Nightmare Robed in White

by channelD

written for: the NFA Snow Challenge

rating: K plus

genre: drama

characters: Tim, Abby, & the rest

pairing: a teensy bit of McAbby, though more friendship

setting: January

author's note: I have used a creative bit that I have used in other stories: that Tim grew up in the snowy northern states, and that his parents are meteorologists.

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disclaimer: I own nothing of NCIS.

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Chapter 1: "Oh, the weather outside is frightful…"

"You know what the best, the very best thing about hot food is?" said Abby, about to take a bite of her last pizza slice. "It fools your body into thinking that everything's fine; that the world's a warm and lovely place; that bluebirds are singing…until you have to step back out into the cold."

Tim laughed, and followed her gaze out the pizza shop window. There, light snow was being blown fiercely by the angry January winds. It was a cold day in Washington, colder than normal. This hadn't stopped the two of them from wanting to try out this new hole-in-the-wall restaurant on 8th Street at lunch. The pizza wasn't top-notch, but it was hot and filling, and the staff was nice. Other pastas were promised for the menu soon, and Tim and Abby had already decided to try it again in a month.

"We should head back," said Tim, looking at his watch. "Gibbs is being a stickler about tardiness lately."

"Well, foo on him," said Abby, but she obligingly pulled on her parka as Tim likewise donned his winter coat. "Thanks! We'll be back!" she called to the staff as she and Tim headed out the door.

The cold slapped at their faces as they hurried down 8th Street. "I love snow!" Abby gushed. "It's so pretty!"

"But it's not black," Tim teased. "Black is your color, after all."

"Doesn't matter. There's nothing like it in nature. Look!" She ground to a halt, grabbing his arm, and so he stopped too. "Look!" She pointed to his sleeve, where flakes were coming in for a landing and resting before the warm sleeve melted them. "Look at the patterns!" Always prepared, she drew a small magnifying glass out of a pocket, and examined the flakes up close. Typically, most of the "flakes" were actually multiple flakes that had become stuck together somewhere in their journey, but elements of the lacey six-sided branches and wings were still evident, and still individualistic.

"Abby, we've got to get back," Tim said, but he was smiling.

"Oh, McGee; stop and smell the snowflakes for once!" She thrust the magnifying glass into his hand. "What do you see??"

"Hmmm…I see a message…'If you're late it will come out of your leave time'…"

"Literate snowflakes. Who'd have thought?" Abby grumped, and repocketed the magnifier. "All right, let's go…"

They trotted on, moving faster. It was several long, cold blocks down 8th Street. At last they came to M Street, and jogged in place while waiting for the light to change on this busy street. When it did change, the snow picked up in intensity. Now flakes the size of half-dollar coins raced around them, cutting the visibility drastically.

"Cool!" was Abby's comment. "I love this!"

"I'd love it a lot more if I were looking out at it from someplace warm," Tim said.

"You have no romance in your soul, McGee," Abby pouted.

"I have enough. I've just seen snow like this all my life. You, being from New Orleans, haven't."

"So you're saying you're jaded, and I'm not."

"I'm saying I'm cold, I'm about to be late, I saw this same thing on Christmas Day when I was at my parents', and yes, I'm glad you still think it's beautiful. Come on; the light's changed."

They decided to enter the Navy Yard at the Latrobe Gate at the Marine compound rather than the Isaac Hull gate further down M Street, where NCIS agents usually entered. It would save them a little distance, and the Marines would let them in with their NCIS IDs. Again the snow thickened. What had earlier been a little gritty slop on the ground was now a measurable few inches, and the heavens seemed to be intent on burying them. "Wow!" Abby called over the wind. "I'm glad we're not out driving in this!"

"Me, too," said Tim, hoping his team didn't have to go out in the field today. Better than Abby, he understood the dangers of driving through wind-swept snow. Slick roads plus poor visibility was a formula for an accident. "Let's hustle!"

Out the back of the Marines compound they ran, into Leutze Park…and into a nightmare.

"Whoa!" Abby said, grinding to a halt. It was as if she'd gone blind. The snow was now so thick that she couldn't see anything but snow: no trees, no path, no road, no buildings. It was a white, white world, in which no other color existed. She held out her hand, but couldn't see it, either; her black sleeve dissolved around the spot where her elbow was. "Tim?" she called, fearfully.

