"Try, Try Again"


NCIS; McGee; Rated PG





"A toast," Zeus said, raising his goblet of wine high above his head. "To Thetis and Peleus - may your joys be numerous and your loins be fruitful."

A chorus of "Hear! Hear!" and a slurred "ewe go Peleush" followed as the other guests around the table toasted the happy couple. The wedding banquet was in full swing and more than one reveler was tipped in his cups.

Peleus, one of the Argonauts who had sailed with Jason in search of the Golden Fleece, and Thetis, a sea nymph, had been married that day and all the gods had turned out for the banquet. All except one.


Timothy McGee ripped the paper out of the typewriter and fed it through the shredder. Maybe he needed a different beginning.


To say the apple appeared unexpectedly would be an understatement. Appearing out of nowhere, it fell from the sky to land with a tinkling sound in the middle of the banquet table. Several bemused guests looked upward to see if any more fruit would follow, while Zeus reached out a hand and to inspect it. It felt warm to the touch and the gold surface seemed to shine with an inner luminescence. Inscribed across the surface were the words "To the Fairest". As he read the words, Zeus's quizzical look turned thunderous. "Eris!" he shouted in a voice so loud, the dishes clinked together. A musical laugh floated around them, carried on the breeze.

"What's that?" Aphrodite asked, snatching the apple out of Zeus's meaty fist. "Oh! A present for me!" She squealed in protest as the apple was plucked from her hand.

"Don't be a twit," Athena said, scornfully. She read the inscription outloud. "It's clearly meant for me." She tossed it playfully up in the air. To say the apple appeared unexpectedly would be an understatement. Appearing out of nowhere, it fell from the sky to land with a tinkling sound in the middle of the banquet table. Several bemused guests looked upward to see if any more fruit would follow, while Zeus reached out a hand and to inspect it. It felt warm to the touch and the gold surface seemed to shine with an inner luminescence. Inscribed across the surface were the words "To the Fairest". As he read the words, Zeus's quizzical look turned thunderous. "Eris!" he shouted in a voice so loud, the dishes clinked together. A musical laugh floated around them, carried on the breeze.

"What's that?" Aphrodite asked, snatching the apple out of Zeus's meaty fist. "Oh! A present for me!" She squealed in protest as the apple was plucked from her hand.

"Don't be a twit," Athena said, scornfully. She read the inscription outloud. "It's clearly meant for me." She tossed it playfully up in the air.

Hera grabbed it before it could reconnect with Athena's hand. "Both of you are silly children. I am the fairest so therefore it belongs to me," she stated, in a rare public show of--


Tim ripped the second sheet out of the typewriter and growled at it before sending it through the shredder. One more try. Third time's the charm.


Boring. That was the word that had been running through Paris's head all day. He leaned against his staff and watched the sheep grazing on the lush green grass. His life was utterly and completely boring. He arose before dawn, ate a meager breakfast, fed the other animals around his parents' house and then tended the flock till dusk. Then it was a quick wash in the stream, dinner and to bed. Same old same old. 'Just once I wish something exciting would happen,' he thought, for about the hundredth time.

The air around him shimmered like the sun on the Aegean Sea. He blinked his eyes and then stared transfixed as four figures took shape before him. The quartet had to be gods. No other answer was plausible to him.

"Are you Paris?" The only male in the group, he was wearing a pair of winged sandals that marked him as Hermes as surely as if his name were tattooed across his forehead.

Paris felt this was a stupid question since he was the only shepherd in the whole valley, but you just don't call a god 'stupid.' Not unless you wanted to spend eternity pushing a boulder up a hill or some other inane torture.


"If you want to know what torture is," Tim said to himself as he again ripped the paper from the typewriter and fed it to the shredder, "it's trying to write."

He looked longingly at the books of mythology stacked on his desk and swept them off into the trash. Feeling guilty, he picked them back up and set them on the floor next to his desk.

"Best stick with what I know," he said with a sigh.

Placing a crisp white sheet of paper in the typewriter, he began again...

L.J. Tibbs glanced up at the busted out streetlight, then back at his watch. His source had said to meet at oh one hundred, but something didn't feel right...


THE END




Copyright 2010 by Cait N.


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Disclaimer: All characters are property of Donald P. Bellisario. No infringement intended.