More People Out There Chapter 3

II. More People Out There
Part II

"Pssst. Alpha."
"What is it, Gamma?"
"Have you ever wondered about the Teleinvisichronomicon?"
"What is there about it to wonder?"
"Well..where our subject's alter egos go when we Charge them, for one."
"Ah. No, Alpha. I've never wondered about that."
"I wonder."
"Well, stop. I'm sure the Great One knows what happens to them."
If Alpha had had a head, he'd have shaken it ruefully. The Great One knew everything, obviously, but he did not share knowledge with his minions. If one was to gain knowledge, one must do it on one's own..
The Great One, in a distant part of the Observation Chamber, doing the equivalent of cooking the equivalent of popcorn, had auditory capabilities that on Earth would have been described as keen as a cat's. If he'd had a forehead, it would have creased in thought. I wonder what does happen to them? Perhaps that should be an experiment for another time.

I.
The taxi dropped Mark off in front of the address he had requested, and then drove away.
Mark looked at it. A single story, relatively small house - the kind of house you'd expect a man with three ex-wives to have. Just big enough to have a basement in which one could built a succession of wooden boats of varying sizes. The lawn, surrounded by a wooden fence, was closely mowed... there were no trees, no bushes, no flowers to mar that greenery.

Taking a deep breath, Mark opened the gate and walked up a neat brick path to the front door. He pulled out his key chain, and fumbled a bit until he found the right key. Letting himself into the house, he closed and locked the door behind him.

Mark felt somewhat melancholy, as he walked through the rooms, halfway expecting a slow, sad song to accompany him. He knew the character of Gibbs intimately, of course, but he and his foibles had been created to serve the needs of the TV show. But now, if this experience was to be believed, Gibbs was a real character...a real person, rather, who could really suffer at the murders of his first wife and child by terrorists, friend Pacchi in the first season, Cait in the second, Cassidy in the... had it been the third? Then Jenny...

So many deaths...of people who had depended on Gibbs to keep them safe.
Mark laughed softly. This wasn't real, he chided himself. Gibbs wasn't real. He was just dreaming, and he was going to go to bed and when he woke up, he'd be home, with Pam beside him.

He found his way to the bedroom and laid down on the king-sized bed, fully dressed. He closed his eyes, and waited for sleep to come.

II.
When Mark woke up it was in the darkness of night. He reached out a hand...no Pam beside him.
He reached out his other hand, found the cord of the lamp by the bed, turned it on. A clock on the night stand told him it was two minutes past midnight.

He was still... here. Still in Gibbs' house.

Mark turned out the light and went back to sleep.

III.
On Sunday afternoon, the members of NCIS who were participating in the soon-to-come FBI/NCIS flag football game, were gathered at the practice field.

"He's five minutes late," Abby commented worriedly to Tony, Ziva and McGee. "Something must be wrong." They all nodded. Gibbs was never late.

"His car is in the parking lot..." Tony commented.

"But he left it there yesterday," Ziva finished.

Tony brought out his cellphone, and, while the others watched, speed-dialed Gibb's number.

At the second ring, it was picked up. "Yeah."

"Boss?"

"Uh...yeah?"

"Boss...um...it's past noon. We're waiting for you."

"Waiting...where?"

"Um...at the football field, Boss. You were supposed to be quarterbacking us today."

"Right. Right. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Slowly, Tony replaced his cellphone in his pocket.

"He'll be here in a few minutes," he reported.

"Maybe we should call Ducky, and ask him to meet us here," said Ziva. "Gibbs spoke yesterday about hitting his head...he could have concussion, be having periodic bouts of amnesia."

"Is that possible?" said Tony. "Periodic bouts of amnesia?"

"Ducky would know." said Abby. "I think we should call him."

Tony held up a hand. "Let's wait until Gibbs gets here. Maybe he just got really involved with his boat. You know how he is."

'He's never been so involved that he's forgotten an appointment. Even if it is just for football practice," Ziva pointed out, and Abby nodded. Tony nodded as well. He didn't believe that explanation either.

IV.
After Tony's phone call, Mark got out of bed and went into the bathroom, where he stared at himself in the mirror for long seconds. Then he leaned forward and looked past himself into the mirror world. Was that where he was supposed to be?

He couldn't just sit in this house and go crazy wondering what the hell was going on...although maybe a stint in the basement working on the boat down there might do him some good...
But maybe if he returned to the "scene of the crime" as it were, the football field, something would happen that would snap him back into his own reality.

He had to give it a try.

So he called a cab and told the driver to take him to the NCIS building.

He found the crew he knew - McGee, Tony, Ziva and Abby waiting for him, as well as a dozen other people who apparently also worked at the office in various functions, and who knew him. He waved vaguely at the "Hiyas," that greeted him from these unknowns.

Abby came up and hugged him. "Gibbs, how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he told her, giving the smile that he reserved for Abby. "Sorry I'm late. Let's run some routes."

Soon he had his team - except for Abby, who continued to roam the sidelines and cheer everyone on as they practiced - running down the field, as he sent pin-point spirals their way.

Tony and Ziva, happening to meet up at one point, exchanged a little dialog.

"Who knew Gibbs to have such a great arm," Tony gasped, catching his breath.

"It's impressive." agreed Ziva. "He must have played in college, eh?"

"Probably a four-year starter," Tony said.

"He's being rather silent, isn't he," commented Ziva as they trotted back towards Gibbs. "Not screaming at us for running slow, or running the wrong route. I don't think McGee has heard a cross word."

