Title: The Great Santini
Pairing: None technically (mentions of McGee/OFC)
Characters: McGee-centric; cameos of others
Rating: T (a big, capital T for allusions to lewd acts)
Word Count: ~4,700 (it got away with me)
Warning: There is abuse in this! Please, please, if you are sensitive to this, be on the look out? i don't want to hurt anyone with my measly writing, so if parental abuse (even though it isn't extensive, it is mentioned and alluded to) is disturbing to you, turn back now.

Author's Note: It is fair to say I have no idea where this story came from. It originally started with the second scenario, which is very happy, shiny!puppy, but during the last sentence of that I decided that I MUST PUT IN MUCH ANGST OMG. So that happened. Because apparently I am incapable of happy, shiny!puppy things without some kicked!puppy thrown in.

Also: this is sort of important, I um. Don't watch NCIS. :l yeah. Not yet, anyway. It's sort of won me over in the last three days, thanks to a fanfic writer on lj called catswalkalone (check her out if you like Tony/Tim). My mother, on the other hand, loves NCIS. So I know the big arcs, most main plot lines, and have heard nearly every episode subconsciously through my bedroom wall (because my mother likes to blast the TV.) Then, I found McGee. A geek. I love Geeks. Now most of my knowledge of this show/character is based off of three half hour compilations of Tony/Tim moments and an all day marathon of reruns on USA.

SO! With that said, all this is speculation on the character that I have gathered from other fanfic and Wikipedia. (that referring to his dad, car, and sister, not a certain OC) so…

Enjoy? And please tell me of any major detail is wrong, like he doesn't have a sister, it's a brother and imdb is just horribly, horribly wrong or something. Anything that can be glanced over (like say, how Montana doesn't have a marine base, omg) please forgive. :)

Thanks for reading that huge note, if you did. Haha. Now enjoy!

AGAIN, WARNING: there be abuse here, tread carefully.

The Great Santini:
The Folly of Fathers

"What does not kill me makes me stronger." -Friedrich Nietzsche

1605 Shiloh Road (McGee Residence), Fredricksburg, Virginia; December 7, 1986; 8:04 P.M.

It was cold. So cold. He couldn't feel his feet, his hands were tingling; he wasn't even sure he had a nose anymore.

And all he'd wanted was to stay up a little later.

"Please Dad, please can I stay up fifteen more minutes? The show will be off then, and I promise I'll go straight to bed, sir." 9-year-old Timothy McGee had said. He'd been so sure he would convince his dad.

He had. Just not the way he was hoping.

"No, Timothy." And usually that was it. Dad said no, and Tim had learned long ago, the hard way, that that was that.

But not this time. He just couldn't let it go, could he?

"Please Dad, I promise-" maybe he'd been too whiny, or maybe Dad had had a bad day, or maybe he just wanted to teach Tim a lesson, but for whatever reason, he did it.

He snatched Tim up by the arm, lifting him up off the ground, and dragged him through the house. The sudden action had Tim yelping in pain and surprise, and Baby Sarah, being walked through her restlessness by their mother, woke at this, quite upset by being bothered, and wailed her head off. His mother's shout of "Robert!" just made her cry more so Tim tries to keep his mouth shut when he bounces off several objects while being dragged by his father. He doesn't want to upset Sarah. He loves Sarah.

Finally, his father stopped at the back door and pulled it open. It was snowing outside, not heavily, but the chill of the air cut through Tim's Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pajamas like they didn't even exist. He shivered.

"You wanna stay up fifteen more minutes? Fine, you can spend 'em out here."

And promptly threw Tim out into the snow.

He watches his mother shout at his father from the ground, with cold snow seeping through his pants. He can't hear the fight, but he watches through the glass of the kitchen window as his father yells and raises a hand to hit her. She falls back against the kitchen counter, grasping desperately at Sarah, trying to keep her safe. He shouts some more, but walks back into the living room with no more violence.

Tim watches his mother cradle Sarah for the next fifteen minutes and shivers.

He hates the snow.

(After 8:04 Tim has to wait 17 more minutes for his father to leave the living room and go to bed before his mother comes to open the back door, sobbing and asking if he is alright. He is. He never really has the urge to watch TV again.)

Skyview High School (Home of the Falcons), Billings, Montana; November 13, 1992; 1:17 P.M.

