By the Book
by channelD
written for: The Weekly Writing Game, prompt: Temple
rating: Kplus
pairing: Tim & Gibbs, non-slash
setting: Season one
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Disclaimer: I still own nothing at all of NCIS.
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"Boss, a possible break in the O'Leary case." Tony hung up the phone, looking pleased, as if he'd phoned in the tip himself. "The nanny turns out to hold two passports, under two different names." He glanced over at the new guy. "See, McGee? It's just as I told you. The nanny was hiding something. You didn't believe me. I tell you, experience pays off."
Tim McGee, on the job as an NCIS Special Agent, just reassigned to the Washington Navy Yard three weeks ago, looked up and blushed. Of course Tony was right. He always was, or so it seemed.
On that first lovely, hot morning here, Tim had been so excited. Washington! The nation's capitol! Headquarters to NCIS! And he had been hand-picked for reassignment by the legendary Special Agent Gibbs himself! In that weekend, Tim left his moving boxes unpacked. He swerved around them in his small apartment; choosing to go over and over his collection of the manuals of the NCIS regs again and again. Of course he knew them already. But maybe it was a good idea to be able to recite them if given just the number, not the title. Someone might quiz him on that.
He'd felt so confident on that first day in Washington. He knew it all. He was prepared.
By the start of the second week, Tim was less confident, seeing how things really worked. Corners were cut sometimes; dubious sources were used…Now in his third week, Tim felt panicky. Real life in NCIS wasn't always by the book…though sometimes it was, very much so. Tim was making mistakes, bad judgment calls, and what must look like failures of common sense every day. Surely he would soon be sent back to Norfolk—if not dismissed from the agency entirely. Still in his first year of hire, he knew he could be let go for almost any reason, at any time.
His attention was momentarily diverted by his new friend Waithe Cummings, who was passing through on his way to his job at Intel. Waithe had been on that job for a little more than a year, but seemed quite confident. Tim envied him that.
Gibbs' voice interrupted Tim's quick reflections. "DiNozzo, Todd—follow that passport trail. McGee, with me. We'll bring that nanny back in for questioning."
"Sure, boss." Tim always made sure he was quick to move, grabbing his coat with one hand and his sig and wallet with badge in the other. How will I screw up this afternoon? he wondered.
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The nanny was a cute 22-year-old student from Denmark, all wavy black hair and large grey eyes and dimples. Tim wasn't entirely taken in by her tale of mistaken identity, but his guard was down enough so that she slipped by him, out the door, and was running down the street before Gibbs' angry yell got him going. Tim caught up with her after half a block, and brought her down. He was not gentle with slapping handcuffs on her, feeling the embarrassment of Gibbs' glare from half a block away.
"S-sorry, boss," Tim stammered. Gibbs looked furious, but didn't say anything.
Tim was never so glad to get back to his desk at NCIS. Surrounded by his manuals, it was here that he felt a bit of comfort. Maybe everything on the job wasn't by-the-book, and probably more of it should be, but there was a lot of support offered by these decades of instructions. He wouldn't have said that he worshipped them, but to him, they were a temple of knowledge.
Tony and Kate weren't back yet. Since Gibbs hadn't asked Tim to do anything specific while he took the O'Leary's nanny into an interrogation room, Tim fell back on studying the particulars of this case. Here was when the call of the discovery of Kathleen O'Leary's body had come in. The nanny had found her when she'd brought little Michael O'Leary back from the park, she said. Here is when they interrogated Kathleen's husband, Lieutenant Geoffrey O'Leary. And here were the notes from Kate's interview with the nosy next-door neighbor, whose memory of when the nanny left the house did not square with the nanny's statements.
Tim let his mind drift, absorbing the data. By the time Gibbs had returned, Tim was grinning hugely. Oddly, he didn't feel shy about pouring out the details that solved the case. He knew the answer was right; the data proved it.
As he summed up his determination, Tim saw Gibbs' face change from surprise to approval to something like resignation. Gibbs beckoned him over, and Tim rolled across in his chair.
"Good work, McGee," Gibbs said, meeting his eyes only briefly. "You made excellent deductions. Saved us a lot of time."
"Thanks, boss." Tim grinned, savoring the uncommon praise. Without thinking, he added, "I enjoyed doing that."
Gibbs studied the far wall. "Did you? You know, don't you, that as an Outstanding Scholar hire, in your first year you can easily switch jobs if you're not satisfied. Intel is always looking for people who like problem-solving, and although it's not announced, MTAC has openings particularly for people interested in the tactical solutions…"
"Y-you think I should put in for those jobs?" Tim gulped. He knew he should feel flattered, but instead Despair took hold. Am I not good enough to be a special agent?
"I think you would do really well in either position. Part of my job to inform you of this."
"What if…" Tim felt courage swiftly abandoning him, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "What if I didn't want either job?"
"What? Why wouldn't you?" Gibbs looked at him, surprised.
"That's not the job I signed up for, boss. I want to be a special agent." As much as he'd dreaded getting out of bed this last week, those two words still sounded magical when he said them. "I want to be one, though I seem to be a lousy one."
Gibbs half-smiled. "Why do you say that?"
"Because I can't do anything right! I go through the manuals, and it's like they were written for another time, another civilization!"
Stretching back in his chair then, Gibbs finally locked eyes with Tim. "McGee, you've got the signs of a very good agent. I wouldn't have brought you onto this team if I didn't think so. You're making mistakes because the job is new and strange to you."
"The manuals—"
"The manuals are a tool. They aren't knowledge itself. Knowledge comes from experience. Confidence comes from the knowledge that comes from experience. You'll gain that—if you want to stick with this job."
"I do, boss."
Gibbs grinned then. "Then come out from behind the shelter of the manuals and learn how it's really done. Welcome aboard!"
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