A/N: A missing scene from Canary that our dear McGee sorely deserved. Sheila
Superheroes
He couldn't find his rage anymore. They had exhausted him with their endless madness. He'd expected games; knew they would try to gaslight him, but he didn't count on them bringing at such a visceral level. The whole day had been like a Tarantino flick on steroids. The urine that ran down the inside of his leg when Tony tried to deliver him to the escaped terrorists had dried and itched terribly. But there could be no relief with him being so thoroughly shackled at the hands and ankles.
He rested his chin on his chest while he waited for his lawyer to arrive. He no longer cared about the abuse of his rights. He was only interested in what needed to be done in order to get him off Navy soil and away from the ruthless old man with the steely-blue eyes.
The door opened and his head shot up anxiously. It wasn't his lawyer though. It was the mild one who had quietly secured him in the orange jumpsuit earlier. This was the one the old man called McGee. Then he remembered. McGee was also the one he spoke to on the phone Tony gave him.
"Your lawyer will be here in an hour. He's in rush hour traffic. Somehow, he got routed to Norfolk. Lousy time of the day to be on the freeway. Brought you a water and some crackers."
"You're McGee."
"Yup." He started for the door.
"You knew my M.O. You understood how I operated. How?"
McGee turned. "You're not the only beaver in the pond."
"Lots of people are beavers. Being a beaver doesn't make you special."
He furrowed his brow. "I guess not."
"But you knew so much about me."
McGee rubbed his face. "It's been a long day. You got a question buried in there somewhere."
"You're good, aren't you? I mean, you're really good."
McGee considered the question. "I'm really good."
"Then why are you working a grunt law enforcement job? I mean, what do they pay you here? I know you're not getting six figures."
"I'm not getting six figures."
"Then what's the frickin' point? Why are you slumming?"
McGee smirked and shook his head. He grabbed the chair across from Khan, flipped it backward and sat down. "Seriously. You're that warped that you think I'm slumming. You work for sociopaths and conspire to release the Ebola virus on an innocent populace and I'm slumming."
Khan leaned forward. "You got skills, Man. You could do things, real things, powerful things."
"I do real things, Asshole."
"What do you got? A one bedroom that you can't afford to buy. A 401K, maybe. A car that you should've traded in a year ago. If you're as good as I think you are, you could transfer $100,000 into your account tonight and not leave a single fingerprint."
"What do you know? Maybe I do that on a regular basis."
"With that haircut and those shoes? You're like a superhero who's afraid to use his powers."
"I used them today and it felt just fine."
"You're still the guy that brings snacks to the guy in interrogation."
"But I want to be that guy. To whom much is given, much is expected. Ever heard that? I believe in ideas like that. I like waking up and thinking that I might help somebody today or that I might stop a bad guy like you. That's good enough for me."
"That's pathetic, Man. That's like 5th grade logic or something. If you have power, you use it. You make a statement. Otherwise, you're just a little guy hoping that someone remembers you after you're dead. Good luck with that, Sucker."
McGee chuckled. "You are aware that you're the one in handcuffs wearing a color that clashes with your skin tone. I'm the one trying to decide which restaurant I meet my team at tonight for a victory blowout."
"I made an impact. People will remember me. I'll get a frickin' NatGeo special by the end of the year. I'll be a martyr to hactivists everywhere. Shit, the guy who wrote Black Hawk Down will probably write his next bestseller based on my life, and Ben frickin' Affleck will be buying up the movie rights. I'm not dying in jail, McGee. I got a future. All you got is another coffee to fetch for that white haired son of a bitch who never met a civil right he wouldn't piss on."
"Okay," McGee said as he got up. "This was fun."
"You go home to your cheap apartment, and let all that talent atrophy so you can feel like a good boy. Drive your Honda up to the next MIT class reunion. That should make you feel like a man."
McGee got to the door and then remembered the water. "Sorry. I almost forgot to twist off the top. The way you're shackled, you could never do it on your own."
"You're a loser, McGee."
He stared at Khan for a long moment. "If I don't use my talents for good things, then I don't make the world a better place. Making the world better is power. I believe that even on my very worst days."
"You make me want to puke."
McGee opened the door and looked back once more. "The man you referred to as old made you piss your pants today like a little baby. I'll carry his coffee any day of the week."
The door slammed shut and Khan leaned back and stared at the ceiling, cursing under his breath. Behind the glass, the man with the silver hair chuckled and shook his head. First thing tomorrow, he was going to head up to Craig's office and pull out the employment records on McGee and find out if they were paying him everything they could. Hell, he was going to do that for all of them. Even superheroes need a boost now and then.