"C'mon Timmy, just one. Little. Puff."

She leans in closer, her curly brown perm falling across his chest and pushing a lungful of cheap perfume down his throat. He swallows thickly and leans away, his back brushing against the bookshelf and reminding him that oh yeah, they're in a library and Sheila has pot.

He is so dead.

"I really don't think that's the best idea, Sheil', were in a public place, inside a library," he hisses out at a speed he's sure the older teen is having trouble keeping up with, "and if we get caught, I mean your dad's a cop and mine's a marine, and I mean we will both be so, so dead if we get caught not to mention suspended from school and-"

Despite his speech, Sheila puts the white stick between bright red lips, takes a deep breath, and leans even closer to him, and despite the fact that he's still talking, Tim can't really remember what he was saying.

Then she smiles. And kisses him.

And breathes the smoke straight into his mouth.

He can't help the sudden cough that interrupts their kiss, a hacking, painful sort of cough. Someone, somewhere in the winding catacombs of the library shushes him and he tries to stifle his coughs, while Sheila just cackles a little louder.

"Oh, Timmy," she croons, leaning a little more on him and putting her hands around his neck, "This is gonna be so much fun." And kisses him. Again.

(They didn't get caught that day, but three months later, when Tim and Sheila are behind the locker rooms doing far, far worse things and the principal turns the corner, He'll wish they had been.)

The Rex (one of the most upscale dining rooms in), Billings, Montana; December 4, 1992; 7:23 P.M.

She was a nice girl really. Plain, cookie-cutter, and a little on the short side, but she seemed nice. She seemed just like every other girl he never remembered. Long, light brown hair drawn up into a scrunchy (all one solid color, with no streaks and definitely never even heard of a perm), dark brown eyes (with little to no eye shadow instead of copious amounts of startling colors), no lipstick (Tim can't even picture her near the color red let alone with it plastered to her face), and a nondescript black skirt with a matching blouse (she's probably never even known anyone who wears jeans). And for the life of him he can't remember her name.

He feels a little bad.

"Timothy here is doing well in school and will be on his way to the marine corp soon. That is, after some time spent honing that mind of his at M.I.T., isn't that right son?" His father always called him Timothy. Never Tim. Never Timmy.

Tim nods his head and smiles robotically at whatever his father is saying and keeps trying to purge his brain for the name of the girl smiling shyly at him from across the table.

Linda, Sarah, Amber, Becky-

"Jenny," Jenny! That's what it was! "is thinking of becoming a lawyer." Her pudgy father is smiling smugly and he knows his father is grinding his teeth at the man. "but, of course, I'm sure her plans will become more flexible as she gets older." He says as he sneaks a glance at Tim.

And he feels even worse for the girl. It's the 90's, verge of a new millennia, and her father is trying to sell her off to the highest bidder like it's the middle ages. This is not the first time this has happened to Tim.

This is not the first time Tim's father has set him up as the bait.

"Mmm, I'm sure," his father agrees, "She's one of those women who believe in an 'equal workplace', aren't ya sweet heart?" Tim sees his mother glare at his father from the corner of his eye, but she quickly covers it with a drink of wine. A long drink.

Jenny (that was her name right?) looks down at her folded hands self-consciously and bites her lip. That was kinda cute. (But it still makes him think of bright red lips being licked as they move lower and lower until all he can see is puffy brown hair) He shifts in his seat slightly and smiles encouragingly when Jenny looks up at him.

She smiles back and blushes.

Tim contains his groan.

She likes him. This is bad.

(Tim and Jenny's fathers continue to discuss the merits of their offspring's courtship until well into the night, when Tim's mother is piss-poor drunk and mutters something about "just sucking his dick and getting it over with" to Tim's father while he is gushing over Jenny's inheritance of the family business. When Tim is sneaking out of the house to meet up with Sheila later that night, he can hear his mother crying. It isn't an unfamiliar sound.)

Rim Rock Mall (largest shopping mall in), Billings, Montana; January 10, 1993; 3:33 P.M.

It was the third time Tim had been out with Sheila's friends. Michael (who looks strangely like Vanilla Ice) and Stacey (who looks like the hard core girl she is) are more persuasive than Tim would like. The first time they hung out together, they shoplifted two six-packs of beer. (Tim had sweated himself into dehydration that night)

But Sheila loves them, so Tim welcomes them with open arms.

