A/N: Written for the Debriefing Challenge at NFA. McGee oneshot.

Disclaimer: As per usual... not mine! Not mine! Not mine! I have not ever owned, nor will I ever own NCIS. Lucky DPB...

HOSTAGE

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News In Brief:

NCIS Hostage Freed No new information on the hostage situation which was apparently resolved in the early morning hours. NCIS Director, Jennifer Shephard, indicated in a press release that the criminal was apprehended and his hostage, an NCIS special agent, was freed unharmed. "Special Agent Timothy McGee suffered no injury and will receive a commendation for his courage in the face of danger," Director Shephard said. "It was through his efforts that the situation was ended with so little violence." Gunfire was reported at the scene, but only on the part of those inside the building. Details are still sketchy at this time as the case is still open.

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"Sit down, McGee." The voice I heard was harsh, but in a way that indicated concern rather than annoyance.

"How much longer will it be?" This voice was full of pain and lingering anxiety. No question as to which one was my patient.

"As long as it takes, McGee." That was my cue.

I opened the door and stepped out of my office. "Timothy McGee?"

The two men in my foyer were both standing, one older, one younger. While age is no indication of trauma sustained in the line of duty, I was pretty sure I knew which one was here for diffusing. I looked to the younger man. To my surprise, he made no move to follow me. Instead, he looked to the other man, as if wanting help.

"Boss?" he asked quietly.

"Get it over with, McGee. Go on." The man caught my eye as his agent walked toward me. There was an implicit warning in his gaze which I accepted with a nod, understanding his worry.

"Come on in, Agent McGee. Have a seat."

"Okay." He sat stiffly on the chair near the window while I closed the door. His tension was palpable, and I wished, for his sake, that this could be all solved with the snap of my fingers... or better yet, his own fingers. However, that wasn't going to happen.

"Could you please state your name, just for the record?"

"Timothy McGee, no middle initial."

"How do you prefer to be addressed?"

"Does it matter?"

"For my sake."

"Tim."

"Okay, Tim. I've been involved in a lot of these diffusings, and I know you'd rather not think about it, but if you could just go over what happened." I waited, and the silence grew as Tim stared out the window without answering. "I'll start it for you. You were a hostage for two days, correct?"

"Yes."

"Could you tell me what happened, please?"

He took a deep breath, but he was still remarkably in control. "Okay." Another deep breath. "Gibbs, Tony, Ziva and I..."

"Those are the other members of your team?"

"Yes. Gibbs is the team leader. Tony is the Senior Field Agent and Ziva is Mossad, on loan."

"Thank you. Go on."

"We were tracking down a suspect in a murder case. It was a double homicide of a couple of Marines. We went to the last known location, the suspect's home. It was long since abandoned, but we found evidence linking him to the crime. We put out a BOLO and got a hit from the temp office where he worked. We went there and took up our positions. It was supposed to be a textbook takedown. It seemed to be a crime of the moment, not planned. ...We were wrong."

"What happened?"

Tim looked away from the window. "Don't you have all this already?"

"Yes, but I need to hear from your point of view."

"The room was full of cubicles. We were clearing them one by one. The agency had already been evacuated. I was walking by one of the offices. I looked in, saw no one. I turned to move on..."

"So, you missed him?"

Tim swallowed and looked out the window again. "No. He was behind me. He grabbed me and forced me into the office. No windows in there. He got my gun and called out..." Tim's voice faded to a whisper as he remembered.

"I got your guy! Get out of here or he's dead! Do you hear me?!"

"And what happened?"

"Ziva, Tony and Gibbs all ran over to where we were. He was yelling still, but they were ready to take him down. I..." Tim's hands tightened on the arm rests and the faux-leather squeaked in protest. "...I guess I never thought it would go that way. Those guys are all... professionals."

"So are you, Tim. You're a field agent as well, are you not?"

"I am... but not like them. They're so...good at what they do."

"They didn't get you out of it this time, though, did they."

Tim stood and walked over to the window. "No. They couldn't get a good shot. They backed out. I had to stay behind."

"What happened while you were there with him?"

"He was ready. He had planned it all. He tied me to the desk, took my phone, my badge, my wallet. He wasn't crazy. He was cold."

"Did you talk at all?"

Tim laughed briefly. "Not after he kicked me for asking a question."

"What about negotiations?"

"He didn't want negotiations. He didn't care about that."

"What did he want, then?"

"He never said. He would talk on the phone. I started to hate when they would call because whenever they asked him to prove that I was still alive or even just to try and negotiate, he'd kick me so I'd make a noise. If I tried to be quiet, he'd kick me again. He was...having fun."

"How did it end?"

"I don't...I don't really remember." That was a lie, but I let it pass for the moment.

"What do you remember?"

"The room was disgusting. He didn't give me bathroom breaks; he didn't take them either. We were just in there for two days. They called again, trying to find out what he wanted, food, water, something. He refused to even talk to them. Instead, he left the phone connected and looked at me. It was the first time that he looked crazy. He smiled at me..."

"Are you ready, Agent McGee?"

