A/N: This story was inspired by the poem Song of Myself by Walt Whitman, but also very loosely influenced by the following: City of Angels, the Book of Daniel, the Book of Enoch, and Disney's Prep and Landing of all things. And by loosely influenced, I truly mean loosely, for all of the references listed above. Written for the White Elephant Exchange on NFA.

1 – You shall assume…

"It's just one more."

"If I recall correctly, you said that the last time."

A quirk of lips is the only betrayal of amusement. "Well, I mean it this time."

"Pan…"

"I know." A pause. "This one is important. There is no one I trust more."

Another pause, this one longer and profuse with consideration. "And after?"

"You will be granted the Choice."

"You are certain?"

"Of course."

"I'll have your word on this, Pan." Pan frowns at the ultimatum and the immediate response is apologetic. "Forgive me. I am… not myself. Of course you speak the truth. I did not mean to-"

"Peace," Pan interrupts with an outreached hand and a smile of comfort. "You agree to take on this assignment?"

A deep sigh of resignation. "Very well."

"Excellent. I'll arrange for the vade mecum to be delivered to you straightaway."

Silence falls between the two friends, entire lifetimes between the two of them that has eliminated any awkwardness or the unnecessary need to fill the quiet with small talk. It's the same sense of serenity shared amongst everyone seated within the commissary.

Well… mostly everyone.

"Is that…?"

"Who? Oh yeah, it is! Wow."

The conversation is hushed, but loud enough to reach their table, and Pan snorts in amusement at the near-reverence instilled within the words.

"I've heard that the number is up to eight hundred."

"No way. I overheard Idris say that it's well over a thousand."

That elicits an eye roll from Pan's colleague. It appears as though gossip is a universal given, spanning well beyond any and all borders. It is clear that these two are newer recruits and have yet to learn the proper decorum when it comes to encountering a respected elder. Pan is about to mention something witty along the lines of 'youth these days,' but it's their comments overheard just before they are out of earshot that stops the words from forming.

"…must be one of the Archetypes…"

"…never human…"

Suddenly the silence is no longer comfortable. To speak of a former life, or in rare cases a lack thereof, is inappropriate and simply unacceptable. It is only the tugging of a warm hand that prevents Pan from standing and storming after the duo.

"Don't bother."

Pan quirks an eyebrow. "But, what they said about you –"

"Does not merit attention, nor anger." Tired eyes turn to gaze heavily at the youths' retreating backs. "They are merely curious. As we all were when we were initiated." Some of the weight has lifted when their eyes meet again, a familiar glint shining outward, and Pan knows what to expect before it is even said. "Except for maybe you. You've always been a stick in the mud."

"Ha. Ha." Pan deadpans, but is content with the uplift in mood. "Get out of here. I expect you to be fully prepared when the time has come. You have a reputation to maintain, after all."

The reply is nothing more than a brisk nod and a quick wave before Pan is seated alone, thoughts drifting back to the conversation overheard moments ago. An indeterminate amount of time passes before an internal decision is made and Pan is walking determinedly out of the commissary. Perhaps there is some truth to be gleaned from the statement in which attention and anger are not warranted, but that doesn't mean a visit to the mentorship ward isn't necessary.

'Youth these days', indeed.

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2 – Look through the eyes of the dead…

Vade mecum are always exhaustive, but they do little to explain why an individual is assigned to a Watcher. It takes experience to read between the lines, to understand what cannot be put into written form, to grasp the true struggles that warrant such an intervention.

Experience this Watcher has in abundance. The gossiping youth were not far off in their observations. Many years have passed… too many to count… when last this Watcher had been human. But it matters little for the forthcoming task, only that the Watcher is qualified to handle whatever lies ahead.

Those on Earth selected to be guided are chosen for many different reasons, and the length of time a Watcher needs to spend among the chosen also vary. Crisis of faith are the most common, and usually the lengthiest. Some humans merely need strength, courage, or a boost of self-worth, and those assignments tend to be brief. And others need special handling… when their situation is unclear outside of the fact that guidance is needed because they are heading down a path that will lead to self-destruction.