"Yeah," said Tony. "Too silent."

After a couple of hours, practice wound down.

As the entire group milled around, a spectator who had wandered by came up to Mark.

"That was impressive work, sir. Where'd you play?"

Mark, tired, answered truthfully, "UCLA."

"Argh!," said the man. "I'm a Trojan myself. But that sure was pretty." They shook hands and exchanged grins and the man walked off.

"Can I give you a lift home, Boss?" said Tony. "I noticed you came here by cab. Something wrong with your car?"

"No," said Mark. "I didn't feel like driving yesterday, that's all. I'm going to spend some time in the office, now, though."

"Come on, Gibbs," said Abby persuasively "We're all going to the Dive to slam back a few."

"I've got work to do, Abby," Mark said. "Give me a raincheck." And then he turned and strode away, Gibbs like.

The solution to his car problem was obvious, Mark thought. He'd wait a few hours until the parking lot was practically empty - the car that remained would be his car.

V.
Monday morning rolled round, and Mark Harmon woke up in despair. Still in Gibbs house. This was far beyond a dream or a hallucination now. Had he gone insane..or if not insane simply delusional?

He couldn't stay here...couldn't escape anywhere...the NCIS people would come looking for him. He had to go in.

He shaved, dressed, and drove to the NCIS building. He sat inside his car for some minutes..he couldn't go in there without a coffee cup, but he couldn't face the thought of coffee today...but he'd be found out if he poured his Jack Daniels in it and drank that throughout the day. In the cup holder was an empty logoed cup, and he plucked that up.

Showing his badge, Mark walked past the guard, then stopped in at the rest room to fill the cup full of water.

As luck would have it, Tony DiNozzo walked into the rest-room and saw what he was doing.
"All right," said DiNozzo. "Who are you and what have you done with the real Jethro Gibbs?"

It was just a joke, Mark knew. He'd heard that phraseology before. But just for a second, he'd frozen, and his eyelids flickered, and he saw Tony's face change.

Say something clever, he told himself.

"I'm going to pull something on Abby, DiNozzo, what the hell do you think?" he said, crisply.
"Sure, Boss, I knew it was something like that."

Mark brushed past him and out into the hallway, and then down to the"Command Center" where McGee and Ziva were already seated.

"Quiet day today, Gibbs," said Ziva in a disgruntled tone. "So far. We'll be able to catch up on our paper work."

"Good," said Mark shortly. When he used that tone of voice, as Gibbs, that was a signal that no one was to approach him...and no one did. Out of the corner of his eye he saw DiNozzo enter the room and take his seat, without his usual banter. That didn't bode well.

Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. Hell.

"Oh, Great One?"
"Yes, Alpha?"
"The subject is registering signs of acute distress. His brainwaves are starting to spike. I think he has been Charged too long. Should I..."
"No. I want to see how this ends."
"But...the distress...his mind is beginning to rebel..."
"Yes, he needs something...someone...to ground him to this reality..."
"Another subject? Two at one time?!!
Yes. Why not? But it must be an appropriate subject. Of course, I know. That one. There. Charge. Now."
"Yes, Oh Great One."

Had anyone been listening outside the Forensics realm of Abby Sciuto, they would have heard the sound of knees hitting floor, a brief silence, and then a "What the he... Oh... My.... God. No way!!!! Get out!"
And then, a reverent whisper, "This so absolutely rocks."
Then, "This is soooo cool. Oh... my ... god."
The form of Abby Sciuto then runs out of her office and towards the medical realm of Ducky Mallard, outside of which she hesitates. If she wishes to confirm that what has happened is real, she thinks perhaps she doesn't want to prove this by walking in on a body laid out on a slab with various internal organs showing.
So she scurries up the stairs - too excited to take the elevator - to the main floor, and strides into the main room where she looks around with typical grinning face but with extra radiant eyes as she takes it all in.
Then, down the stairs and into the floor and leaning over the desk of Ziva, gazing deep into her eyes.
"Ziva!" she says. Ziva looks at her, only very slightly surprised because, after all, it is Abby.
She then turns and leans over Tony's desk, looking at him. "Tony," she breathes.
Tony looks at her, also only slightly puzzled. Besides, he's got more important things on his mind.
Then, Abby goes to Gibb's desk, and Mark has just gotten up because waves of panic have started washing over him. Abby stares deep into his eyes, and recognizes something there. "Mark?" she mouths at him.
Mark, suddenly grounded, stares at her, and then suddenly grabs her and hugs her with all his strength, burying his head into her shoulder.
This act is witnessed with various thoughts and emotions by McGee, DiNozzo and Ziva.
And...
"First subject has recovered his equilibrium. All brain waves now showing normal! Well done, Oh Great One!"
"Thank you, Alpha. Let the experiment proceed."

More People Out There, chapter 2

II. More People Out There
Part II

"Pssst. Alpha."

"What is it, Gamma?"

"Have you ever wondered about the Teleinvisichronomicon?"

"What is there about it to wonder?"

"Well..where our subject's alter egos go when we Charge them, for one."

"Ah. No, Alpha. I've never wondered about that."

"I wonder."

"Well, stop. I'm sure the Great One knows what happens to them."

If Alpha had had a head, he'd have shaken it ruefully. The Great One knew everything, obviously, but he did not share knowledge with his minions. If one was to gain knowledge, one must do it on one's own..

