A/N: I've been having an extremely crappy couple of weeks. As often happens, when I'm having troubles, I write a story to make me feel better. In this case, not even this could help, but maybe it will help eventually. As this is a cathartic oneshot, I make no guarantees for quality. I wrote it more for myself than anything. If you enjoy it, I'll be relieved. :) ...and yes, some of the description is taken from what I myself have been feeling. However, I've never shot anything beyond a paper target (and I was pretty good at it if I do say so myself). :)

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS nor its characters. I'm happy to write unprofitable fanfiction though.

What It Takes
by Enthusiastic Fish

"Get down, McGee!" Gibbs shouted and shoved him to the ground just as a spray of gunfire erupted in the air around them.

Tim lay sprawled and looked up, watching as Gibbs fired twice and then glared down at him.

"What were you thinking?"

Tim tried to figure out if Gibbs was asking a rhetorical question or if he actually expected an answer. To give himself time to think about it, he slowly got to his feet. As soon as he was standing...

Thwack!

Then, Gibbs stalked over to where Tony and Ziva were cuffing one man...while the other lay dead, leaving Tim standing where he was.

Rhetorical, then, he thought. He didn't want to go over, didn't want to have to face not only Gibbs' disappointment but also Tony and Ziva's teasing. He didn't want to deal with those things, but he knew he couldn't stay standing in the middle of the park. The day would get over soon enough and he could hide for the rest of the weekend.

"Nice posing, Magoo," Tony said. "It was like a deer in the headlights."

Thwack!

"Enough talking," Gibbs snarled. "McGee, you stay here, wait for Ducky. Tony, Ziva, take this bozo to lockup."

No mention of where he'd be, but Tim had the sense not to ask. Gibbs walked over to the car, obviously not saying much. He watched as Tony and Ziva drove away. Gibbs stayed behind but he didn't come back to Tim and the body. Seeing that he wasn't likely to be getting any company until Ducky arrived, he stared down at the dead man.

"You're lucky, you know, being dead," he said, startling himself by speaking aloud. He looked up quickly. Gibbs had to be out of earshot. Ducky talked to corpses all the time. Tim usually found it weird but...right now, the corpse was the only one not likely to tease or berate him. That was a point in its favor.

"I don't know what happened. I was looking at you, ready. I was so ready...and then...then I just...I just stood there. What was I thinking? If Gibbs hadn't been there...I'd be the one lying here dead. I'd be dead."

How easily it could have happened, too. One second of inattention, of indecision, and instead of filing reports, you are a report. Tim remembered what one of his instructors had said at FLETC, years ago.

"We can teach you the mechanics but only you can know if you've got what it takes. That can't be taught. It has to be a part of who you are."

"Maybe I don't have it. Maybe I'm not ready to die. Kate said we run that risk...but I haven't really. The only time I was in any real danger was when Kate died. The man I killed...maybe killed...he wasn't trying to kill me. When Archer was...I just stood there. Like today. I'm not ready to die...but I sure seem to be getting in that situation a lot and then I have to wait for someone else to get me out of it."

As he stood there, Tim could feel the old familiar tightening, the tell-tale sign of growing tension. He'd mostly learned to get past it in the years he'd worked at NCIS, but...times like this...and another, much more disturbing memory clicked into place. It did not help his tension.

"Just like today...another failure. Another problem. Another weakness. Another time of not measuring up. Why can't I do it right?" Tim asked the corpse. "What is it that I keep doing wrong? Why can't I react the way I was taught?"

As the minutes lengthened, Tim could feel his stomach growing tighter and tighter.

"McGee!"

Tim looked back over his shoulder.

"You planning on just staring or are you going to get some work done?"

"Sorry, Boss," Tim said quietly. Without another word, he got his camera and started to document the scene.

"Don't touch the body, McGee," Gibbs warned.

Tim winced. He hadn't suddenly become stupid, had he?

"No, Boss," he said.

Tim tried not to even look Gibbs' way. Best to shrink himself to near invisibility. People didn't believe it was possible for a tall guy like Tim, but he'd had years of experience with it. There were a few steps and they were crucial to a successful near disappearance.

First, you verbally agree to everything, even if you don't. Say what needs to be said and no more. Not a single word more than is necessary. Don't speak loudly. Keep your voice soft but audible. Audible is key because you don't want the person to notice you with even more irritation. Edge your way to the periphery both of whatever location you're at and the mental attention of the person you want to avoid. Lather. Rinse. Repeat until you can safely escape.

