A/N: Written for hazelmom for the SESA exchange on NFA.
Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or any of its characters.
That Which Survives
"Agent McGee has gotten quite proficient at evasion."
Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs looked up from the report he'd been working on for the past forty minutes to see Dr. Rachel Cranston standing firmly in front of his desk, her arms folded carefully across her chest. Dropping his pencil, Gibbs leaned back in his chair.
"How so?"
"Well," Dr. Cranston began, "first we had a very engaging conversation about Delilah. And though I am heartened to hear how well she is doing and the remarkable process she's made since the last time I spoke with Agent McGee, it was hardly relevant enough to take up twenty minutes of our scheduled hour together. And though he touched on the Eichhorn case and its unfortunate outcome, my real questions were all expertly sidestepped with astonishing precision and immaculate manners. I'd actually be impressed were I not so concerned."
Gibbs sighed and took a moment to look beyond Dr. Cranston to McGee's desk. The workstation was unoccupied, of course. Vance had granted the team some downtime to catch up from the whirlwind of difficult cases they'd been assigned over the past several months, ending with the devastating outcome of their most recent case only a short week ago.
And while Gibbs, Tony and Ellie had spent the time catching up on paperwork and looking in on some of their older cold cases, Gibbs had made certain that McGee had spent the past couple of days away from the office. He hadn't intended to single out Tim, even though he was sure McGee felt otherwise. On the contrary, Tim had appeared to accept and move on from the ordeal with little trouble. It wasn't until very recently that Gibbs had noticed that things seemed off with his agent. He wasn't as focused. He was visibly sagging in his chair each morning. The back and forth banter with Tony quickly turned into terse replies and cold shoulders.
That was what finally forced Gibbs to send the young man home, with explicit instructions to stay away from the office for a few days.
Outside of that morning's mandatory psych eval, of course.
McGee hadn't been thrilled with the thought of meeting with Dr. Cranston, but being the dutiful agent he was, his attempts at avoiding the evaluation had been half-hearted at best.
"I really don't need to meet with her, boss. Everything I need to say about the case is in my report."
"You know the rules."
"Yes, boss." A beat. "She'll want to talk about Eichhorn."
Gibbs nodded. "Probably."
"Do I really –"
"If you want to be cleared for active duty, you do."
"I'm ready now," McGee insisted. "I'm fine boss. Really."
Gibbs could see that McGee truly felt that he was fine, and for a moment, he second-guessed his decision to mandate this evaluation. But a critical eye confirmed what he knew to be true. As much as McGee tried to downplay it, he was not okay. There was… something off about his behavior, and if McGee was unwilling to address it, then he would take matters into his own hands.
"I'm glad to hear it, McGee. Then it won't be a problem to meet with Dr. Cranston on Friday."
"This Friday?"
"This Friday."
A small sigh. "Yes, boss."
"And McGee?" Gibbs waited until those green eyes, dulled by pain and exhaustion, finally rose from their intense examination of the floor to meet his unrelenting look. "Go home."
Gibbs hid his frown behind a sip of his coffee. "What needs to be done?"
"I'll need to speak to him again, for one thing. Preferably before the holiday," the doctor said with a trace of sympathy. It wasn't a secret that Gibbs hated it when his team was sidelined for any reason. He knew that Vance could still assign them a major case if one popped up before McGee was fully cleared for duty, but he would rather not be a man down. He relied too heavily on each of his agents. Going out into the field without Tim was something he wished to avoid if at all possible. Another session with Dr. Cranston would delay things, of course, but it was a necessary delay.
"He must accept his role in what happened," Dr. Cranston continued. "Clearly he's trying to project an aura of being unaffected, but I can tell you now that isn't the case."
"It's like the bombing all over again," Gibbs heard Tony mumble from behind his own desk. "When he wouldn't tell us about Delilah's condition."
"You're only partially right, Agent DiNozzo," the doctor agreed, turning her body around to formally include Tony in the conversation. "In that instance, McGee was suffering from intense abnegation. Denial over Delilah's condition and an unhealthy dose of guilt along with it. That's not what is happening here."
"Then what is?" Gibbs asked a bit impatiently.
Dr. Cranston's clinical gaze shifted back to Gibbs. "There is a danger of Tim losing himself over this. I'm not just talking about fear or hesitation to pull the trigger again. It goes much deeper. He's been through a lot these past few years. He may begin to second-guess himself and his reasons for being here, seeing only the pain. The bad, not the good."
"You think he'd quit?" Gibbs couldn't ignore the flare of pain nor panic that he felt at that possible outcome.
"It's not like it hasn't happened before," she said quietly, and Ziva David's name hovered unspoken between them. "I'm not asking you to do my job for me, but get him to open up about what happened. Acknowledgement that his suffering will not be seen as weakness will be a great first step. He needs to see that you've all been affected, in one way or another."