The Great One, in a distant part of the Observation Chamber, doing the equivalent of cooking the equivalent of popcorn, had auditory capabilities that on Earth would have been described as keen as a cat's. If he'd had a forehead, it would have creased in thought. I wonder what does happen to them? Perhaps that should be an experiment for another time.

I.
The taxi dropped Mark off in front of the address he had requested, and then drove away.
Mark looked at it. A single story, relatively small house - the kind of house you'd expect a man with three ex-wives to have. Just big enough to have a basement in which one could built a succession of wooden boats of varying sizes. The lawn, surrounded by a wooden fence, was closely mowed... there were no trees, no bushes, no flowers to mar that greenery.

Taking a deep breath, Mark opened the gate and walked up a neat brick path to the front door. He pulled out his key chain, and fumbled a bit until he found the right key. Letting himself into the house, he closed and locked the door behind him.

Mark felt somewhat melancholy, as he walked through the rooms, halfway expecting a slow, sad song to accompany him. He knew the character of Gibbs intimately, of course, but he and his foibles had been created to serve the needs of the TV show. But now, if this experience was to be believed, Gibbs was a real character...a real person, rather, who could really suffer at the murders of his first wife and child by terrorists, friend Pacchi in the first season, Cait in the second, Cassidy in the... had it been the third? Then Jenny...

So many deaths...of people who had depended on Gibbs to keep them safe.

Mark laughed softly. This wasn't real, he chided himself. Gibbs wasn't real. He was just dreaming, and he was going to go to bed and when he woke up, he'd be home, with Pam beside him.

He found his way to the bedroom and laid down on the king-sized bed, fully dressed. He closed his eyes, and waited for sleep to come.

II.
When Mark woke up it was in the darkness of night. He reached out a hand...no Pam beside him.
He reached out his other hand, found the cord of the lamp by the bed, turned it on. A clock on the night stand told him it was two minutes past midnight.

He was still... here. Still in Gibbs' house.

Mark turned out the light and went back to sleep.

III.

On Sunday afternoon, the members of NCIS who were participating in the soon-to-come FBI/NCIS flag football game, were gathered at the practice field.

"He's five minutes late," Abby commented worriedly to Tony, Ziva and McGee. "Something must be wrong." They all nodded. Gibbs was never late.

"His car is in the parking lot..." Tony commented.

"But he left it there yesterday," Ziva finished.

Tony brought out his cellphone, and, while the others watched, speed-dialed Gibb's number.
At the second ring, it was picked up.

"Yeah."

"Boss?"

"Uh...yeah?"

"Boss...um...it's past noon. We're waiting for you."

"Waiting...where?"

"Um...at the football field, Boss. You were supposed to be quarterbacking us today."

"Right. Right. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Slowly, Tony replaced his cellphone in his pocket.

"He'll be here in a few minutes," he reported.

"Maybe we should call Ducky, and ask him to meet us here," said Ziva. "Gibbs spoke yesterday about hitting his head...he could have concussion, be having periodic bouts of amnesia."

"Is that possible?" said Tony. "Periodic bouts of amnesia?"

"Ducky would know." said Abby. "I think we should call him."

Tony held up a hand. "Let's wait until Gibbs gets here. Maybe he just got really involved with his boat. You know how he is."

'He's never been so involved that he's forgotten an appointment. Even if it is just for football practice," Ziva pointed out, and Abby nodded. Tony nodded as well. He didn't believe that explanation either.

IV.

After Tony's phone call, Mark got out of bed and went into the bathroom, where he stared at himself in the mirror for long seconds. Then he leaned forward and looked past himself into the mirror world. Was that where he was supposed to be?

He couldn't just sit in this house and go crazy wondering what the hell was going on...although maybe a stint in the basement working on the boat down there might do him some good...
But maybe if he returned to the "scene of the crime" as it were, the football field, something would happen that would snap him back into his own reality.

He had to give it a try.

So he called a cab and told the driver to take him to the NCIS building.

He found the crew he knew - McGee, Tony, Ziva and Abby waiting for him, as well as a dozen other people who apparently also worked at the office in various functions, and who knew him. He waved vaguely at the "Hiyas," that greeted him from these unknowns.

Abby came up and hugged him. "Gibbs, how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he told her, giving the smile that he reserved for Abby. "Sorry I'm late. Let's run some routes."

Soon he had his team - except for Abby, who continued to roam the sidelines and cheer everyone on as they practiced - running down the field, as he sent pin-point spirals their way.

Tony and Ziva, happening to meet up at one point, exchanged a little dialog.

"Who knew Gibbs to have such a great arm," Tony gasped, catching his breath.

"It's impressive." agreed Ziva. "He must have played in college, eh?"

"Probably a four-year starter," Tony said.

"He's being rather silent, isn't he," commented Ziva as they trotted back towards Gibbs. "Not screaming at us for running slow, or running the wrong route. I do not think McGee has heard a cross word."

"Yeah," said Tony. "Too silent."

After a couple of hours, practice wound down.

As the entire group milled around, a spectator who had wandered by came up to Mark.
"That was impressive work, sir. Where'd you play?"

Mark, tired, answered truthfully, "UCLA."

"Argh!," said the man. "I'm a Trojan myself. But that sure was pretty." They shook hands and exchanged grins and the man walked off.

"Can I give you a lift home, Boss?" said Tony. "I noticed you came here by cab. Something wrong with your car?"

