Chapter Text
Out take 1
Director Sheppard sat in her office, very pleased with herself.
She had achieved her career goals in a timely fashion, and now could focus on bringing her agency into the limelight in a way that would facilitate the next step in her triumphal march in the political arena.
Her assistant tapped on the door and entered with the mail, placing most of it in the various trays for her to sort through. One letter though, Cynthia handed directly to her.
It looked to be a personal letter, oddly addressed to ‘Queen Jennifer of NCIS’.
Slitting the envelope, Jennifer began reading a scathing denunciation of one of her agents for ‘un-knightly behavior’.
Dear Queen Jennifer,
I am writing to tell you that your senior knight, Sir Leroy Jethro Gibbs, has strayed from the bounds of proper courtly behavior.
Point the first: He has been verbally abusive to the other knights in your service, screaming at them in public and in private all manner of fowle and disturbing things.
Point the second: He has been physically abusive to some of the other knights in your service, striking them not in honourable combat, but from behind like a rogue.
Point the third: He has basely abused the willingness and good nature of Sir Anthony Paddington to such an extremity that he has nearly killed him with overwork.
In conclusion: Your senior knight, Sir Leroy Jethro Gibbs, has discredited you and your NCIS with his un-knightly behavior and should have his spurs summarily removed for these offenses.
Inasmuch as Sir Gibbs has abandoned courtly behavior, he should be stripped of courtly honors.
With respect and courtesy,
The Honorable Olivia Paddington
Jennifer thought for a moment, then went out to the balcony overlooking the bullpens below.
“Jethro, I need to see you in my office…”
Out take 2
The press assembled quietly and respectfully.
This was an unscheduled address, and that always made people uneasy.
The Queen entered the room and approached the microphone.
“Thank you for attending. I wish to make a statement today to all citizens of the United Kingdom and the Greater Commonwealth.
Two days ago, we received an urgent request from one of our cousins. His young daughter is suffering from a terrible illness, for which the only cure is a bone marrow transplant. He asked all of the family to be tested for compatibility in an attempt to save his little girl’s life.
In the process of being tested, we were informed of the severe lack of donors available in the bone marrow registries…particularly in less represented groups like those of African, Indigenous, or South Asian ancestry. Of the number of people suffering and dying, waiting for a match.
This is unacceptable. Bone marrow is a simple thing to donate, easily replenished by the body, but vitally important in treating all manner of blood-based illnesses. A simple blood test, readily available at your local clinic, is all it takes to register. And you could be called upon to save a life.
Information is easily found on the web, or procured from your local GPs. We wish to personally challenge you, get the test. Register. Be willing to donate. And maybe, if someday someone you love is diagnosed with leukemia, lymphoma, myeloma, or Aplastic Anemia…someone will be a match for them.
Thank you for attending.”
The Queen retired from the podium, leaving her representative to take a few questions. “No, we don’t know yet if the little girl will be ok. Yes, Her Majesty has registered, as has the rest of the family. No, most donations can be done in an outpatient procedure.”
Thousands of miles away in Colorado, a tired mother stared in amazement at the screen. “Um…Tony, when you said you were related to half of England…?”
Out Take 3
This time the letter was on Very Official Stationery.
Jennifer Sheppard almost hated to slit the clearly expensive paper.
Unfolding the letter inside, she felt a bit dizzy as she began to read.
Director Jennifer Sheppard, NCIS,
It has come to my attention that one of your agents, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, has begun to lose sight of appropriate behaviors towards those who work under him.
It does you no credit to allow these behaviors, which are so blatant as to be common knowledge, to continue.
As a woman in a position of authority, you are perhaps more appreciative of the speed with which public sentiment can turn. An abusive word, observed by the wrong person, could easily come back to haunt you. It does not serve you to be represented in public by one who has forgotten his duty of care.
I would say to you, clean up your house. Remember that all your employees deserve to be treated with civility if not courtesy.
If you wish to be respected on the larger stage, you cannot have your most memorable presence be a belligerent loudmouth.
On a purely personal level, I would strongly suggest you find a way to mandate effective mental health care for the man. It is obvious his grief and guilt have consumed him to the detriment of himself and all around him. I would also warn you about those dangers. They have prematurely ended many an otherwise promising career.