In Tim's case, as his stomach tightened still more, he knew he couldn't escape just yet. He knew that he couldn't stop working and edge to the exit of the park. This wasn't a party. This was his job.

...which made all this worse than it would have been if it were a mere faux pas at a party. This was the area in which he was supposed to have some competence! Why did he keep dropping the ball? Why? Today, he could have gotten himself killed...and maybe the others as well.

His stomach was so tight now that he could barely get a deep breath. It was almost painful. Still, he kept working. When he had done what he could before Ducky's arrival, he glanced at Gibbs and then began bagging and tagging the rest of the scene. Carefully. Very carefully. No screwing up this step. If he couldn't handle the other parts, he should at least be able to hand gathering evidence.

By the time Ducky and Jimmy pulled up in the ME van, he was basically done and just making sure he had everything. Gibbs hadn't said a word to him. Near invisibility.

...but Ducky ruined it.

"Timothy, I'm relieved to see that you're all in one piece."

Tim winced again and glanced over at Gibbs...who was again noticing his presence.

"Thanks, Ducky," Tim said, keeping his voice low, revealing nothing.

"You done, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah, Boss."

Tim looked at Ducky to find him staring at him with some concern.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Tim said. Don't reveal the turmoil, the fact that his stomach was tied up in knots so tight that he was amazed he was functioning at all.

"Are you certain?"

"I'm fine."

"Let's go, McGee."

"Yeah, Boss," Tim said.

Agree. Always agree.

The ride back to NCIS was silent. Tim kept his eyes front with only occasional glances. Another key to being nearly invisible was that you had to be very aware of when something was expected of you be it words or actions, particularly in situations like this, i.e. when you couldn't get away. After his years on Gibbs' team, Tim thought he was pretty good and being able to tell when Gibbs wanted something from him.

Nothing right now. All that was needed was silence.

The tightness in his stomach made him sit up straighter so that he could get a decent breath. That made Gibbs look over at him.

Oops.

Tim instantly stopped moving.

"You got everything back there, McGee?"

"Yeah, Boss." ...and now, he couldn't even be trusted to gather evidence correctly.

No other response...for a few silent minutes.

"You can't freeze up like that, McGee."

"I know, Boss."

"If you do, someone could get killed...and it might be you."

"I know, Boss."

"Good."

Nothing more until they reached NCIS.

Tim got out of the car, took the evidence in to Abby and then was instructed to sit at his desk and work on his report while everyone else did the important work. The tension hadn't abated one little bit in the interim. Every time he started to calm down a little bit, he remembered that moment when he had frozen. He remembered how badly he had screwed up...how, as Gibbs had said, someone could get killed if he froze like that again.

No one was in the bullpen to see him straighten in his chair and take another deep breath, trying to get rid of the tension in his abdomen.

"Timothy?"

Tim looked over his shoulder.

"Hi, Ducky. Don't usually see you up here during the day."

"I was coming to check on you."

"Why?"

"You seem out of sorts. Understandable after what happened."

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"Are you certain?"

Tim only nodded as he noticed Gibbs coming back. He returned to his report.

"Thanks for asking," he said, almost in a whisper.

Ducky didn't look satisfied, but Tim wasn't about to say anything with Gibbs there. Instead, he focused on his report. He said nothing.

...but when Tony and Ziva came back and teased him (gently) about what had transpired that day, Tim was able to respond with a convincing smile and a shrug of his shoulders...but still very few words. Speaking too much would let out his anxiety...and it might lead to further embarrassment on his part.

He finished his report and gave it to Gibbs who looked at him, but Tim looked away. Even seeing Gibbs at this point only increased his tension. Best just to get away and maybe have a couple of days to recover before coming back to it all again.

Why bother? Why keep trying at something I'm failing miserably at? Why?

Still, he walked out of the building with Tony and Ziva...and begged off decompressing with them. This unbearable tension was not going to be alleviated by hanging out at a bar. Time alone without people looking at him, judging him...and finding him miserably wanting.

He looked around and then wandered toward the Barry. It was late enough that the display ship was closed, but he didn't want to go home yet...but he didn't want to be seen either. He didn't know what he wanted...except to get rid of this horrible feeling in his stomach.

"...only you can know if you've got what it takes. That can't be taught. It has to be a part of who you are."

"It's not a part of who I am," Tim said. "I can't do this. I should quit."