"They're a lot better than my family, you know?" she says bemusedly when Stacey and Mike head off to get them all some lunch.

Tim doesn't know. Sheila had described her family life to him, complained and griped and raged over them, but Tim would kill to have a family like hers.

But he doesn't say that. He just says "yeah," and smiles adoringly at her. She rewards him with a beautiful smile and a kiss.

Besides, Mike is pretty funny, he finds, and it's fun to tease Sheila with Stacey, and hear about all the stories they have on each other, since they've been friends since Junior High. Tim's never stayed in a place so long.

He wonders if somewhere, an old friend is telling a funny story about him to someone. He doubts it.

When Stacey and Sheila try to persuade him into getting a piercing, Tim has to fake a message on his pager to get out of saying yes.

"It's my mother, there's an emergency, I'm sorry." He blurts out, practically running out of the food court.

Tim's orthodox name fits his image perfectly, with short cut (almost marine cut) hair and plain and proper clothes, Tim is generic, almost as forgettable as Jenny. (Except for his blue eyes and 'baby face' and those are some of Sheila's favorite parts of him) This is of course, his father's doing. And as much as Tim secretly loves to defy him, getting a piercing would sign his death warrant.

(Two week later, Tim gets a tattoo of his sister's and Sheila's name on his hip. Not his back because his father sees it too often when he's making him do a push-ups or take ice baths; and not his ass, like Stacey suggested Mike laughed at and Sheila grinned lewdly at, because, well, because he didn't want the tattoo guy to see his ass. His father never found out. Tim has never regretted it.)

'84 Chevy Camaro Z-28 (Tim's Car), Billings, Montana; February 2, 1993; 3:46 P.M.

Tim sits rim-rod straight in the passenger seat of his own car. The atmosphere is wreaking havoc on his nerves, and he's sweating like he's running a marathon instead of sitting in a car. (He's also compulsively pulling his shirt over his hip every few seconds, because he's already gonna die, there's no need to make the death slow and painful too)

They say nothing the entire drive from Skyview High School to their house.

Tim is mentally writing his will and cursing the principal and himself and Sheila and bad timing and hoping that Sarah will be okay without him.

They still say nothing when Tim's father parks the car in the driveway and they get out to make their way to the front door.

It is silent up until the point when his father takes off his coat and hangs it on the rack next to the door.

"Take off your coat Timothy." He says as he removes his belt and rolls up his shirt sleeves.

Tim has a moment to reflect on things, and last thing he sees before it starts is his little sister in the high school parking lot.

"Daddy, can't I come with you and Timmy?" Sarah'd asked in her Please-Daddy-Pleeeaaase voice. She was looking at Tim though, not their father, her eyes wide and scared.

"No sweetheart, I'm sorry." His father said, with his voice far warmer and gentler than his posture should've allowed, because despite the fact that he's a bastard, he would never hurt Sarah, physically or mentally. That is one of the only aspects Tim has ever loved about his father.

Sarah swallowed thickly and looked like she'd burst into tears any second, and his mother hadn't look any better (though she'd looked far more desolate and hopeless and sick)so Tim glanced at his father to make sure he wasn't watching him, then turned back to her and made a goofy face.

She put on a watery smile and backed away when their mom pulled on her arm, but didn't look away until she could no longer see the car.

When Tim regains the ability to stand up, he will be glad when she and their mother don't return home until far later, when Tim has had time to recover from his father's wrath and has hidden away in his bedroom.

(They move out of Billings a week later, to Fayetteville, North Carolina. He doesn't get to say goodbye to Sheila. His mother dies three months later of pneumonia. His father hides away after that. He's never around, never yelling, like he left with his mother, which makes Tim scoff, but he doesn't complain. When he goes off to college a few months later, he's glad he doesn't have to feel guilty about leaving Sarah behind since Nana Miller, his mother's mother, offers to take care of her. The last time he ever talks to his father is a week before he leaves for college when he walks into his father's office to say "We're out of milk, sir." He doesn't really regret that either.)

The Miracle of Science (closest bar to M.I.T. in) Cambridge, Massachusetts; March 26, 2002; 9:54 P.M.

He almost doesn't recognize her, but then he looks at her shining green eyes, and the way she says "Timmy" is just way too familiar to forget.

It's Sheila.

And god, she looks just like Jenny.