Hoping this finds you in good health, I am
Most Respectfully Yours,
Elizabeth, Regina
Queen of the United Kingdom and Commonwealth Realms
Mycroft Holmes/ss/dd
Sighing and rubbing her temples, the Director rose from her desk and went out to the balcony.
Looking down into the bullpen she caught the man in question in the midst of berating his Junior Agent.
“Jethro, I need to see you in my office…”
Out Take 4
Tony was in one of the smaller writing rooms in the British Embassy, taking a moment between meetings to decompress a little, when a runner from the front desk approached him.
“Lord Paddington, there is a General who has requested a moment of your time. Are you available?” The man waited patiently for Tony to say ‘yea’ or ‘nay’.
“A General? All right. If they’ve come all the way out here to see me, I’ll hear them out. You can bring them up. Thank you.” Tony wasn’t sure what new hell was about to land in his lap, but one look at the general in question, following the attendant into the room and he was sure it wasn’t going to be pretty.
“General O’Neill. Please, have a seat. What can I do for you?” This was the worst part of politics, having to play nice with people who once tried to torture you.
“Thanks. I appreciate you seeing me like this, without an appointment or whatever.” The man sat down and leaned forward with his arms on his knees, turning his cover in his hands.
“They want to promote me to Director of Homeworld Security. I told them I’d have to talk to you first.” Well that was a surprise.
“And why would you tell them that, General?”
“Because the position will require us to work closely together, and I can understand why you wouldn’t want that. I’d like the opportunity to…apologize? Explain? Clear the air?” The man looked absolutely sincere.
“OK…” Tony responded slowly, waiting for some self-justification or ‘greater good’ speech.
“I was a complete asshole. I’m sorry. Sorrier than I can say. When I think about that time, well, I don’t like myself very much.” OK, that was actually a decent start.
Quietly, haltingly, but without artifice…General O’Neill told his story. An unendurable loss. An overwhelming guilt. A suicide mission survived. One world-threatening crisis after another. A team forming in the midst of all that, staggering from one barely-averted disaster to another, only able to rely on each other. Then one of them is gone. Panic. Guilt. Fear. Too much time spent McGuyvering his way through eroding boundaries he didn’t realize were slipping.
“Hammond put all of us on a three month downtime. We all had retraining, and I got slapped into mandatory therapy. I almost walked away instead. Didn’t want to look that closely at myself. But I didn’t have anything else and I wasn’t quite ready to … well, anyway. In the end, I stayed. Did the work, got my head back on straight. And almost crawled back into a bottle when I had to face what I’d done. What I’d been prepared to do. Had to mend my fences with T’ealc. When he compared how I’d acted to Apophis, well…And Danny didn’t cut me any slack either. I think his disappointed look was the hardest thing to bear.”
“I’m glad your team had your back…refused to let you just run rampant over whatever limits you pleased. It’s a tough thing to do, to confront your partner.” Tony knew intimately how hard that was.
“Yeah, in the long run I’m the better for it but, it really sucked.” General O’Neill looked at the man across from him and stood. “So, think about it if you need to, and let me know what you decide. Though if you could be kinda quick about it, I know the President would appreciate it.”
Tony stood up as well, and offered his hand. “It takes a strong man to confront himself. To apologize to the people he wronged. I think you’ll make a good Director of Homeworld Security. And I think we can work together.”
O’Neill took Tony’s hand and shook it firmly. “Thank you. Um, one last thing? Could you maybe tell your wife without me there? I’ve still got the bump on the bridge of the nose from her punch. It’s a good reminder, but I’d rather not have a matching set.”
Out Take 5
When Tony and Wren got to 221B Baker Street to retrieve their son, they weren’t expecting the scene that awaited them.
Their eight month old son was sitting in his bouncy seat staring in awe at his cousin, who was apparently explaining the chemical reaction taking place in the test tube he was observing.
By itself this wouldn’t have been so terribly odd, but the fact that the baby was using a human skull as a teether…that was disturbing.
Wren moved quickly to take the skull away from Cub, while Tony was left to confront his cousin. “Sherlock! What in the world are you doing? And why would you ever give an eight month old baby your skull?”
