this agency. Our number one priority has been and always will be to protect the people, families, and assets of the United States Navy and Marine Corps worldwide and this new addition,” her eyes swing back to the seated ‘addition‘, ”will enable us to do our jobs more efficiently. So,” she turns to face a very serious looking Abby, “as soon as it’s completed the imprinting process with Director Morrow and myself, you can work out a rotation that is acceptable to all but,” those eyes are instantly back on me again, “I believe it would be best if Agent Gibbs does his imprinting before anyone else. Do I make myself clear?”
Oh, I understand all right. It’s crystal clear. I understand that Jen Shepard continues to push her weight around, continues to force me into situations she knows goes firmly against my finely honed instincts, and continues to punish me, in her underhanded, egotistical, and self-serving manner, for ending our torrid affair several years ago. The woman may be a NCIS public relations dream and she may have a savvy statistical mind but she’s been nothing but a nightmare for me since our split. If Ducky and Abby hadn’t been around, I probably would have asked for a transfer to somewhere as far away from DC as possible. Then Cait came along. And then McGee. There’s no way I could leave here…or them…willingly now, no matter how much grief Shepard still persists in throwing my way. No, the only way I’ll be leaving is in a body bag.
Which, considering this new assignment with this Triple A unit, may just happen a lot sooner than expected.
Shepard steps back over toward it’s desk and nods once. “Say your goodbyes for the night and come up to my office.”
“Yes, Assistant Director Shepard,” the thing responds without inflection.
I watch from the corner of my eye as Shepard starts back up the steps, her slim body held tight and her back ramrod straight, and I have to wonder what I ever saw in her in the first place. True, the bloom of her youth is fading fast but it’s that icy level of cold, calculating, callowness that really is changing her attractiveness for me. I began seeing it right before I broke off our affair and, since then, it’s almost all I can see in her. And whether she would ever believe me at all if I told her, the combination of those characteristics is making her an ugly person, inside and out.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you Monday morning,” Abby is smiling at the unit, a girlish grin spreading across her face.
“Yes,” the Triple A nods and rises from it’s seat, offering it’s right hand in a gesture reminiscent of what it received from Ducky upon it’s arrival. The smile that graces it’s face is open and full of happiness…and I have to avert my eyes. If I keep seeing those surface, human qualities and traits, all the subtle smiles and blushes and grins, I’m bound to eventually forget all the technology that’s actually housed inside it and I can‘t afford to do that. “Thank you so much for being so nice to me, Abby.” It continues. “I hope we’ll be able to spend a lot of time together in the future.”
Over my dead body.
Abby giggles and I glance back just in time to see her accept it’s hand. The contact is brief but, even then, I silently will it to let her go.
Ducky quickly says goodbye, gets a shake, too, and then is gone. The Triple A is standing by it’s desk, it’s eyes tracking back and forth between Todd and McGee, like it doesn’t know who to approach first, trying to decide on the proper etiquette for such a situation. It doesn’t even glance my way…for which I’m glad…but I’m suddenly interested in seeing what it will do. Both Todd and McGee are standing equally close to it’s location, so it could go either way, though a real gentleman would probably approach the woman first.
I hold back a snort because, of all the properties this thing supposedly possesses, I’ll just bet none of those damn brainiacs that put it together ever considered including lessons in good manners and propriety. When it suddenly moves toward Todd, disappointment floods my mouth because, really, I want it to fail.
“Goodnight, Agent Todd,” it offers with a smile, hand extended, but Cait doesn’t reach out to accept and the happy expression instantly evaporates.
“Look, DiNozzo…er, Tony,” she stumbles a bit as she tries out the names, her hands slipping well out of reach to the small of her back and her eyebrows angling downward in annoyance, “we don’t usually shake hands with each other when we leave.”
“No?” It asks with keen interest, clearly digesting the new information. “Then, how do you say goodbye at the end of the day?”
“Well…” Cait begins to explain but I don’t want to hear any more of this crap. Let it learn it’s social lessons from someone else, some other time.
“I usually say, ‘Get the hell out of here’,” I snarl rather roughly, turning cool, stern eyes it’s way. “Or I say, ‘Don’t drag your ass in late on Monday morning’. Do us all a favor and just take your pick and leave.”
“Gibbs…” Todd whispers in that offended, little tone again but I merely turn away, tuning out this stupid display of politeness. I don’t have to be civil to it; it’s just a fucking machine, for God‘s sake!
I angrily flip the folder under my hands open and blindly scan the first page, acutely aware of my two agents quietly gathering their belongings and silently stealing away. They want to get out of here as fast as they can, now that the little dog and pony show is over, but specifically since they can sense my foul mood. I keep my eyes down and wait until I hear them enter the elevator and the door seal behind them before closing my eyes and relaxing back in my chair just a bit. The tension headache that began to bud when Shepard arrived is in full bloom and I’d just about give anything for a good, stiff drink right about now. I could tip my head back and take a big, old swallow straight from the bottle, feeling the burn and waiting for the lulling effects. Yeah…
But I’ve got to work my way through all this information before Monday, I’ve got to familiarize myself with Ducky and Abby’s findings, and I’ve got to do whatever I can to ensure my team will stay safe and alive and unharmed. In other words, I’ve got to know my enemy.
I sigh, knuckle away the tiredness from my eyes, and begin to truly read the first page…
“Agent Gibbs.”