"I'm right here," his voice came from nearby. She felt a fumbling on her side and her sleeve before a gloved hand grabbed hers. "Let's stay together," he said. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid," she said stoutly, and then added, a trace meekly, "Don't let go, okay?"

"Okay."

"Can we find our way to NCIS?"

"Of course we can. We've been this route hundreds of times."

"You lead then. Please."

He gave her hand a squeeze. "We'll be there in minutes. The worst that will happen is that I'll have to take 15 minutes of leave…or stay and work 15 minutes extra tonight."

They started off, moving cautiously but not too slowly. Step…step…step… "Ow!" Tim cried out as he banged into something hard. Pain wafted off his leg, and he fell to the ground, dragging Abby down with him.

"Tim! Are you all right? What happened?!" Groping blindly, she pawed at him, unable to see him but wanting to give comfort.

"I …hit something," he gasped. "One of the…damn bronze cannons in the park, I guess." There were a dozen or more historic cannons in the park, as they knew.

"Then we've gone off the path," Abby said, slowly.

"Not necessarily far," he said, getting to his feet and taking her hand again. "Come on. We'll be back in with the orange walls before you know it!"

They started moving again. Tim's leg felt like it was on fire, but he kept that thought to himself. He would probably have a large bruise; that was nothing to complain about.

"You're sure we're going the right way?" Abby asked as the snow slid beneath her boots. "I can't tell if we're on grass or path."

"You don't have faith in me?" Tim said, joking. He blinked and bit back a sigh when she didn't answer right away. She must really be scared.

"What do your parents say about white-outs?" she asked. "That's what they call this, right? A white-out?"

"Yep. I don't remember them staying much about white-outs," Tim said. "My mother's specialty is tornadoes, you know. And my dad deals in applied meteorology."

"They never said anything??"

"Just—" He stopped himself before saying 'Don't go out in one.' Abby didn't need to hear that now. "Just 'wait a little bit, and it'll soon be over.'" he improvised. It was a lie, and he hated saying it.

"Oh," she said, a little more cheerfully. "So maybe we should stay where we are until it passes. It should be over in a few minutes, right?"

"I don't think we should wait," he said, hoping she wouldn't ask for an elaboration. Dreaded thoughts of wandering lost in blizzards, and freezing to death: the bogeymen of his childhood, filled his mind. He was from the Plains states, where settlers in the 19th and early 20th centuries had indeed often met death in blizzards when caught outside. Come spring, there wouldn't even usually be a body to be found: Nature's creatures would have made short work of the corpse. Old barns in his area still sometimes had ropes leading to the house; a lifeline when one had to go out in a storm to tend to the animals.

"But, Tim…"

"Abby, I'm more afraid of Gibbs than I am of a little snow!" He forced a smile into his voice.

"Well, when you put it that way…"

"Let's head to the right here," Tim said at one point. "We know we have to turn west."

"West. You got it," she said. "Then it's only about a block until we hit Sicard Street, and then straight on to NCIS." She sounded confident, but she gripped his hand tightly.

They trod on, and the white-out showed no signs of letting up. Since it wasn't even 1 o'clock, the day was bright…so bright that the whiteness was almost hard on the eyes.

Abby teetered at one point, when her boot slid on a slippery patch. Tim grabbed her, finding her waist, and she didn't fall. She had a dizzying sensation, though: the light was so even that she wasn't sure which way was up. "Tim," she whimpered. "I'm afraid."

"I know. It's going to be okay."

"We don't have white-outs in New Orleans."

"I know."

"Can't we just stay where we are until it passes?"

"No. We have to keep moving."

"But why? I'll talk to Gibbs for you, if that's what's on your mind. So you stay later tonight. So what. I'll come up with a reason for you to work with me in my lab. That'll be fun!"

He laughed, shortly. "If you're waggling your eyebrows at me, don't bother. You know I love working with you. Except when you threaten me. But I think we should keep moving. It's too cold to linger here."

"I suppose…" she said, and started forward, loosening her grip of his hand.

And then her grip was gone altogether.

"Abby??" Tim called, waving his hand to try to find her hand, her body. He couldn't see her at all; she was swallowed up in the deadly white veil.

Then there was a loud splash.

"Abby!!!"