Sherlock peered blearily over at the baby, and then focused back on his test tube. “One minute Ant. A man’s future is riding on this result. Ah…yes. Brilliant.”
Sighing, Tony took the skull from Wren, absentmindedly wiping the drool off and placing it back on the mantle. “Sherlock! The skull? I’m sure we packed a teether in his baby bag.”
Sherlock looked around, and then grinned manically at the baby. “I didn’t give him my skull Anthony. Why would I do something like that? He must have summoned it. How brilliant! Did you want the skull Clive? How clever of you to get it yourself instead of disrupting my test!”
The baby just giggled, but Wren was not impressed.
Tony sighed again. “Sherlock, I thought John was going to be baby-sitting with you. What happened?”
“Oh, he had to go out for more diapers.”
“How did we not pack enough diapers? There were four in the bag and we’ve only been gone for three hours.” Tony peered worriedly at his baby boy.
“Well, I could have used two more, but John will get them for me. They’re really the most wonderful thing for cleaning up chemical spills. It never occurred to me until I was changing Clive, but the core of modern diapers traps liquids. So of course I needed to see if it was all liquids or just some of them. And how much liquid. I have learned that anything acidic is easily trapped, but base reagents just get…gloopy. That’s why John had to go fetch more diapers. I still have more tests to run, but it’s a good start isn’t it Clive?”
The baby shrieked in agreement and grabbed for Sherlock, clearly not wanting to leave until the experiments were complete. Or something.
“Maybe you guys can have a science day together some time later…like in a few years. Once Cub’s learned not to put things in his mouth. Until then, thanks for baby-sitting tonight. We really appreciate it. Good luck with the diaper experiments.” Tony was trying for a graceful exit, but the baby wasn’t cooperating, fussing and reaching for something on the table.
Sherlock put his hand down quickly. “No no Clive. You can’t summon the bottles. You could get hurt.”
Wren and Tony looked at one another in resignation. This was what they got for failing to cancel their reservation when Modesty got the flu and couldn’t baby-sit. Lesson learned.
Making their excuses, they wrestled their unhappy baby out the door, leaving behind a smug genius.
He couldn’t wait to brag to Severus about his brilliant baby cousin.
When Clive Bradley Paddington earned his Potions Mastery twenty-four years later, Sherlock was in the audience for the occasion bragging to anyone who would listen that he’d known from the beginning.
Out Take 6
All in all, it had been a good life.
Tony had gone to bed last night, feeling rather tired. His grandson had come in from Atlantis with his wife and children, so the whole family had gathered to celebrate.
It was amazing to Tony how his family had grown over the years.
Sophia had followed Tony into Stargate, first as a linguist. Then as a special investigator. Finally stepping into Tony’s position as Minister for Interstellar Affairs. Her husband was a Detective Inspector with New Scotland Yard (so it was a good thing Tony hadn't arrested him for poaching all those years ago) and their three children were busy taking over the world (which would definitely be the better for it).
Olivia had a long career as a professional pianist, playing venues all over the world. She had married a hard-working pediatrician, and somehow found time to have five children. Tony couldn’t imagine it. The three he’d had had often run him ragged. But all the children seemed happy and healthy, so Tony took that for the win.
Clive had gotten his Masteries in Potions and Healing, going into research and developing ways to adapt many magical cures for non-magicals and vice versa. While the girls had married young Clive hadn’t settled down until he was in his thirties…so his two children were younger than their cousins by several years and still in University.
All in all they were quite the crew, and Tony was exhausted. As he lay in his big bed missing Wren fiercely, Tony fell asleep and dreamed of her.
But now, he was fairly sure he wasn’t dreaming. He was also sure this wasn’t ascension. He had a firm policy against ascending, and everybody knew it.
He was walking through a wildflower garden, listening to someone playing the piano. It could have been Olivia, but some lilt…some trick of the keys…told him it wasn’t.
When he got to the gazebo, the woman playing the piano turned and looked at him.
Honey-gold hair and grass-green eyes, a bright laugh and an outstretched hand.
“Hello little bug. I’ve missed you.”