13
13A/N: With every multi-chapter story I write, I need a little break in the middle to refresh myself with something else that's been banging around in my head. This was inspired by Hit and Run, 10 x 13, an episode about Abby's existential crisis. I think a lot of people, including me, felt like it wasn't much of a crisis to inspire the level of angst she experienced. Here's my take on how I would've liked NCIS to do an episode handling an existential crisis.
P.S. For those who don't know, an existential crisis happens when someone questions who they are and/or their purpose in life.
P.S.S. I will get back to A Man Left Behind ASAP. Sorry for the delay.
Sheila
Out of Nowhere
He rubbed at his face before walking into interrogation. It had taken weeks of investigation and research to get a sense of the organizational structure to the meth ring operating in and out of the Navy yard. The overdoses and drug busts had tripled in the last three months, and yet whenever they cut off the serpent's head, two more emerged. Gibbs pulled the team out of enforcement and into information gathering so they could get a better idea of the scope of the problem.
This is where McGee shined. He loved to organize, and he sat at his desk for 16 hours a day for two weeks while agents fed him information and disseminated it. The resulting chart outlining the drug operation was a masterpiece. The first time Gibbs saw it, he shook his head, and smiled. It was as big a compliment as the man could give, and McGee felt it deep in the pit of his stomach.
The arrests had begun at 5 a.m., and all the interrogation rooms were filled with suspects, Navy and civilian. Gibbs was taking the suspected leader in one. Tony and Ziva were double-teaming his chief lieutenant in another, and he was taking on one of the chief dealers with Dorneget backing him up in observation.
He looked down at the file in his hands. Her name was Melissa Benedict and she was only 23 years old. She was a Marine in her first year of duty who left her sergeants shaking their heads over wasted potential. He'd seen her from observation, and she looked too tired to be as young as she was.
He opened the door to interrogation and went in. She barely acknowledged him as he slapped the file in front of her and sat down. "You've been busy, Private Benedict. I have three witnesses who will testify that you sold them methamphetamines. We searched your apartment this morning, and found more than enough stash for you to graduate from mere possession to major distribution. You're looking at twenty years, easy."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "The agent who left me here said that your name was Special Agent Timothy McGee."
"That's correct."
"I'm just wondering if that's a joke. An intimidation tactic, perhaps. I'm supposed to be afraid that you'll kill me, right?"
He frowned. "Excuse me."
"That's why you're the one interrogating me."
"Private Benedict, I suggest you stay focused on how to help yourself right now."
She shook her head. "It's not a trick, is it? You really don't know who I am."
"Private, I'm going to ask you some questions, and your ability to answer them truthfully may impact the amount of jail time you have coming."
She snorted. "My name means nothing to you."
McGee stopped and looked at her. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You are one cold son of a bitch, you know that. The 7th anniversary was on November 29th, but you don't even remember, do you? How many notches in your belt do you have anyway?"
McGee stared at her.
"Benedict, you bastard! Does it ring a bell?"
He pushed his chair back and blinked at her file. Then he looked at her. "Your father?"
"John Benedict. Aged 42 years old when he was shot in cold blood in an alley November 29th, 2005 by NCIS probationary agent, Timothy McGee."
"I didn't know." He felt breathless.
"I don't know which is worse: the idea that you were going to use it against me in interrogation or the fact that you don't even remember that you killed a good, decent man. He was my dad."
McGee stood, leaning awkwardly over the table. "I didn't…you were living with your mother…I was urged not to contact and offer sympathies. I was cleared of any culpability."
Her dark eyes burned. "I was sixteen years old living with an alcoholic mother in a shitty apartment. We fought constantly. The only bright spot in my world were the weekends with my father. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was in my room on a Thursday night, 9 p.m., listening to some kind of death metal and my mother walked in Captain Karzin and I knew the instant I saw his face. She said that I screamed for an hour straight."
He furrowed his brow. "We're not going to do this. You committed serious crimes, Private, and we're not going to get distracted here. You need to focus on my question, answer truthfully, and then I will do what I can to help you."
She jerked at her handcuffs roughly. "My first suicide attempt was two months after that. I had two stints in treatment under my belt by the time I was 18. Every year on date of his murder, I have my own private little party. Just me and the best blow I can find, and every year I am disappointed that I am still alive the next day. You are the reason I am here, Agent McGee!"
He stepped back. "Melissa, your father was shot by his partner who was double-crossing him."
"You shot him too."
"I thought he was aiming at me and I acted appropriately. I was exonerated."
"You put a bullet in my father and he stopped breathing forever. Do you not understand that?"
"You are not helping yourself. You need to stop this and focus on your situation here!"