"Ready for what?" Tim said, speaking for the first time in 48 hours.

"The end." He pointed his gun at Tim and pulled the trigger. The clip was empty.

Tim gasped and trembled involuntarily.

The man chuckled madly. "Don't worry. I wouldn't waste a perfectly good bullet on you." He put the clip in again, pointed the gun just to the left of Tim. "Or maybe..." he pulled the trigger again. The pile of folders on the desk seemed to explode, showering Tim in shreds of paper. Tim flinched and hit his head on a drawer handle. "I'm such a bad shot, Agent McGee. How are you?" He kicked Tim in the ribs. "I asked you a question."

"I'm okay."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, I have a job which requires me to be able to handle a gun. Obviously, I'm good enough to have that job."

"Good answer, Agent McGee." He turned his attention to the phone. "That's a good answer isn't it, Agent Gibbs?" He looked at Tim again. "So... do you think you could hit me?"

"Yes."

"Good." He pulled out a knife and approached Tim. It was a deadly-looking knife, serrated edge, pointed end. He roughly cut the cords on Tim's hands, which began to tingle as the blood rushed back into them. "Take your gun, Agent McGee."

Tim looked at him. "What?"

He kicked Tim once more. "Take your gun." He held it out, the handle toward Tim.

Tim hesitated for a few seconds and then took it. "Now, shoot me."

"No."

"Why not, Agent McGee?"

"It would be wrong."

"Self-defense."

"No."

"You will... or you'll die, and so will anyone else who comes in here. I'm still armed. There has to be a corpse in here. It will be me or you."

"Why?"

"That's how it's got to be." The knife seemed to float as the man adjusted his grip and fell into attack stance. "Defend yourself, soldier!"

"And?" I asked, when Tim stopped speaking once more.

"I...guess I defended myself."

"Did he get to you?"

Tim's eyes were bleak. "He didn't make it two steps toward me. I must have shot him as soon as he started to move."

"When did the rest of them get into the building?"

"About ten seconds later. They had started to move in as soon as he told me to take my gun. It seemed to take them forever. Everything was moving so slowly."

"What did you feel when you saw your team again?"

"Nothing. I didn't feel anything. I just...he was..." Tim sank down into the chair again and dropped his head into his hands. "It's over now. That's what matters."

"When your team left, how did you feel, seeing them leave?"

"It made sense. They weren't in a good position."

I smiled; that was a classic avoidance tendency. Cover the truth with facts. "I didn't ask what made sense. I asked how you felt."

Tim lifted his head. He was obviously trying to hold back tears. He laughed. "I was annoyed. I.." He laughed again. "...I thought that it seemed so unfair. Ziva's like this super ninja woman; Gibbs is a Marine; Tony was a homicide cop before he joined NCIS. Three against one and they couldn't do anything? I thought..."

"What, Tim?"

"I thought..." A few tears escaped. "...that if it had been any of the others, this wouldn't have happened. They would have..."

"...tried harder for one of the other members of the team?" I suggested.

"No! ...not...not really. I...I watched them back away and I felt like they were abandoning me. I'm not important enough for them to take risks."

"Do you really feel that way?"

"I did...then... not now."

"But you blame them for your experience?"

"No! It wasn't their fault. They didn't make that guy hide out there. They didn't force me to go that particular route. It could have been any one of us..."

"But right then, you didn't care about all that, did you? You weren't being logical."

"No." Tim shook his head and stared at his shoes, ashamed. "All I could think was that they were leaving me behind."

"So...would you have changed anything about what happened?"

"Lots of things."

"What was the worst part of it?"

"I...I killed a man...because he told me to. I could have...stopped him somehow. I had my gun. He just had a knife. I could have...done something else."

"Like what?"

"I don't know!" Tim shouted, breaking out of the soft despair he'd been expressing before. He surged out of the chair again and began pacing. "I keep going over it and over it and over it! Nothing makes any difference! It's all still the same! I killed a man! This is the second time I've done it wrong! When will I do it right?"

"What is the right way, Tim?"

"When people don't die! When I don't have to kill anyone to do my job!" Thoroughly agitated, Tim kept pacing back and forth. "If I were Ziva or Tony or Gibbs, this wouldn't have happened. They could have just disarmed him. He would have been arrested and tried, not killed!"

"You don't know that, Tim."

"Yes! They do it right. They have the skills to do it right. I keep screwing it up."

"You kept a dangerous man from hurting anyone else. That's sounds right."

"No...I didn't." Tim stumbled to the chair again. "I didn't."

"Why not?"

"I couldn't keep him from hurting himself."

Now we were at the heart of it. "How did he make you feel, Tim? While you were a hostage, how did you feel?"

Tim leaned forward, clasping his hands tightly together, staring at them. "Trapped. Humiliated."

"Angry?"

"Yes."

"At him?"

"Yes."

"At yourself?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"At your team?"

"Yes."

"Did either of you sleep or eat or drink during that time?"

"I slept some... never for very long. I didn't eat. He had a bottle of water that he let me drink from once."