"No," said Mark. "I didn't feel like driving yesterday, that's all. I'm going to spend some time in the office, now, though."

"Come on, Gibbs," said Abby persuasively "We're all going to the Dive to slam back a few."

"I've got work to do, Abby," Mark said. "Give me a raincheck." And then he turned and strode away, Gibbs like.

The solution to his car problem was obvious, Mark thought. He'd wait a few hours until the parking lot was practically empty - the car that remained would be his car.

V.

Monday morning rolled round, and Mark Harmon woke up in despair. Still in Gibbs house. This was far beyond a dream or a hallucination now. Had he gone insane..or if not insane simply delusional?

He couldn't stay here...couldn't escape anywhere...the NCIS people would come looking for him. He had to go in.

He shaved, dressed, and drove to the NCIS building. He sat inside his car for some minutes..he couldn't go in there without a coffee cup, but he couldn't face the thought of coffee today...but he'd be found out if he poured his Jack Daniels in it and drank that throughout the day. In the cup holder was an empty logoed cup, and he plucked that up.

Showing his badge, Mark walked past the guard, then stopped in at the rest room to fill the cup full of water.

As luck would have it, Tony DiNozzo walked into the rest-room and saw what he was doing.

"All right," said DiNozzo. "Who are you and what have you done with the real Jethro Gibbs?"
It was just a joke, Mark knew. He'd heard that phraseology before. But just for a second, he'd frozen, and his eyelids flickered, and he saw Tony's face change.

Say something clever, he told himself.

"I'm going to pull something on Abby, DiNozzo, what the hell do you think?" he said, crisply.

"Sure, Boss, I knew it was something like that."

Mark brushed past him and out into the hallway, and then down to the"Command Center" where McGee and Ziva were already seated.

"Quiet day today, Gibbs," said Ziva in a disgruntled tone. "So far. We will be able to catch up on our paper work."

"Good," said Mark shortly. When he used that tone of voice, as Gibbs, that was a signal that no one was to approach him...and no one did. Out of the corner of his eye he saw DiNozzo enter the room and take his seat, without his usual banter. That didn't bode well.

Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. Hell.

"Oh, Great One?"

"Yes, Alpha?"

"The subject is registering signs of acute distress. His brainwaves are starting to spike. I think he has been Charged too long. Should I..."

"No. I want to see how this ends."

"But...the distress...his mind is beginning to rebel..."

"Yes, he needs something...someone...to ground him to this reality..."

"Another subject? Two at one time?!!

Yes. Why not? But it must be an appropriate subject. Of course, I know. That one. There. Charge. Now."

"Yes, Oh Great One."

Had anyone been listening outside the Forensics realm of Abby Sciuto, they would have heard the sound of knees hitting floor, a brief silence, and then a "What the he... Oh... My.... God. No way!!!! Get out!"

And then, a reverent whisper, "This so absolutely rocks."

Then, "This is soooo cool. Oh... my ... god."

The form of Abby Sciuto then runs out of her office and towards the medical realm of Ducky Mallard, outside of which she hesitates. If she wishes to confirm that what has happened is real, she thinks perhaps she doesn't want to prove this by walking in on a body laid out on a slab with various internal organs showing.

So she scurries up the stairs - too excited to take the elevator - to the main floor, and strides into the main room where she looks around with typical grinning face but with extra radiant eyes as she takes it all in.

Then, down the stairs and into the floor and leaning over the desk of Ziva, gazing deep into her eyes.

"Ziva!" she says. Ziva looks at her, only very slightly surprised because, after all, it is Abby.

She then turns and leans over Tony's desk, looking at him. "Tony," she breathes.

Tony looks at her, also only slightly puzzled. Besides, he's got more important things on his mind.
Then, Abby goes to Gibb's desk, and Mark has just gotten up because waves of panic have started washing over him. Abby stares deep into his eyes, and recognizes something there.

"Mark?" she mouths at him.

Mark, suddenly grounded, stares at her, and then suddenly grabs her and hugs her with all his strength, burying his head into her shoulder.

This act is witnessed with various thoughts and emotions by McGee, DiNozzo and Ziva.

And...

"First subject has recovered his equilibrium. All brain waves now showing normal! Well done, Oh Great One!"
"Thank you, Alpha. Let the experiment proceed."

More People Out There

Chapter One: Mark Harmon Takes a Little Trip

II. More People Out There

"Has our next subject been acquired?"
"Yes, oh Great One."
"Has the Teleinvisichronomicon been properly charged?"
"Yes, oh Great One."
"Very good. Prepare to activate on my signal."

I.

Mark Harmon, who had been the starting quarterback for UCLA for two years in the 70s, enjoyed playing flag football on the weekends. It was fun, it was relaxing, and it helped keep him in shape for the demands of his show, NCIS.

It was a friendly game, and everyone, men and women, joined in. Occasionally his friends from the cast and crew of the show would stop by and participate. Indeed, on this occasion, Cote de Pablo was on his team, and Michael Weatherly was on the other side.

Pam Dawber, his wife of over twenty years, was not there. She didn't play, but normally roamed the sidelines cheering him on, supervising the giant ice chests full of pop and beer and the barbecue afterward. But today a friend had called her, who was feeling poorly, and Pam had gone over to her house to cheer her up.

Mark called out the play, cried "Hut, hut, hut," and then "Hike!"