She gasped, drew her head back, and spit at him. It landed on his chest. "Go to hell, McGee! You need to man up and realize that my dad wasn't your only victim."
There was a knock on the door, and McGee jerked his head in that direction. Dorneget walked in. "Ah, can I talk to you for a minute?"
McGee grabbed the file from the table and headed for the door.
"Run away! Hide from your crimes, you son of a bitch!"
Dorneget pulled him out into the hall. "I don't know what that was all about. I mean, I guess I've heard…things about what happened when you were a probie…Are you okay?"
McGee shook his head, his breath ragged. He handed Dornie the file and backed away.
"Let me get Gibbs."
McGee's body jerked as his gut heaved. Then he turned and ran down the hallway.
…
Gibbs walked in without preamble and slapped his palms on the table, leaning toward her. "I heard about your little game."
"He didn't even fuckin' remember my father!"
"If your father was here right now, he would slap you silly for this nonsense. You dishonor his memory with your crimes. If you don't want to answer questions because you were prefer to play the victim here, that's fine with me. You're not going to waste my time. You start answering questions or I am sending your ass back to lockup. Let someone else take the damn deal."
"I should never have been put with him."
"Enough!" He slapped the table again. "You are in this room because you're a drug dealer, plain and simple. I don't feel sorry for you at all. I've read your file and I don't care how many times you've been in rebab. You thought you could play my agent and I'm calling your bluff. You mention your father one more time in this room, and I walk out."
She started to say something but he pointed a finger at her. "Don't test me, Benedict. I'm as cold as they come, and I don't care how long you get locked up."
Something changed in her face and he saw fear replace her anger. She took a deep breath. "Ask your damn questions."
…..
McGee leaned his back against the cool tile of the bathroom, his eyes closed. There was nothing left in his gut but dry heaves. Men came and went, but he acknowledged no one, and they seemed to know not to ask questions.
The door opened again and he heard a familiar voice. "Timmy?"
Eyes still closed, he winced. "Not now, Abby."
"Dornie said something happened."
He shook his head. "You've got to be kidding me. He had no right to speak to anyone other than Gibbs."
She stepped in, letting the door close. "He was worried, and he knows how close we are."
He turned to her. "Not when it comes to this. You really need to give me my space here."
"I thought you might like a hug." She stepped toward him.
He flinched. "For once in your life, you need to listen. Don't touch me. Don't talk to me. Leave me alone."
"Timmy."
"I mean it, Abbs. We're not little kids anymore. A hug isn't going to do it. This has been building for a long time. Surprised I've lasted as long as I have."
"I don't understand what you mean." She stepped closer and put a hand on his arm.
"I said no!" Timothy McGee pushed her against a stall door. She hit it with a thud, and he stepped back, eyes wide. "Oh God!"
She recovered quickly. "Tim, it's okay. You didn't hurt me."
He stared at her for a moment. "I gotta' get out of here."
"Tim!"
He was gone.
…...
The evidence garage is big, cavernous actually. A better solution would've been to get in his car and drive, but somehow he was here, pacing back and forth on the concrete floor. This was his home, the place he grew up and learned and became good and strong and competent. He knew how everything worked in this building. He was confident here, well-liked, respected. It was the place where he belonged. There were times in his apartment when he felt restless, unsure of his purpose there. It was at most times, a place to sleep and shower, and to keep tidy.
The garage was quiet. Technicians were still there, logging evidence, but they stayed focused, and if they noticed his frenetic energy, they said nothing about it. Chaotic, angry thoughts crowded his brain, and the master organizer of drug gangs couldn't even begin to make sense of them.
The elevator opened and Gibbs came at him. He backed up against some evidence shelving and faced him. "I pushed her."
"Benedict? Dorneget didn't say anything about that."
He squeezed his eyes shut. "I pushed Abby. Pushed her into a door."
Gibbs nodded slowly. "I just talked to her. She looked fine. The only thing she mentioned was how worried she was for you."
"I touched her in violence. I did that. Never thought it was possible."
"Well, that's not good, Tim. You should never push a woman, especially not one you care for like you care for her."
"It's unforgiveable," he said softly.
"Well, I don't know about that. She didn't appear to be injured."
"It's a symptom of a larger problem, you see. I've changed. I've become someone I don't know."
"And Melissa Benedict helped you see this?"
"I know I killed an innocent man, but I let myself forgot what an enormous thing that is. I don't think about him on November 29th every year. I don't mark the anniversary of the day I shot an innocent man. I never ever thought about what happened to his family."
"She was playing you, McGee. Read her file. She is no victim. You didn't ruin her life. She did that all by herself."
"Right."
The elevator opened again, and Tony and Ziva emerged. "We heard about what happened."