She paused and turned to look again at Tony, then over to Ellie. "It will help him realize that he isn't alone."
"But he just acts like everything is okay," Tony insisted as he rose slowly from his seat, feet widening into a defensive stance. "And at first, it was easy to believe him. The first few days back, he seemed…"
"Normal," Ellie finished for him, and Tony nodded.
"He worked, smiled… he acted like everything was normal. But…" Tony's voice trailed off and he looked a little lost as his eyes flicked from Ellie, to Gibbs, and finally rested on Dr. Cranston.
"But it didn't take long to realize that something was wrong, did it?" she asked.
"No," Gibbs answered for all of them.
"He isn't sleeping," the doctor offered as she twisted back around to address Gibbs again. "I got that much out of him."
"I'll take care of it," Gibbs assured her, and Dr. Cranston accepted the declaration with a nod before taking her leave.
Gibbs looked at McGee's desk again. It was tidy, as usual, though perhaps missing a Styrofoam container with lunch half-eaten; the meal's recipient too engrossed in tweaking a software program to make their jobs easier. Gibbs had been pleased that morning to find the desk unoccupied, knowing McGee had taken his command to stay away seriously.
But he wasn't stupid. McGee may not be here, but he wasn't far.
"Tony."
"On it, boss."
Gibbs allowed a small smirk to tug at his lips. This was why his team was so good. This was why a gaping hole would be left if a team member was lost. As Tony gave him a silent nod as he passed by, and when Ellie gave Gibbs a small smile as he walked by her desk on his way to get another cup of coffee, he understood the situation perfectly.
He couldn't fail in this. He would not fail in this.
None of them would.
\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/
The basement that housed the cybercrimes unit of NCIS was not one that was frequently visited by those who did not work within the unit itself. It was a space which did not promote idle chatter of lingering agents discussing their weekend plans or the results of the latest game scores. There was no water cooler in which to share office gossip, though a gurgling coffee maker could be heard over the hum of cooling fans and the clicking of keys.
From wall to wall, the entire unit was perhaps sixty feet long and equally matched in width. There was no inch of wasted space; each desk full of monitors, keyboards and gadgets. Spare parts, wires and other components unidentifiable to the untrained eye littered every available surface, shelf and compartment. Though there was minimal conversation among the seated individuals, there was a sense of comradery – of shared purpose – that permeated the silence.
Special Agent Tony DiNozzo weaved around the desks, sharing clipped nods and small smiles with those he passed. Silent directions were given through knowing looks towards a small alcove near back of the room. Soft light flooded out from the open door, casting a muted orange glow on the surrounding area.
Tony approached silently, unsure of how his presence would be construed. Clearly his wayward friend had come down here for a reason, and Tony had a pretty good idea what that reason is. Avoidance had several modus operandi, after all; physical removal of oneself being the most obvious and convenient.
A head popped around one of the many tall, black cabinets – servers, Tony ventured to guess – the individual's brown hair matted flat to a head glistening with sweat. The room was stifling, but Tim had at least removed his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie. Normally, he looked completely at home among the circuitry and display units. Yet today his movements were stiff and hesitant. McGee moved back and forth between the narrow aisle, disappearing and reappearing around the immense technology. Tony caught glimpses of the other agent's intensely focused face and the new lines of exhaustion drawn around his eyes and mouth.
"I thought you hated it down here, Tony," Tim remarked, sparing Tony the smallest of glances before tugging on some wiring that ran from one port to another before it disappeared into the high ceiling.
Despite the lack of a warm greeting, Tony smiled. "Nah. It's not so bad. Just don't tell them I said that," he added, tilting his head back and over his shoulder toward the dozen agents assigned to the cybercrimes division. "I thought Gibbs told you not to come into work today."
"Gibbs told me he didn't want to see me in the bullpen for a few days," Tim corrected with a trace of humor, and Tony felt his eyebrows quirk upward. "He didn't say anything about avoiding the building altogether."
"Deliberately misinterpreting the boss' orders," Tony said with a bit of awe. "You're a braver man than I, McGee."
Tim shrugged and resumed his unknown task. There were several minutes of silence occasionally broken by a mumbled phrase of frustration or vexation on McGee's part, and Tony realized that his presence had been forgotten. Oblivious to Tony's watchful gaze, Tim sank back into his task with singular, almost obsessive, tenacity. Tony had no idea what the other man was attempting to do, but he found that he can no longer watch his friend break down in this way. It was quiet. Ambiguous even. But Tim was self-destructing nonetheless.
Tony waited until there was a lull in his fellow agent's apparent diagnostic work to clear his throat and reiterate his presence in the smaller space. Tim looked back at him with some surprise.
"Tony, what are you still doing down here?"
"Well, that's what I came down here to ask you. Or did you forget that you are a field agent and no longer one of the geeks?"
Tim shrugged, ignoring the dig against his former co-workers. "I like it down here. I still help when I can."