Jeff hiked the ball, then straightened up, looking from side to side to see who he needed to block. Mark dropped back, looking for receivers. His team was down by three, time was running out, he needed a first down or his team would have to give up the ball. Cote was streaking down the field and waving her hand signaling she was open.

Frankie (short for Francesca), on the other side of the line, was well aware that this was flag football, but she was intent on winning the game and she had to stop Mark. So she juked past Jeff as if he were standing still (a feat which she automatically registered she would rub into his face at the barbecue after the game) and grabbed for Mark. Mark twisted away, Francesca kept reaching out as she fell, and her hands got tangled in with his feet. Mark fell backwards, his head hit the dirt, and...

Now.

He hadn't hit his head very hard, just a bump, thought Mark, yet he felt a blinding pain. He tried to blink away the stars, but he could hardly see. After another few blinks, however, the pain in his head subsided and his eyesight had cleared.

And he was on his hands and knees. How had that happened? He'd been on his back...he didn't remember rolling over, let alone getting to his hands and knees...

He looked upward, and found himself looking up into the faces of Cote and Michael. He looked past them - there was no one else. The field was empty.

"You okay, Gibbs?" asked Cote.

"Of course," said Mark, getting to his feet easily. Wait a minute. Had she just called him Gibbs? Mark grinned. Occasionally they'd slip up on set, calling each other by their real names when they were filming. He'd never been called by his role name when out in public. At least...not by his fellow cast members!

Mark looked around, and puzzlement made his grin fade. Where was Jeff? Where was Francesca? Where were the other twenty people who'd just been here? And what had happened to Michael and Cote? Both of them were wearing different clothing than they had been, and neither one was wearing a flag. Cote was carrying a football, though, and they both looked as if they'd been running - sweaty of skin and hair.

The field was different, too....the grass browner, and the weather... much cooler than it had been.

Too cold for California.

"What happened, Boss?" said Michael. "One second you were standing there, next second you just dropped down like you'd been punched."

"I must have hit my head harder than I thought," said Mark. "I'm feeling just a bit woozy."
"When did you hit your head, Gibbs?" asked Cote with concern.

Mark stared at them. What had Michael just said... he'd been standing up and suddenly fallen? And why were both of them calling him Gibbs?

Mark did a slow rotation, and saw a skyline that damn well looked like Washington DC, not California. What the hell....?

"Wait a minute," he said, snapping his fingers. "You're gaslighting me, aren't you?"

Cote looked at him, bewildered. "Gas ... lighting?" She glanced at Michael.

"Gaslight!" said Michael happily. "1944. Charles Boyer. Ingrid Bergman. Boyer tries to drive Bergman insane, by playing tricks on her in their house, in particular by claiming that he doesn't notice the gaslight dimming and brightening, always at six p.m. Hence the term, 'to gaslight'. Boss, I never would have thought you would know that term, let alone the movie!"

"Why would we be trying to Gaslight you, Gibbs?" asked...God, it had to be, Ziva.

What would Gibbs do? Make a throwaway comment and walk away. "Some people would do anything to win a football game, Ziva," he said, and walked away.

Where the hell was he walking to? That bench over there, with the cooler and a couple of footballs beside it. There'd be beer in there, he had no doubt.

And as he had suspected.... Mark picked up a bottle, shook the ice off it, twisted off the cap, and drank long and deep.

Michael and Cote had followed him.

Mark wiped a hand over his face. He felt perfectly fine..no ringing in his ears, no residual pain from that little head bump, nothing to indicate that he was having hallucinations or dreaming or anything.

But that must be what had happened. He'd knocked his head, now he was dreaming, and he'd be waking up any minute now. Until that happened, he'd better just go with the flow.

He looked around at the scenery again. There, across the street, was the NCIS building, and this must be the recreational field they used. He'd seen it, a couple of years ago, when he and the cast and crew of the show had been given tours of the building. That'd been an enjoyable time, actually. They'd spent a couple of days undergoing the same kind of training the NCIS agents did, on how to carry firearms, how to shoot them, clean them, how to investigate rooms, and so on.

"Let's say I've forgotten the last five minutes," Mark said. "Fill me in on what's going on here."

Michael and Cote exchanged glances, then Michael said, "We're practicing for the sixth annual Christmas charity flag football match between the FBI and the NCIS, boss. Ziva and I showed up early, but not as early as you. I did it because I love football, by the way, I'm sure Ziva was just after brownie points. Any-ouch-way, you've been throwing us spirals for the last ten minutes. You'd just thrown one to Ziva, and I was standing here watching you. Then, wham. You just went down on all fours. We came up to you in a hurry, and that brings us up to date."

"Weird," said Mark, just for something to say.

"When did you hit your head, Gibbs?" Ziva asked again. "Perhaps you have a concussion?"

"Don't worry about it. Ziva." said Mark. "I just mis-spoke. Well, let's get back to work." He finished the beer, extended his hand for the football she held, and gestured them to head on down the field.

Before they could do so, his cell phone rang.

He dug into his pocket, pulled out the phone, flipped it open. Timothy McGee was the ID of the caller. Mark sighed. He held it to his ear. "Yeah?"

"Boss, I just thought I'd let you know. A package arrived for you at the office today. It's marked Urgent. Did you want to..."

He tailed off.

Mark thought very quickly. He wanted to get away from Cote and Michael -- or Ziva and Tony, whatever – give himself time to think and hopefully wake up from this dream...use this as an excuse. "Sure," he said, "I'll come in."