...but he didn't want to quit. He wanted to do his job and do it well, but it seemed as though that was beyond him. Misjudgment after misjudgment...whether it was people taking advantage of him, people trying to kill him, or people lying to him. He screwed up. Over and over again. Why hadn't he been fired before now?

"Timothy, why haven't you left yet?"

"Just thinking," Tim said without looking at Ducky.

"About what, lad?"

Tim took a deep breath, once more trying to get rid of the tension.

"I suck, Ducky."

"No, you don't."

"Yeah, I do. You know what happened today. Even if you didn't get all the details, someone will have told you."

"Yes, but I fail to see how that translates into your current sentiment."

Tim turned to him, irritated that his throat had tightened up.

"If I'm such a competent agent, why do I keep screwing up like this? Lethal assassin? I get taken in by her act. Protestor setting up her own kidnapping? I let her get taken...and then almost killed when her plans go haywire. Attractive psycho? I'm attracted to her and she steals my credit cards. Abby? Hops on a bus and I lose her. A man in an alley. I see a flash. I kill him. I wouldn't trust me with a dog let alone a real responsibility. I'm sure to screw it up. Today, I would have been killed if Gibbs hadn't been there. What if someone had been seriously injured trying to keep me from getting killed?" Another deep breath to ease the tension. ...it didn't help.

"Timothy..."

"I'm a screw-up, Ducky. That's what I am. A failure. I should be fired. I should resign. I should just give up this whole mess."

Ducky took hold of Tim's arm.

"No, Timothy! That's not true."

But now that he'd said it aloud, Tim was more convinced than ever that he was right.

"Yes, it is. I'll give my two-weeks notice on Monday."

He turned and walked away, ignoring Ducky's calls after him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was sitting in his apartment a few hours later, wondering what he'd do instead of what he'd been doing for the last eight years of his life. Still feeling that unbearable tension in his abdomen, he'd tried all sorts of things to get it to ease. He'd taken Jethro out, tried distracting himself with TV, with his computer, with music. Nothing was helping.

Monday loomed up in his subconscious. Telling Gibbs that he was quitting was not likely to be very easy. Maybe he would just leave a note...but then, he'd have to give his two-weeks notice. There would be so many opportunities for Gibbs to make him feel guilty about it. Guilty if he went...and like crap if he stayed.

A no-win situation. A catch-22.

There was a knock at his door.

Tim assumed it would be Ducky if it was anyone, seeing as Ducky had been the only one to notice his discomfort.

...but it wasn't.

Tim looked through a peephole and felt all his tension come back...and increase by about a factor of ten.

...but he opened the door.

"Hi, Boss."

No preamble. "Ducky told me you're planning on quitting."

"Yeah." What was the point in denying it?

"Why?"

"Because I'm a screw-up...and I can't take the pressure. I'm a wimp, Boss. Cut your losses and get someone better," Tim said and then turned away from the door.

"You're not a screw-up," Gibbs said...almost gently from behind him.

"Yes, I am!" Tim said and turned around. "You didn't have to say it, today. I knew it! I knew I messed up!"

"Why did you?"

"Because I'm incompetent," Tim said and took another breath. "That's why."

"No. You're not incompetent, McGee. You've shown that for eight years. Why?"

"I am, Boss. I'm incompetent and wussy. I can barely...barely get a breath right now, I'm so stressed out. I'm no good as an agent."

"Yes, you are. Why do you think you're not? Everyone messes up sometimes. Why do you think this is a problem?"

"I could have been killed today, Boss! You said it yourself! Even worse...someone else could have been killed because of my idiocy. That's a problem!"

"Why did you freeze, McGee?"

"I don't know," Tim lied. "I just did. That's bad enough."

"No. What is it about today that made you freeze up? Tell me."

Another deep breath.

"I could have died, Boss."

"Yeah, I know. I was there."

Tim paused. "I...I couldn't shoot Archer. ...same thing. Someone else had to die to keep me alive...and someone else could have been killed protecting me. I moved...and then, I froze." One more deep breath and he let it out. "...just like at FLETC."

"What do you mean?"

"Remember Jim Nelson? On Paula's team?" Tim turned away from Gibbs and walked to his typewriter. Gibbs followed behind.

"Yeah."

"I wouldn't have graduated without his help...but more than that..."

"What?"

"I...almost killed him."

"What?"