Tony leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. "And they need it?"
"Need what?"
"Help," Tony clarified. He pushed when Tim's head disappeared again without a satisfactory answer. "What are you doing?"
"Keeping my skills up," came the muffled response, and Tony rolled his eyes at the obvious deflection. Tim's skills were not rusty, and therefore not in need of 'keeping up.' Just last month, Tim had finished developing a backdoor surveillance program designed to search the contents of a hard drive for suspicious data, monitor computer use, and report back criminal activities in real-time, all done wirelessly and without detection. The program was currently being tested by Agent Pride and his team, but even Tony knew that the initial feedback was promising. Vance was itching to install it in MTAC as early as next week.
"C'mon, McGee, it's getting late," Tony said, trying a different tactic. "Jake's out of town, so Ellie wants us all to head out for dinner. I'm thinking Thai, but she wants pizza. Come upstairs, side with me, and let's go get some tom yam goong."
"I'm really not that hungry," Tim said as he hunched over some sort of tool kit, but Tony wasn't ready to give up so easily.
"We can make a night of it. Dinner. Drinks. We could head back to my place. I've been dying to show Ellie Twelve Angry Men. Can you believe she's never seen it?"
"Mmhmm," Tim mumbled vaguely, still searching for something in the kit.
"Maybe we could have a movie marathon. Henry Fonda's got some classics. How the West Was Won… Battle of the Bulge…" Tony trailed off because it was clear Tim wasn't listening to him and he sighed, rubbing a tired hand down his face. "Tim!"
"What?" Tim called from over his shoulder as he continued to rummage around for a missing… something. Tony didn't even know. Nor did he care. This was not going the way he wanted it to go. He was not immune to experiencing fallout over his own ordeal with this traumatic case. He was tired and stressed. And so he didn't blame himself later for what happened next.
"It's been a week, McGee," Tony said. "You have to…"
Tim's back stiffened, and Tony knew he'd overstepped. Tim stood up fully now, and not for the first time did Tony notice his partner's exhaustion. The last several days had not been kind to McGee, and Tony wished he had done something sooner. Now the best he could do is help his friend come to terms with the past, learn from it, and find a way to move on.
"I have to do what, Tony?"
"Nothing, Tim, just forget I said…"
"No. No. What do I have to do? Get over it? Is that what you were going to say?" Tony wanted to say something, anything to correct his blunder, but Tim was on a roll, and Tony could do nothing but stand there. "Do you think Livia's parents have gotten over it?"
"Of course not," Tony sighed. "That's not what I…"
"Yes it is," Tim interrupted again, but there was no anger in his voice. It was the familiar tone of defeat and weary acceptance that Tim had hid so well from all of them those first few days, and that was what frustrated Tony the most. He wanted nothing more than to walk over to Tim, grab his shoulders, and shake him to make him see– to make Tim realize…
Yet it would not work. Dr. Cranston was correct in her assessment that Tim wasn't the only one feeling the strain from recent events.
Enough time had passed since that horrifying day that Tony himself had wearily accepted his own defeat when it came to Tim's view of the event. A little girl had died, but Tony had been saved. It wasn't the result everyone was truly happy about, though Tony was certainly thrilled with the lack of his own demise. If it hadn't been for Tim's focus and quick thinking, Tony knew he would have died that day.
Tony also knew that Tim was aware of that fact as well, and that Tim had, in all probability, humbly accepted the role of Tony's savior. What wasn't so certain was the life of a fourteen-year-old daughter of a Naval Lieutenant Commander. It was her passing that ate away at all of them, but Tim most of all. Because it was his heroic act of saving Tony that also condemned that girl to death.
Tim mumbled something so softly, that Tony only caught the name 'John Benedict' near the end. Surprised, Tony took one small step toward his friend. Even after so many years, Benedict's death was something they never spoke about.
"This is different and you know it," Tony admonished gently.
"Her funeral was today," Tim whispered, his eyes slipping shut.
Tony finally stepped fully into the small room and put a hand on Tim's shoulder, squeezing in sympathy. "I know."
Tim quickly pulled himself together and shrugged Tony's hand off with a small smile. It was no wonder Tim was able to hide his exhaustion and true suffering from the team in the beginning. When had he gotten so good at masking his feelings?
"I'm sorry, Tim. I didn't… I really didn't mean to say you need to get over what happened."
"I know," he replied with a smile. It was small, but genuine, and Tony's heart leapt. "And you're right. Thai food sounds great. Just, uh, give me a few minutes and I'll meet you in the garage."
Tony smiled and slapped McGee on the back before they parted ways and Tony ran back upstairs, foregoing the elevator and taking the steps two at a time in his glee at his small victory. Charging into the bullpen, Ellie stood up and gave Tony a questioning look. He nodded, she smiled, and they high-fived one another childishly before they were reigned back in by Gibbs.