Her hair is down loose, but it's smooth and shiny, the only curl present was put there by an iron not chemicals. Her lips are a shade of red barely darker than her natural lip color (at least, what he remembers it as) and her eyes have a black powder lightly dusted above them, so light it's barely noticeable. Her clothes are normal (a word he'd never associated with Sheila before) and her jeans are capris, which should be sacrilege for the girl he used to know. (Used to love)

She's not bad looking, but she's…

Plain.

Since he'd left his father's household and gone off to Johns Hopkins, there'd been a definite pattern in the types of girls he liked.

Whether they looked like they'd come straight from a Marilyn Manson video or were just a bit on the crazy side, he'd always had a thing for the Wild Girl.

He totally blames Sheila.

Tim buys them a round of drinks, and they start to timeline their lives back since they'd last met. It's so ordinary and expected of them that Tim wonders for a second if this isn't really Sheila.

When she mentions that she's going to law school, Tim almost laughs.

"Actually, I'm gonna join the NCIS next year." He tells her when she asks what his plans are before taking a swig from her bottle. She's still on her first beer, and that pisses him off a little, because where was the real Sheila?

"NCIS?" She asks bewilderedly. Tim smiles good naturedly: she wasn't the first to ask.

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service." He explains.

"Navy? That cause your daddy's a marine?" She asks coyly, showing the first flash of the old Sheila

Tim is about to answer in the negative when he realizes that it is. All his life, his father had wanted him to be a marine, to serve, just like his good old dad, even though Tim had no sea legs to speak of and had horrible sea sickness and they both knew it.

So despite the fact that Tim hates his father with something close to a passion, he still won't let him down, not all the way. He would. Would back out of becoming an NCIS agent right now if he could. But he can't. Because recently he's realized that he won't be able to do anything else ever again. He knows what they do, taken classes for it, hell he even watch a few episodes of some TV show about it. He loves it already, and he hasn't even got the job.

This is one time Tim can't rebel.

This time his father wins.

"I guess so." He says quietly to Sheila, and they move on to other aspects of their lives, like the fact that she was the mother of two children and was married to Vanilla Mike, and the fact that she's on a Girl's Night Out with Stacey, who hasn't changed her look or had babies.

Tim goes home with Stacey that night.

She laughs nostalgically at his tattoo.

(Sheila and Tim exchange e-mails every couple of months to catch up, but Tim rarely sees the old her in the e-mails, except for sentences here and there. But he still smiles when he looks down while he's changing and sees her name, or when he's at a bar flirting with the next Wild Thing and she calls him "Timmy", because there's no way Sheila will ever be the suburban mother of two to him, and he'll be grateful to her no matter what. Especially when, a year later Sheila, and his sister, he supposes, gets him a night out with the cute Forensics girl at the NCIS headquarters.)

NCIS Headquarters (McGee's desk), Washington DC, District of Columbia; December 7, 2009; 8:04 P.M.

"C'mon Probie, just one. Little. Favor."

He leans in closer, pink and silver striped tie falling over McGee's shoulder and pushing a lungful of Old Spice (or Axe, he doesn't know) down his throat. He swallows thickly and leans away, his back brushing against his desk chair and reminding him that oh yeah, they're not working and Gibbs is probably just around the corner. (And sure they're off the clock, but they're still here, so Gibbs will expect them to be doing work)

He is so dead.

"No, Tony, I am not going to write a stupid poem for your latest stupid conquest," he hisses out, wary of any movement from either side of the bullpen, "besides, it's not like you won't be moving on to your next one by tomorrow."

Whatever Tony says next is lost on McGee because he's too busy smiling adoringly at his inbox when he sees a new message from Sheila. He knows it'll be about something boring like her daughter's ballet recital, but the memories her name dredge up are worth the boring conversations.

"Probie? Probie!" Tony whines out, "Are you even listening to me? You know I get hurt feelings when people ignore me." And if McGee didn't know he'd get head slapped, he'd accuse Tony of pouting.

Which he totally was.

"Yes Tony, I know." He rolls his eyes mostly for effect, then mumbles out, "Like it's possible to ignore your voice. It's like a cheese grater to the fingertips…"

Tony's friendly slap to his back is a little more forceful than necessary. "Exactly, McProbster. My voice is just too beautiful to ignore." Obviously he'd taken what he'd wanted out of that sentence and ignored the rest. He did that often. "My poetry, on the other hand: not so great."