McGee leaned over and groaned. "I need space."
"We want to help," Ziva said, moving toward him tentatively. Gibbs shook his head at her and she stopped.
McGee straightened. "I hit Abby."
"What!?" Tony said.
Gibbs shook his head. "He didn't hit her. He pushed her into a door in the bathroom."
"We just saw her. She didn't seem hurt," Ziva said.
McGee ran his hand across his chest. "I don't know who I am. What am I doing? I'm here because I want to help people. I want to make a difference. Always admired people in law enforcement. Every time, I get overwhelmed by the evil and the pain, I tell myself I'm doing important work, work that needs to be done: work that I do well."
Tony nodded. "We all have those moments."
Tim pointed a finger as he considered his response. "It only works though if you can convince yourself that you're not part of the problem. If you cross over to the bad…if you forget your responsibilities to do good…you're like them. I feel like I am one of them."
"Oh boy, Tim," Tony shook his head. "Your brain has entered a whole new dimension. We're talking Twilight Zone here."
"You're tired, McGee." Ziva's voice was low and soothing. "You've been working too hard for too long, and you had a shock today. It came out of…left field, I think the phrase is."
"Ziva's right. We're all tired."
He nodded. "I am tired, but it feels so clear to me that I've lost my way. It didn't just happen today. It's been happening, I think, and today it came to a head. Today, I really see who I've become. What am I really doing?"
Gibbs mouthed Ducky's name to Ziva and she backed away and opened her phone.
"Tim, if you think you've become a bad person, what does that make the rest of us? We all do this work together."
He rubbed his face. "Don't play a logic game with me, Tony."
Gibbs shook his head. "I need to take responsibility here. I push all of you, and I don't set a good example regarding self-care. I should've seen this coming."
"I saw her name on the file and it said Benedict. A healthy person would have a reaction to that name. They would forever be impacted by that name. I shot an innocent man, and I let myself forget about it."
"You didn't forget about it, Tim." Abby came out of the stairwell. "You've talked to me about John Benedict many times."
"Oh Abby, you shouldn't be here." His hands started to tremble.
She shook her head. "You asked me not to touch you and I did anyway. I really miscalculated. My fault."
"No," he shook his head. "Don't ever make excuses for violent behavior."
She looked at Gibbs. "Okay, I won't, but you didn't hurt me, Tim, and you're under a lot of stress. You've got to stop talking about it because it's over and it didn't mean anything."
The elevator dinged again and Ducky stepped out. McGee groaned. "The gang's all here."
Ducky walked toward him, watching him intently. "How long has he been like this?"
"He found out he was interviewing John Benedict's daughter about an hour and a half ago."
"So I heard," Ducky said slowly.
"I'm in the same room, people." McGee clutched the shelving with one hand to steady himself.
"I know you are, Timothy. You're breathing fast and you look pale. Are your palms sweaty?"
"Shut up, Ducky."
"You are having an extreme stress reaction. It's okay. It can happen when you are under a lot of pressure. In your case, it's exacerbated by the shock of meeting Melissa Benedict. Can I approach?"
"Ducky, I need some space. I want to be alone so I can think."
Tony shook his head. "I gotta' tell you, Probie, that your thought processes are taking you to a pretty scary place. Nobody's leaving you alone."
"Yes, in most cases I would agree, but Timothy here has always displayed good judgment. I respect his need to think this through. I know that you are a very private person. I believe anyone else in this room would appreciate the same if roles were reversed. I think that if you can guarantee that you will not harm yourself or make any rash decisions, we should honor your request."
"Thanks Duck." McGee's body relaxed.
Gibbs walked up to him. "You look me in the eye and promise me that you'll be safe tonight and that'll you call me if you need anything."
He nodded. "I promise."
"That's good enough for me."
"Boss!"
"We have work to do, DiNozzo. That means you too, Ziva and Abby." He turned and headed for the elevator.
When they were gone, McGee looked at Ducky. "Thank you."
"I have too much respect to coddle you, but you are ailing. Your reasoning is not sound right now, and you need rest."
"I don't know who I am anymore."
"Yes, you do. Let me put in terms you can understand. You've been stricken with a computer virus in your processing core. Get some rest so you can reboot. How does that sound?"
"We'll see."
…
He played with the stem of his wine glass, staring at the untouched liquid. The bartender looked his way again, and he shook his head. He looked up at the clock and saw that it was 2 a.m. The bar was going to close in two hours and the thought of going home held little appeal. He felt a presence behind him and he smiled a little. All Ziva's talk about bat senses was finally rubbing off. Without turning, he said, "Thanks for coming."