He flipped the phone closed. "That was McGee," he said. "I've got to go to the office."

"Do you need us, Boss?"

"No," said Mark. "Stay here, wait for the rest of the crew. You guys need a lot of work if we're to beat the FBI."

He didn't know if that were true or not, but it was a Gibbs-like thing to say.

"I also think I'd better take the rest of the day off. Just to be safe. So carry on without me."

He then turned to look at the NCIS building, took a deep breath, and headed across.

Behind him, out of earshot, Tony DiNozzo and Ziva David looked at each other.

"That wasn't like Gibbs," Ziva said quietly. "He'd never take a day off, 'just to be safe.' He'd stay here til he hulled over."

"Keeled over," Tony corrected. "You're right. Maybe he just remembered he had a date, or something."

"Should we go after him...?"

At that point two groups of NCIS agents and office workers converged and arrived, and there was an exchange of greetings and banter. Tony and Zia shrugged shoulders at each other, and then turned to concentrate on football.

II.

He'd been recognized by a security guard when he'd entered the building...but the guard had called back when he'd tried to walk past, to show his ID, which fortunately he had in his pocket.
The lobby surroundings looked familiar...they'd been in some episode or another, and so by moving slowly he was able, eventually, to find his way to the command center. Sean...make that McGee, was waiting for him, also dressed in sweats, and started talking as soon as he stepped onto the main floor.

"Hi, Boss, sorry to call you on a Saturday, but I'd come in early to clean up some details before getting out to the field. I'm working on a couple of interesting algorithms that will help us track phones faster , and..and...I." he came to a stop.

There was a long beat, then Mark said, "And what, McGee?" in his best Gibbs-like manner.

"Uh, sorry, I was just waiting for you to raise an eyebrow...or tell me to get to the point...but you never...raised..."

"Get to the point, McGee."

"Right. Well, Cheryl brought in the mail, and she pointed out that you had a UPS package marked Urgent and For Your Eyes Only, and I thought you might like to know that, seeing as how you were just across the street, and...and..."

Mark had continued to just stare at him, without maneuvering his eyebrows in any way.
"And what?"

"And...I was waiting for you to interrupt again..."

Mark gave his Gibbs "slight grin." Just the merest upward twitch of his lips to indicate amusement.

He turned away from McGee, who had Sean Murray's mannerisms down pat...or was it the other way around...and sat behind what he knew was his desk. Indeed, there was a brown-paper wrapped package there, about 10 X 8 X 4. The size of a ream of paper.

The sender's name was Richard Bradford. Not a character name he remembered from within the show..

Mark surreptitiously wiped his damp palms on his sweats, then opened up the top right hand drawer of his desk. Everything in it looked exactly like the props in that drawer on the NCIS set...he took out the knife, opened it, and slit open the tape sealing the package. He lifted up the cover, to find inside a scroll. Carefully he took it out and unrolled it. It was of some type of light fabric, and painted on it was a landscape scene, with blue lines for rivers, brown lines for mountains, and so on. It was very pretty, and looked very old, but doubtless some military person had picked it up in a BX or PX somewhere in Japan (for it resonated to him of Nippon) and had decided to send it to him. To Gibbs, that is.

Well, he'd leave it here, for the real Gibbs to find in the morning.

He was going to go home, go to sleep, and hope that when he woke up, it'd be in his own, real bed in the real world.

Mark looked up to see McGee, anxiously hovering.

"You did good, McGee," Mark said, as he closed up the box and placed it in the right hand drawer. "Remind me on Monday where I put that, okay?"

McGee's forehead creased. "Uh...what, Boss?"

"Oh, never mind. Anyway, I'm going home."

"But....what about the football practice?"

"That's still going on. In fact, you should get over to the field right now."

"Uh...yes, Boss."

McGee sketched a bit of salute, and hurried from the room.

Mark rubbed his hands over his face.

Home. How was he going to get home?

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Driver's license. Address on the license.

Easy.

But...how to get there...and in what?

He knew what his car in the show looked like..but he had no idea where it was.

Hell, he'd call a cab.

Thus it was that, fifteen minutes later, DiNozzo, David and McGee, who were bunched together arguing about who was most inept at running routes, and Abby, who was in charge of the liquid refreshment on the sidelines and leading the cheers, witnessed their Boss exit from the NCIS building and, instead of walking into the parking lot for his car, get into a Yellow Cab that drove off down the street.

Each one thought to himself, putting it more or less profanely depending on their personality: What's going on with Gibbs?

TO BE CONTINUED.

The People Out There - Cote de Pablo meets NCIS

There's a rather famous Star Trek fan fiction story called "Visit To a Weird Planet", where William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, Nichelle Nichols and DeForest Kelly are busy filming the transporter scene from "Mirror, Mirror," there's an electrical storm, and they trade places with their fictional counterparts. This was followed by "Visit To a Weird Planet Revisited" where the opposite occurred.

Anyway, I've used this device in my own fiction. In The Avengers, for example, I have Patrick Macnee switch places with John Steed in the "Who's Who" episode.

And I'm working on a whole series of it for NCIS. Of course, in order for it to happen, I had to create a science fictional framing story.

Below is the first chapter, with Cote de Pablo. Other stories in this series are more ambitious.

The People Out There
an NCIS Fan Fiction
by Gale Force

Chapter One

"Has the subject been acquired?"
"Yes, oh Great One."
"Has the Teleinvisichronomicon been properly Charged?"
"Yes, oh Great One."
"Very well. Prepare to activate on my signal."