McGee can see the expectant look on Tony's face in the reflection of his monitor. He wants to laugh, but he also wants to keep up their banter, and a laugh would bring it to an end.

"Oh, I don't know about that Tony." He says as he turns his chair so that Tony has to stand up from his lean on the back of his seat. McGee looks up at him with an evil, evil glint in his eye as he says, "Why don't we take a look at it?" and jumps up out of his chair to scramble for Tony's computer.

McGee had been half watching Tony start to type and then abort it all night. It obviously hadn't been a report (Tony hammered through those like Tiger Woods on a range) (McGee hopes he got that sports reference right, and didn't mix up his athletes) so when Tony had come asking McGee for help furthering his efforts with a certain leggy blonde two floors down, he'd connected one with the other and came up with Tony Sucks at Writing.

Tony makes an indignant squeak (and yes, it was totally a squeak) and makes an attempt at grabbing for him, but McGee's already seated and is clutching at things with all his might, so Tony gives up and crosses his arms to glare (pout) at him.

"Ahem," McGee clears his throat dramatically as he pulls up the word document hidden behind two Firefox pages and an Excel spreadsheet. "To The Most Beautiful Woman Around:" He rolls his eyes at that and Tony sneers at him.

"I do believe my heart's a twitter,

With nothing even close to bitter

…ness. And when I look upon your eyes

Gone are all the lies.

And when I look upon your sweater

(Here McGee looks suspiciously at Tony, but Tony only rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at him)

I am assured that things will be better

By the heavy, steady beating

Of your heart that is so fleeting.

Oh yes, I do believe my heart's a twitter,

And is screaming "Go get 'er!"

He pauses a moment, then looks up at Tony. He's glaring down at him, but McGee can see that somewhere, deep in Tony, buried in his eyes, Tony's hoping McGee won't say anything, will just laugh and get it over with quick. Somewhere in him: Anthony DiNozzo cares about what Timothy McGee thinks of his poem.

He thinks about the way Tony responded to the first time he'd told him about his hobby. "You write?" he'd asked with a little smile that McGee used to think was mocking, but after looking back on it a few times, he realizes, maybe it was something else.

He doesn't think too hard on what it is, though.

McGee sort of shrugs with his face and says: "It's good." And Tony blinks. "A little cheesy," because McGee can't keep all the teasing out, where's the fun in that? "but maybe she'll like cheesy. Some girls do." He grins and the shine of pride and gratitude in Tony's eyes are not lost on McGee.

"Some girls do what?" a voice asks as it storms through the entrance of the bullpen, causing both McGee and Tony to jump with a 'Nothing, Boss' on their tongues before they see that it's a Grinning Ziva not a Glaring Gibbs that stormed in.

"Nothing," they semi-shout in unison. They glance at each other nervously, but Ziva lets their obvious guilt go because she has much more important things to talk about. "Abby says it is going to snow tonight." She smiles a smile that makes her look like a little girl and not a Mossad agent.

"Oh, great," Tony groans, "this better not be a repeat of last year's snow storm, 'cause I am not getting snowed in again. I am about to secure a date with a beautiful lady." He smiles conspiringly at McGee, then spins the chair he's sitting in out of the way of the computer and sets to e-mailing his poem to S. Moore at ncis dot gov dot us and McGee wonders what the 'S' stands for. (God, he hopes it isn't 'Sheila')

When Ziva turns all the wattage of her beaming smile on him and says "Snow!" all reverently McGee has to smile back nervously and nod in agreement.

He hates the snow.

"It was not often I got to see snow, since of course I lived in Israel. And all other places I visited, well I was usually too busy with my mission to enjoy, but now! Oh, this is why I love living in this place! You get snow every year! It is still exciting! When it will lose its wonder?" She rambles with her giant smile.

"Never!" Abby squeals as she enters the bullpen, hanging on Gibbs' arm. "Snow will always, always be way awesome! I mean, I love snow, and I've been knee deep in it since I was a baby." Her smile rivals Ziva's and when they both converge on each other to discuss how 'awesome' snow is, it's like a sun took up residence in one corner of the bullpen. McGee twists his lips in discomfort and looks away, only to look right at Gibbs' piercing stare.

