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Quick Recap: Tony fires at a suspect (Benedict) whom he believes has first shot at him. The suspect is later revealed to be a cop who had caught on the the fact that his partner (Archer) was dirty. Forensic tests show that only two of the three bullets were McGee's - the third was Archer's. When Gibbs and McGee go to arrest Archer, he pulls a gun on Gibbs, and McGee hesitates rather than backing him up.
Confidence
The bullpen is quiet as Gibbs reads over the last of the reports. He's already sent DiNozzo and Ziva home. The case is finished, now, the paperwork wrapped up, the final details squared away. All but one.
He's not surprised to see McGee come out of the elevator. He knows his agent has been with Abby, desperately seeking some sort of absolution. Evidence that it wasn't his fault. Reassurance that his wasn't the kill shot. Well, Gibbs can't give him that. But he'll be damned if he's going to sit back and watch while a good agent second-guesses himself into incompetence. So, though McGee may be thinking of going home and wallowing in guilt, Gibbs has other plans.
"Hey! McGee! Where do you think you're going?" The younger man turns, wide-eyed, to stare at him. Gibbs arches an eyebrow at him. "Did I tell you you could leave?"
"Uh, no. I just thought…since everything's been filed…I thought we were done."
He shakes his head. "Not yet, McGee. You're with me. Grab your SIG."
"Uh, Boss, they took…"
"It's in your desk drawer," Gibbs tells him impatiently. "Where it belongs. Now come on."
After flashing him a quick, puzzled glance, McGee does as he's told, palming the weapon and following him into the elevator. He is silent for a moment, than asks cautiously, "Where're we going?"
"Gym." Gibbs offers no further explanation, and though the expression on McGee's face is a combination of confusion and dismay, he seems to know better than to question his boss further. Not that it would do him any good. Gibbs explains himself when he's ready to, not before. No reason for McGee to think this time might be any different.
When they arrive at the gym, Gibbs heads straight for the firing range. He nods once, sharply, and gestures towards the targets lining the far wall. "Time for some extra training, McGee."
McGee frowns, closing his eyes and wrinkling his forehead in displeasure. "Boss, come on. Is this really necessary?"
Gibbs just holds up a hand. "Save it. We're not leaving here until you stop looking at your weapon like you're not sure why it's there."
His agent sighs. "You're afraid I'm going to hesitate again, next time." The statement is heavy, resigned. Clearly, McGee thinks he's lost his good opinion. Well, time to take care of that too, then.
"Nope," he says simply, "I'm not." When McGee looks up at him, surprised, Gibbs shoots him an exasperated look. "I know you've got what it takes, McGee. But that doesn't do me any good. You need to know it. So stop talking, and start shooting."
He takes the younger man firmly by the shoulders and spins him around until he's facing one of the targets. "Five rounds. Go." Gibbs perches on the edge of a nearby bench, watching.
Five shots. Two misses, two on the outer edges of the target, one in the center. Not too bad, really, considering the state he's in. But Gibbs isn't looking for accuracy. He's looking for confidence. And he still isn't seeing it. So they're going to stay here until he does. No matter how long it takes.
McGee looks up at him anxiously, waiting for a reaction, but he just gestures towards the target.
"Again." Five more rounds. Three misses this time.
"Again." Same deal, same results. Worse, he's getting flustered.
"Again." Four misses, this time. Gibbs shakes his head. "Damn it, McGee! Concentrate!"
Five shots, all wide. That's enough. He gets to his feet, moving to stand behind his agent. McGee is staring at the floor by this point. He doesn't look up until Gibbs comes to stand behind him, covering his hands with his own as he corrects his grip. "Hold it firmly. It's not a damn feather duster! Every time you draw this weapon, you do it purposefully and deliberately." He pauses a moment, then continues in a softer tone, "Come on, McGee. You know what you're doing. Stop second-guessing yourself."
Backing away, Gibbs says firmly. "Focus. Let's see five more."
McGee takes a deep breath, then exhales. He narrows his eyes, his gaze on the target intense. Then he lets loose. Five rounds, five solid hits.
"Good. Again," Gibbs repeats. He's pleased, but not satisfied. Not yet.
Once again, McGee hits his target squarely, the same determined look on his face.
"Again," Gibbs orders, one last time. McGee doesn't disappoint. The uncertainty is gone, now. Good. His face is calm, deliberate, and his shots are dead-on. Excellent.
"All right." Gibbs crooks a finger, waiting until McGee comes to stand in front of him. He takes the weapon from the younger man's hands, then flips it around, offering it back to him. "Feeling comfortable with it again?" he demands.
McGee gives him a brisk nod.
"Good. Don't let me see you doubting yourself again, you understand me?"
Another nod.
He sighs. "Trust your instincts, McGee. They haven't let you down yet."
At that, some of the anguish returns to his agent's eyes. "How can you say that?" he bursts out. "I killed a cop today!"
"Nothing wrong with my memory, McGee. But why don't you chew on this for a while: Archer shot Benedict once. He knew his partner was on to him. You trying to tell me that you really believe that if you hadn't shot him, Archer wouldn't have?"
Gibbs sees the conflict in the face in front of him. McGee is clearly trying to process what he's told him, but he's still not ready to let himself off the hook. Not entirely ,anyway. Well, OK. Gibbs can live with that. It's a start, anyway, and as for the rest…that will come. With time.
One more stab at making his point, and then he'll back off. "Bottom line, McGee: You heard a shot, saw a flash. You followed protocol, identified yourself, and when it was appropriate to fire, you did. It was only after you started second-guessing yourself that you were able to find any fault with your actions. What does that tell you?"
McGee sighs heavily, then nods, swallowing hard.
Gibbs studies him critically for a moment. "All right, we're done here. Go home, McGee. And you want some free advice? Stay away from the booze. Don't expect any sympathy if you show up for work hung over."
Cracking a smile at that, McGee begins to obey. When he reaches the doorway, however, he pauses. "Hey Boss? Thanks."
Gibbs just nods. "Go get some sleep, Tim."
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