Crap. I don’t fucking believe this.
“Why aren’t you gone?” I grit out. I don’t want to look at that thing again today, so I keep my head bent over the report, but my anger is back with a vengeance.
“You don’t like me.”
Well, no shit, Sherlock. What was your first clue?
There’s no way I can ignore it now, not with all the things I want to say to it churning up inside my gut. I push roughly back, sending my chair slamming against the cabinet directly behind, and rise to my full height, leveling my gaze at the thing. I get even madder when I realize it’s actually got a couple of inches on me in height and that’s enough to send all rational control out the door for me.
I round the desk and park myself toe-to -toe with the thing. “No, I don’t *like* you. In fact,” I’m aware of someone in my periphery hurrying toward the elevator, trying to escape before the shit hits the fan, but I quickly tune them out. Almost everyone is gone now, this late on a Friday evening, so if there’re still people on the floor, hopefully they’ll have enough common sense to make themselves scarce. “I actually *hate* what you represent.”
I detect a mild flinch and a flicker of hurt in the green eyes but I casually brush it off as nothing more than part of the unit’s programming. It asked, so I’m going to tell.
“You’re not a real human, no matter what this packaging looks like,” I poke it brutally in the chest and feel vindicated when it takes a slight step back. “You can pretend all you want and you can learn how to do the job, but you will never…*never*…take the place of a real, live human being.”
“I never expected to do that.” It says softly, green eyes searching mine intently. “My purpose is not to replace a human here.”
“Bullshit,” I snap out. “That’s *exactly* your purpose. Scientists have been trying for years to create a ‘better robot’, proclaiming the need to help alleviate mundane, repetitive chores for people, to free humans from unnecessary tasks, using rhetoric to camouflage the real reason.” I step back into it’s space and try not to be impressed when it remains unmoving. “Well, they succeeded in doing that long ago. And, now, with the help of our friendly, neighborhood aliens,” I accidentally spit as I speak, a hot, wet dot of moisture landing squarely on one perfectly unblemished cheek, “robots like you will, one day, be sitting at my desk.“
It calmly brings a hand up and serenely smoothes the moisture away with the back of it’s fingers. There’s no need to apologize for my social blunder; I know it and, now, it knows it. Besides, I’m just getting worked up; I’ll probably be showering it with spit real soon.
“No robots like me will be sitting at your desk, Agent Gibbs.” It states emphatically, it’s eyebrows angling down and a slight furrow appearing between it’s eyes.
Well, what do you know…the damn thing actually looks irritated. I get ready to launch into my next round but, unbelievably, it essentially cuts me off.
“When my assignment here at NCIS is completed, all the information I’ve accumulated, everything I’ve learned from you and those I come into contact with, all the experiences I’ve garnered will be downloaded into the consciousness of a newer, better android…and I will cease to exist.”
What?
“What?” I hiss out in disbelief. That can’t be right. Can it? “You mean to tell me,” I point at it’s body and wave my finger about in a small, circular motion, “this is just temporary and you’ll get a new …” I cast around for the correct word but can’t seem to find it, “shell?”
It tilts it head to one side and then lowers it’s eyes. “No. I will no longer be of any value and will be disposed.”
Disposed. Like garbage. Crap.
I’m suddenly not feeling as angry or as tense as I was just moments ago. In fact, I don’t know what the hell I’m feeling right now. It’s still a damn robot and it still pisses me off but…
…this new information is confusing as hell.
“Agent Gibbs.” It says my name with such obvious respect that I have to look it straight in the eyes. “I will attempt to do everything in my power to follow your directions and be the best…tool…I can while here.” It hesitates and purses it’s lips together tightly, looking unsure and way too human. When it speaks again, the voice is subdued and *almost* pleading. “Would it be possible for you not to tell the other agents what I’ve revealed to you?”
I have to swallow before I can respond. There‘s a tightness in my chest that feels strange. “Now, why would I do that?”
It shrugs and then looks briefly away, the green eyes tracking to McGee’s desk and then over to Todd’s, before swinging back my way. “I believe your team would respond to me differently if they knew of my final fate.”
And I think it’s right. Hell, Abby would probably start bawling as soon as she found out. I’m not sure about Todd or McGee yet but Ducky would, more than likely, be upset by the news, too. I sigh but keep my face blank.
“I’ll think about it.”
The unit smiles and nods, relief evident on it’s face. “Thank you.” It takes a step back and shoves it’s hands into the pockets of it’s slacks and offers me an almost-rakish grin. “Well, I guess I’d better not keep the Assistant Director waiting any longer. Goodnight, Agent Gibbs.”
I merely stand in front of my desk and watch until it climbs the steps leading to MTAC and the offices upstairs before returning to sit at my desk, the words repeating hollowly over and over in my mind. I can’t even begin to think about reading this report now and the lure of a drink is too much to ignore any longer.
I hastily gather my belongings and flick off my desk lamp, a sudden thought freezing me in my tracks while my fingers are still on the switch. Unbidden, my gaze travels up to the doorway where the Triple A disappeared only moments ago and I curse under my breath, finding yet another reason to continue my dislike for the damn thing.
I’ve now got *another* secret to keep. Crap, just what I don’t need.
TBC
Author's Chapter Notes:
See first part.
Chapter End Notes:
See first part.