McGee has to swallow before he can ask, "something wrong, Boss?" At this, Tony glances up from reading the reply from S. Moore, and takes an interest in Gibbs also.

But Gibbs just shakes his head and keeps staring at McGee.

"You guys!" Abby addresses the room, "let's go out on the roof and make snow angels!"

Ziva is immediately on board, even though McGee's half sure she has no idea what snow angels are. Tony's already making an excuse not to go, and Gibbs just stares at McGee. McGee shifts uncomfortably.

He hates the snow. And being starred at.

Somehow (McGee missed the entire conversation/threat) Abby and Ziva convince Tony to go up to the roof of headquarters and toss around in the snow. There must have been a lot of threatening that he missed.

"Gibbs?" Abby asks hopefully, and if there's anyone who can convince Leroy Jethro Gibbs to lie down in snow, it's Abby.

He doesn't answer for a few seconds. Just stares at McGee, before he smiles slightly (very slightly) and says, "I will if McGee will."

To which Abby replies: "Of course Timmy will!" and everyone turns to look at him.

God he hates being starred at.

And Snow. He hates that too.

"Um," he mutters. Abby looks so sure, like there's no way McGee can say no to her (and sure, most of the time he can't, but he really hates snow), Ziva is looking so hopeful it's almost cute, like a puppy at the pound (that can kill you a hundred different ways), Tony is looking at him with mild concern, like he can't figure out why he hasn't agreed to it yet, and Gibbs is just starring with a creepy little smile on his face.

He sighs.

"Fine."

He's wondering how he can get out of it before they make it to the roof, when he feels Tony's hand on his shoulder ("Don't worry McGeek, we'll get back at Abs and Ziva for waylaying us into this. I'm thinkin' snow ball fight…"), and Gibbs' smile has softened out into a real one ("When Tony isn't looking, we're gonna stuff ice down his shirt, got it Tim?"), and Ziva and Abby are linking arm with him and leading him to the elevator ("and then when Tony and Gibbs aren't paying attention we're totally gonna smack 'em with some snowballs!" "And maybe lock them on the roof in the snow for a few minutes…?" "Ooh! Good one, Ziva!"), and he thinks that maybe it'll be worth it.

The elevator doors close on his smile.

(When they make it to the roof, Tim is pleasantly surprised when he doesn't completely freak out or shut down. He soon finds that he doesn't hate the snow. At least not when he is secretly plotting against everybody else on the team, and telling stories about old snow days with families (his own excluded), and laying down with them to make snow angels. Once, while Tim is pulling his arms over his head to make the wings of his six foot angel, Tony happens to glance over and see his shirt ride up. The teasing he knows he is going to have to endure for the next who-knows-how-long is slightly ruined by the apparent shock Tony has over the fact that Tim has a girl's name tattooed to his hip. (and fortunately doesn't seem to have seen the tattoo of his sister's name) This is also when Tony finds out Tim was messing with his mind when he'd told him he'd gotten 'Mom' tattooed to his ass. His reaction is completely worth waiting six years for that punchline.)

Wow, I had to look up a lot of stuff for this story, ha. Oh and all these places listed here? Are real. So please: don't go visit that person on Shiloh Road, I beg of you. :) (and also: yes, I know Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles the movie didn't come until 1990, but can we forgive this and assume Tim loved the comic??? Please?! The frustration of this led me to title this project Damn You, Ninja Turtles for a while. No joke. :( I love you Mikey…)

There's also the matter of Daddy McGee. All of this was sparked from a line where I read that McGee had said he didn't need to read The Great Santini, 'cause he's lived it. (I think that's what Wikipedia told me, hope I wasn't lied to) I wanted to convey that his father was strict bordering on cruel, but it seems to have come out more on the abuse side. In my mind, he never laid a hand on Tim until the little escapade of being caught with Sheila. (Not that he was a bundle of sunshine all the other times, but still…) I also wanted to show a reason for Tim's seemingly innate habit of being a straight shooter, since he seems surprised every time Gibbs asks him to hack something illegally. It was a standard literally beat into him. Dunno, that's my story for Timothy McGee and I'm stickin' with it. ;) (That is until I find a fantastic fic about his past and take that as canon. *g*)

Other than that, I'd love to know how I did on a fanfic for a show I've never really watched chronologically. (woo, nervous…) So review if you can please?

Man, I'm pretty long winded in these notes, huh?

Thanks for reading.