Cote de Pablo breathed in deeply and then out slowly, as she concentrated on the fight choreographer, Ray Austin, who was demonstrating the moves she would place on her antagonist in the scene they were about to film.

It was irritating, she thought, that she worked so hard on her fight skills – she'd been studying judo and karate since she had accepted the role of Ziva David three years ago – and yet the way the film editors cut these fight scenes, it was impossible for the audience to tell what was really happening..."all done with cameras," they'd scoff as her opponents would hit the ground...

Her co-stars in the scene, Michael Weatherly and Mark Harmon, were paying less attention...they would only have to stand on the sidelines with guns aimed at her in a determined manner while she took care of the bad guy.

"Okay, Cote," Ray called. "Let's you and Sam go through the moves once, slowly."

Cote moved forward into the cameras, and gave Sam, the actor playing the villainous Fitzpatrick, a smile. He was a foot taller than she was, and probably a hundred pounds heavier.

"Now," said Ray as Sam placed his hands on Cote's shoulders. "Cote, you raise both hands and knock his arms off and outward." She did so. "Then Sam, you grab her again and body slam her into the ground..."

Slowly, Sam held her while he moved his leg behind hers, swinging it out to break her balance and then lowering her to the ground.

"Cote, you reach up with your leg, hook his neck, pull him off, and roll on top of him."

Cote did as she was bid, and once on top of Sam, slow-motion punched him in the throat.

"Okay, Cote, great." said Ray happily. "Now, let's try it for real."

Sam helped her to her feet, then, at Ray's call of "Action," they went through the motions again. Not at full speed - the camera would be speeded up to make it seem as if it were happening incredibly fast. Nevertheless, the back of Cote's head hit the floor with a thunk.

"Now."

Stars going off in her eyes like miniature nova, Cote was nevertheless determined not to ruin the scene. She reached up with her leg, hooked it around the neck of the man on top of her, and pulled him backward, simultaneously rolling up on top of him, while drawing her arm back for a killing strike.

Then she froze and looked at him, for something was wrong.

It was Sam's face... but somehow, it was not Sam....

"Okay, Ziva," came Mark Harmon's voice. "We'll take it from here."

Cote waited for Ray to call, "Cut," but no such call came.

"C'mon, Ziva, let him up," came Michael's voice. She felt his hand on her arm as he helped her up.

Cote looked around. The vast banks of lights that illuminated the set were gone. The set was gone. All of the people who surrounded the set were gone... she was standing in a room with a ceiling, and four walls, and Mark Harmon had flipped Sam on his back and was applying handcuffs while Sam was swearing, quite loudly and quite inventively.

Cote blinked. Her head was pounding...she must have hit the floor harder than she thought...she must be hallucinating.

"You okay, Ziva?" said Michael, looking at her with concern.

She stared at him. "My... head," she faltered.

"Not quite as hard as you thought it was, eh Ziva?" said Mark. "DiNozzo, help her out to the car. I've got this dirt bag."

Mark jerked Sam upright, and they led the way out of the room, down a corridor, out a door, and out into the bright sunlight. Cote, with Michael at her side, followed them.

Cote blinked at the sunlight and looked around...she had no idea where she was...she should be at the studios out in California and instead...there were buildings everywhere, a street, cars lining the street, no cyclorama to be seen.

What the hell was going on?

"Ziva, you'd better let me drive," said Michael. They had come to the dark sedan that they used for all their external shots. Cote was watching Mark, who had gone on to yet another car and was putting Sam in the back seat.

"Ziva!" barked Michael.

Cote opened the door, got into the seat, put on her seatbelt, and rested her head in her hand.

"Jesus, Ziva, what's the matter?"

She felt a hand on her arm. Opening her eyes, she saw Michael looking at her with concern on his face.

And yet, somehow, not Michael.

Cote forced a smile.

"Sorry. I"ve got a bit of a headache. Just let me sit her. Very, very quietly."

And she closed her eyes again.

What was going on? Had she got a concussion? Because she was definitely hallucinating. Michael was calling her Ziva, Mark had called her Ziva, and Sam...if he'd tried swearing like that on national television they'd have washed his mouth out with soap, not to mention fining him - and the show - thousands of the dollars.

And now she was in a car and instead of being in it for a few seconds while filming establishing shots, they were driving on and on as if they were actually going somewhere.

Cote lowered her hand to see where they were going...then placed her head in her hand again. She had just seen the Capitol dome.

She was in Washington, DC.

She was riding next to not Michael Weatherly, but rather Tony DiNozzo, and the man she'd been fighting was not Sam the actor but Sam the dirtbag, and Mark Harmon must actually be Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

This couldn't be happening. She'd hit her head too hard, she was probably laying on the ground right now and would wake up any second.

"Hey, Ziva, we're here," said Mi – Tony, softly.

Cote got out of the car and looked around. She'd had a tour of the NCIS headquarters once, when she'd first started as a regular on the series. Indeed, the whole cast had been brought down to look at the city and tour the buildings where they ostensibly worked. And this was definitely the NCIS headquarters.

She followed Tony DiNozzo into the building, and after a corridor or two, they came out into a large area which she recognized immediately – it was exactly like the set in Hollywood.
And sitting in the desk one over from that belonging to DiNozzo, the baby faced Sean Murray...Timothy McGee.