"Physically, how did you feel when he told you to shoot him?"

"I was so tired. I just wanted everything to be over." His voice cracked. He was still tired.

"Do you remember shooting him, Tim?" I asked, softly.

Tim kept his eyes on his hands. The knuckles were white. He didn't answer for a long time. This time, I didn't help him. He had to either admit it or deny it on his own.

"He...his eyes..."

"What, Tim?"

"...they..." He began to breathe more rapidly. "They looked so...surprised. I don't remember hearing the gun go off. I don't really remember pulling the trigger. I remember his eyes. They were still open when he hit the floor. I watched him die...and I didn't feel anything. I watched as the surprise faded away and he was just staring at me. I watched and I watched...even when they got there...I just...I watched. He died and there was all this blood on the floor. His eyes never closed; they just...stared at me. His eyes were green, just like mine."

"What about after that?" I asked, keeping my voice low, unaccusing.

"Someone led me outside...I think. I was sitting in an ambulance. People were clapping, like it was some big show and I was the hero. I just felt dirty." Tim covered his face with his hands and began to cry silently.

"Why?"

"I was really disgusting. I smelled as bad as the room, like an outhouse...but I felt so contaminated. It was like I had watched myself die. I'm no hero. I killed a desperate man and felt nothing when I did it."

"Tim, have you told anyone else about this?"

Tim shook his head and wiped his eyes. "No. How could I? They all have killed people. They don't feel guilty about it. They just move on."

"Are you sure?"

"They've all killed people in the line of duty...when it was the only way. The first guy I killed was an undercover police officer. The second guy I killed was a suicidal murderer. How can I tell them that I was just tired?"

"Tim, I think what you'll find is that how you felt was normal. You'd been restrained and threatened for two days with no outside contact. Of course, you were tired. You had no idea of what was going on outside the room you were in."

"That's no excuse!"

"No, it's not. It's a reason for how you were feeling. You did nothing wrong, Tim. You assessed a dangerous situation and resolved it. You were right when you called him suicidal. He would have taken down however many people it took for someone to kill him. He was probably hoping for those Marines he killed to kill him first."

Tim was silent.

"You need to talk to people, Tim. You need to ask for help, for support."

Tim laughed humorlessly. "I might as well tattoo 'spineless wuss' across my forehead."

"Is that how your team treated you in the Benedict case?"

"No," he said, almost reluctantly.

"How, then?"

"They tried to help me. Gibbs even apologized for letting Metro interrogate me."

"Don't you think they'll be supportive this time, too?"

"I don't...I don't..."

"You don't want their help?"

"No, that's not it."

"Are you afraid to ask?"

Tim pushed his hands through his hair. "Yeah..."

"Why is Special Agent Gibbs here?"

"What?" Tim asked, confused enough to look at me, the tears streaking his face.

"Why is your boss sitting out in the waiting room?"

"He said he'd give me a ride."

"Why? Don't you have car?"

"Yes, I do."

"You're cleared to drive?"

"Yes."

"Then, why?"

"He's my boss."

"This isn't required of an NCIS team leader, Tim. You know that."

"He said that he needed to be there."

"Yes, he did... but for your sake, not his own. Your team is there for you, Tim. Let them be. Weren't they all there when the man died?"

"McGee? Are you all right? McGee?"

"Probie." Tony snapped his fingers in front of Tim's face. Then, he looked at Tim's view. "Don't look over there, McGee. Come on, stand up."

"They're green, Tony."

"What are?"

"Our eyes."

Tony looked over Tim's shoulder at the dead man on the floor, at the newly lifeless eyes.

"Don't worry about that right now, McGee. Did he hurt you at all?"

"Not really. He kicked me a few times."

"You're bleeding."

"Am I?" Tim looked blankly at his wrists. They were chafed and scraped from the cords and the knife. "I guess I am."

"Come on, McGee. Come with me."

"Tony never even said anything about how bad I stunk."

"Your team is there for you, Tim. Let them help."

Tim didn't answer, but his shoulders weren't so hunched.

"I'll tell you one of my recommendations now, and you'll get some referrals at our next meeting."

Tim still stayed silent.

"You need to talk to someone you know and trust about how you feel, ask them for help. You can't keep it all inside. Do you understand, Tim?"

He nodded and stood to leave. "That's all?"

"Yes, for today. The followup will be next week. You'll receive a reminder twenty-four hours before."

"Okay."

"Remember what I said."

Tim nodded and opened the door.

"You done, McGee?" I heard Gibbs ask.

"For today."

"When is your next appointment?"

"Next week."

"All right. Let's go."

"Thanks, Boss."

"No problem, McGee."

I smiled. That was something at least.

------------------Tag...the next morning...-------------------------------

"Hey, McGee! Welcome back. You all right?" Tony asked.

Tim opened his mouth to say that he was fine, but he couldn't get the word out. "No, Tony. I'm not." He waited for the teasing...it didn't come.

"You will be, McGee. Eventually." Tony clapped a hand on his shoulder and then walked to his own desk.

"Thanks, Tony." It was so little, but...it made a difference.