Gibbs slid onto the stool beside him. "How is this considered resting?"
"I tried really hard, but I couldn't sleep."
"How much have you had to drink?"
"Two sips in two hours. The bartender here thinks I'm wasting his time."
The burly man behind the bar said, "I don't make money if you don't drink."
"I know."
Gibbs sighed. "I'll take a Budweiser."
Tim turned to him. "How do you live without sleep?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. Never needed much, I guess."
"Thanks for coming."
"Yeah."
"I do good things, right? I'm good at what I do?"
Gibbs sighed. "You really need me to tell you that?"
"This time I do."
"Yeah, Tim. I think you're pretty amazing. I think you don't see things like typical law enforcement officer. You have an analytical mind. It's a good contrast to what the rest of us bring. You do a lot of complicated work really well and really fast. I don't know what we would do without you."
"That was quite a speech. Thank you."
"Does it help?"
"I don't know. You've never struggled like this, have you?"
"Duck says I'm like a single celled organism. It's like a basic bodily function for me. I do it because I can. I never let it get more complicated than that."
"I wish I could be more like that."
Gibbs smirked. "No, you don't. You're afraid that you're becoming like me. You know that one of my gifts is that I can be as mean as the people we hunt. You don't want that."
"I'm sorry, Boss."
"Don't be. I don't want you like that either."
"What happened to Private Benedict?"
He shook his head. "Don't start caring about her now."
"Shouldn't I have always cared?"
"No, you didn't kill her father. That bastard of a partner is who put him down. It doesn't matter where your bullet landed."
"Okay."
"I talked to her mother today."
"And?"
"She was pretty troubled before her dad died, and he wasn't exactly the light of her life although I'm sure it starts to feel that way when you lose someone. Anyway, she turned on the head of the drug ring, and she's getting a deal for five years."
"I should—"
"No, McGee, she isn't your responsibility. She has her path and you have yours. Don't get it twisted."
He fingered the rim of his wine glass. "I don't think I'm ready to come back tomorrow."
"Yeah. You're off for the next week."
He arched a brow. "Suspended?"
"No. We're all taking the week. I had a little heart to heart with Vance. He agrees that we need to work on taking better care of ourselves. We're a pretty valuable group to the agency."
"Tony is going to stalk me."
Gibbs smiled. "This is your journey, Tim. So I told all of them to leave you alone. I talked him into one of those last minute airfares to the Caribbean. Ziva is driving down the coast for some Blues festival and Abby is headed to Louisiana for the week. And I got an elderly neighbor with a bad roof. I thought I would do some work on that for her."
"Need any help?"
"No. I think we all need a little time for self-reflection right now. Don't hole up in that apartment with your video games. Get out and do something. Okay?"
"Yeah."
"If it gets rough, call me. I need to know that you'll do that."
"I will."
Gibbs tipped the long neck back and finished it. "All right, I gotta' go. I have to call DiNozzo. He made me promise. I think he's the biggest mother hen of all."
McGee smiled. Then he pulled a fifty out of his wallet for the bartender before following Gibbs out the door.
….
McGee came out of the elevator and smiled when he saw everyone already in the bullpen. Tony's face was deeply tanned, and Ziva was bent over his computer looking at photos with him. When she looked up, she smiled and came at him. He put down his backpack and picked her up in a hug. "I missed you," she hissed in his ear. Then Tony was there, and he unexpectedly planted a kiss on his cheek. "Good to see you, Probie."
McGee blushed. "Good to see both of you."
"How are you feeling?"
"A little bit better. Sleeping more. And I guess that I am not such a bad character after all."
"Excellent!"
"How was St. Thomas?"
Tony grinned. "Everyone in the Caribbean adores me. I am the perfect party animal."
Ziva rolled her eyes. "That I did not miss."
McGee looked at Gibbs. "Hey Boss!"
Gibbs nodded. "You're looking better."
"Yeah. How was the neighbor's roof?"
Gibbs pointed to a large donut on the seat of his chair. "Great until I slipped on a shingle and landed on my ass. Thank God the bushes broke my fall."
McGee winced. "Ouch!"
Tony smiled. "I guess I'm not the only pain in the ass."
"McGee!"
He turned to find Abby coming at him. When she reached him, he hugged her tightly. "I'm so sorry."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Okay."
She stepped back and smiled at him. "So I got back last night, and there was a voice mail from Sister Rosita saying how wonderful you are. So I called her back and it seems that Mr. Existential Crisis here spent his week setting up computer networks for homeless shelters."
He shrugged. "I just wanted to remind myself of who I'm trying to be."
She patted his cheek. "Well, I'm glad you know who you are again because none of the rest of us were ever confused about it."
The End