Cote approached her own desk and sat down behind it. She reached out, touched the desk...very solid...

She looked up to see Tony staring at her. "Ziva, maybe you'd better go get yourself checked out."

"I'm fine."

"Well, have an aspirin at least. Probie!"

McGee stared at both of them, then dug into a desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of Tylenol. He got up, came over to them, handed her the bottle.

Cote poured three of the gelcaps into her hand, and downed them without benefit of water.
"Thank you, Timothy," she said.

"Sure, Ziva." said Timothy. He looked at Tony, who only shrugged and made one of his comic faces.

Tony returned to his desk, Timothy to his, and Cote sat behind the desk belonging to Ziva.
She felt...different. She reached across her body and felt her bicep. She had been in shape...but there was muscle there..more than she was accustomed to. She drummed her fists on her thighs...solid muscle....she was in the body of someone who had worked out and lifted weights for years.

Silence. Cote looked up. Tony was staring at her with a puzzled expression. She glanced over at McGee...who was absorbed in paperwork at his desk...but she knew he'd just been watching her too.

At that point Mark Harmon...no.... Leroy Jethro Gibbs.... made his characteristic entrance, striding into the room.

He stopped in front of her desk and stared down at her.

"Are you all right, Ziva?" he asked in his calm, quiet voice.

Cote could only stare up at him. Gibbs. Jesus...Harmon was handsome and charming...but this man...he simply exuded sexiness...

"Ziva?"

"I"m fine. Uh... Gibbs." said Cote.

"All right. Fitzpatrick is in Interrogation. It's you and me. DiNozzo, you observe. Let's go."

Cote found herself standing in the elevator between Gibbs and DiNozzo. It was as if she were looking at Mark Harmon and Michael Weatherly, but with an extra layer over them...the toughness one would expect from real NCIS agents rather than actors. But still...the charm and the sex appeal was just a bit overpowering...must be this tremendous headache...the Tylenol was not working at all...

Cote followed Gibbs into the interrogation room. Sam...no, Fitzpatrick, as Gibbs had called him, was already there, seated on the opposite side of the table from the observation window, his hands still handcuffed behind his back.

Gibbs sat down opposite him. Cote took up a position at the rear of the room, because she didn't think she could stand to sit within a foot of the real Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Gibbs directed a puzzled look at her, but only shrugged and turned back to Fitzpatrick.

The interrogation began.

If the man sitting there had been the actor Sam Brown, then Cote would have thought he was giving the performance of his life. But instead it was some dirtbag named Fitzpatrick, with a foul mouth and doubtless even fouler deeds to his credit.

But Cote couldn't keep her attention on him. Even with that effluence there...Gibbs' presence was just too overpowering. God he was sexy.

Cote clamped her lips down on a giggle, turning it into a fixed smile.

She'd often stood like this, in the same room with Harmon, admiring his acting technique and the sure way he handled himself, for all that he was giving lines and in real life was the sweetest and gentlest of men...and yet here he was, not him but Gibbs...and all that power...

Cote couldn't stop a chuckle. Immediately she clamped a hand over her mouth.

Fitzpatrick couldn't seem to keep his eyes off her. Well, Gibbs was doubtless going through the whole spiel about how she was a Mossad agent who'd as soon kill him as look at him, and could do remarkable things with a knife...

Did she have a knife, by the way?

Cote reached to her belt, and yes, there it was! She extracted it from its sheath and began to clean her fingernails, desperate to do something that would take her mind off lascivious thoughts.

Just think about it, though, she thought, her lips curving into a grin as she thought of what it would be like...to actually work next to Gibbs...to think that Tony DiNozzo was real. And Abby...she'd have to find out if Abby was still the Goth queen...
And DiNozzo...she'd have the upper hand on him, no question...
Cote chuckled softly...

"All right, Ziva," Gibbs said, "If you're so anxious to get started, I'll leave you alone with Mr. Fitzpatrick."

Cote stared at him, sudden horror sending a cold chill down from her heart to her stomach. She couldn't interrogate anybody! Not with a knife, anyway!

Gibbs had stood up, walked around the table, now he suddenly bent down and placed his lips next to Fitzpatrick's ear.

Cote couldn't hear what he said, but Fitzpatrick, who hadn't seemed to be able to take his eyes off her anyway, suddenly said shrilly: "Okay, okay! I'll tell you what you want to know! Just don't leave me alone with her!"

"Oh, c'mon Gibbs," Cote said, getting into the spirit of the thing. "Leave us alone. And take his cuffs off, it will be more fun that way."

Gibbs only smiled that slight smile of his, and returned to his seat.

"I'll take it from here, Ziva."

Cote allowed herself a sigh of disappointment, as she thought Ziva would give it, then replaced her knife in its sheath and walked out of the room.

She stood in the hallway, getting her bearings....

"Now."

Suddenly there was an overwhelming pain in her head, and Cote slowly dropped to her knees, then rolled over onto the floor and blinked up at the lights and the faces staring down at her.

"Cote!" cried Sam. "Jesus, girl, are you okay? My hand slipped...I..."

Cote grinned. "Don't worry about it, Sam. Just wait until the end of this scene, I will have my revenge. Help me up."

Relieved , the cast members backed up and Cote and Sam were alone again in the spotlight.

She'd known it. Just a hallucination, brought on by that bump on the head. But damn, it was too bad. To have lived the life of Ziva David for a day....that would have been something...

And "Action!" cried the director.

And the scene went on...