"Live fire exercises...early in the day. Supposed to be some other exercises later on, only using blanks. There was a mix-up. They never did figure out who was responsible. It was...a mistake. I'm surprised it didn't make the papers. Three students at FLETC were injured. ...and I shot Jim." Tim closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, still able to see that moment even nearly ten years later. "I hit him...right in the chest. ...but because we were getting used to all the types of equipment available, he was...wearing a...a vest. ...but I still shot him. It was supposed to be non-lethal training ammunition...but it wasn't. It was...real." Tim could feel the tears now and he took a few deep breaths in a row, trying to stave off the embarrassing reaction. "I shot...three times...and hit him...three times. And I watched him fall to the ground." Tim forced a laugh. "I think...he was as shocked as I was. Not all the guns had the live ammunition, but I did...and so did four other students."

Gibbs was silent. Tim kept talking. What else did he have to lose? He'd already declared his intention to quit. What would Gibbs do? Fire him?

"I didn't even realize at first that I'd actually hit him...and I had this...this momentary thrill that I'd taken him down. ...until I realized that I might have really killed my friend. It made me sick. I ran over and I knelt by him and I thought he was dead. Turned out that...that the shock had...had made him pass out." Tim laughed shakily. "But all I saw was...Jim lying there on the ground. Dead. ...and...and for...days after...I couldn't look...look him in the eye. I was a mess. I was ready to drop out. I couldn't deal with it. I was a failure. I wanted to walk away. Give up."

"What happened?" Gibbs asked, still with that soft voice.

"Jim sought me out, sat me down and told me it wasn't my fault, that he didn't blame me. ...and he made me go back to the firing range and shoot. Over and over again, he took me there. Day after day, trying to help me get past what I'd almost done. I went to a therapist for a while. I thought I'd got past it. Then...Benedict. Then, Archer. Now...today..." Tim shook his head and wiped away an annoying tear. "...I'm not past it, and if I'm not now, I never will be. You said it. I can't keep freezing like this. Someone's going to get killed. Better that I quit before that happens."

Tim stopped talking and waited for the headslap.

He didn't get that. What he got was more shocking.

A hand on his shoulder, directing him to a chair and forcing him to sit down. Gibbs sat down across from him.

"Why didn't you ever say anything about this before?"

"I thought I was over it," Tim said. He leaned forward so he could stare at the floor rather than at Gibbs. No eye contact. "Third time's the charm. I'm not. I never will be. I'm a wuss and I can't do my job."

"You're not a wuss and you do your job."

"I froze. I was ready to draw, but I didn't."

"Tim, there are ways of dealing with that...and we could have dealt with it before if you'd mentioned this."

"Then, I'm still a screw-up because I hid what happened."

"No. If anyone's a screw-up, it's me. I barely even noticed what was going on with you today."

"I know. I was trying to keep you from noticing me."

"You did a good job of it."

"Just let me quit, Boss. It's better that way."

"No, it's not. It's not for you...and it's not for the rest of us."

"Then, what am I going to do?"

Gibbs leaned over and forced Tim to sit up.

"You're going to deal with it. Now that I know...we'll deal with it. You can't get through it just by hoping, Tim. You've got to face it head-on...and part of my job is to make sure that you have the tools to do your job. So...that's what I'm going to do. Help you get back to a place where you know you can do your job."

Tim shook his head.

Thwack!

It was light, but it was a head slap...and Gibbs smiled a little.

"Yes, Tim. Because I've gotten used to having you on my team and I don't want to train up anyone else." He paused. "...and I don't think I could get anyone better."

"I screwed up."

"So did I...but I'm not going to quit. ...and neither are you."

"Then, what am I going to do, Boss?"

"On Monday, we're going to meet with some people and plan out just what needs to be done...and you're going to keep working at whatever level will work best."

"What if you're wrong?" Tim asked.

Gibbs stood up. "I've had eight years to watch you, Tim. You've got what it takes. I'm not wrong. Relax this weekend. On Monday...we'll work things out. You're not a failure. You're not a screw-up. You're a good agent and you belong on my team."

Then, Gibbs walked out of Tim's apartment, leaving Tim staring after him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Monday...

"Agent McGee? Agent Gibbs?"

Tim looked nervously at Gibbs who simply smiled and stood up.

"Right here."

"Good. Come on in and we'll get started."

Gibbs looked at Tim.

"Come on, McGee."

Tim swallowed and stood up...ready to try again.

FINIS!