Regardless of the time needed, or the reason assigned, the Watcher has a singular purpose: guide their charges until they are no longer needed and ultimately assist them with the Choice.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs has been chosen, and will be this Watcher's final assignment. And like the hundreds of lives that have been guided in the past, the Watcher will not fail.

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3 – The beginning or the end…

It's unusually cold for September, leaving the streets mostly abandoned as people seek warmth within their cars or public transportation. Yet Timothy McGee chooses to walk home this evening after drinking one too many shots. The crisp air is doing wonders for clearing his head.

It has been a night of celebration. He and Jim… graduates! FLETC had been nothing like he had expected, but now that is past and he is on his way to becoming an agent. He hopes to get the chance to work alongside Jim in the future.

Agent McGee and Agent Nelson. Tim likes the sound of that.

In Tim's experience, it isn't often that someone gets to go out and live their dream. But becoming an agent of NCIS has been his dream for a long time. It had been difficult to stick with it. He didn't think the lack of support from home would have made such a big difference, but it did. (It was easier now that his parents' divorce was final… his mom felt more comfortable expressing her support when she didn't have his father's commanding presence weighing down on her all the time. Still, it would have been nice to have had her in his corner all along.) It hardly matters now, he thinks, when his goal of becoming an NCIS agent has never wavered.

Graduating from FLETC puts him one step closer to that achievement. He just needs to make sure that Jim doesn't talk him into so may drinks each time they have something to celebrate.

Tim is nearly home when a soft cry pauses his brisk walk. He stops to listen and only moves again when the voice cries out a second time. Crossing the street and entering a small park, he follows the sound to a figure of a small woman. She is on the ground behind an iron bench, lying in the fetal position with her arms wrapped tightly around her body and her long, dark hair concealing her face.

"Miss?" Tim asks, reaching out a tentative hand. "Are you all right?"

The crying suddenly stops and before Tim's hand makes contact with her shoulder, the girl is rolling up to her knees. The moonlight reflects off a silver knife clutched in her left hand as her right hand darts out and digs into his shoulder.

"I am now," she says with a wicked grin.

Tim barely has time to realize that the girl is much older than he initially thought before two rough hands grab his arms from behind and yank him upward. His ankle gets caught on the leg of the bench, causing him to tilt dangerously back into the stranger. He hears a deep grunt as his weight is briefly taken on by the mysterious man before he's brusquely tossed back down. His arms are still behind him so nothing is able to break his fall as his temple slams into the seat of the bench. His vision immediately grays and he's unable to control his limbs as his two assailants stand over him.

"Shit," the woman whispers.

"Check his pockets," the man says and then slim hands are inside his coat and down his pants.

"Sixty-four bucks," the woman crows as she tosses his now-empty wallet somewhere over his head. "What do we do now?"

"Leave him," Tim hears and a moment later, and what little vision he has remaining is eliminated when a boot connects with his head. He doesn't even feel it.

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4 – I witness and wait…

Timothy McGee dies on September 28, 2002 at 23:44:13 from a traumatic subarachnoid hemorrhage.

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5 – The hand of God…

"It is time."

"So soon?"

"One can never predict such things," Pan says. "You are ready, of course."

"Of course." There may be an eye roll that accompanies the reply, but no one will ever confirm such silliness at a time such as this.

"Then I shall walk with you."

They walk in silence, encountering only a few others on their journey. It isn't until they near their destination that Pan notices that their pace has slowed considerably.

"What is it?" Pan stops and asks, not used to the display of trepidation.

"You told me this one is important. Why?"

Pan cannot help but smile at the question. "You talk of such experience and even of retirement, and yet you ask such a neophyte question? You know that I have no knowledge of such things."

"And yet you know that he is important." The argument is an old one, and not exclusive to this particular Watcher. Generations have asked similar questions when a vade mecum fails to illuminate all of what they wish, but the task still must be accomplished. On-the-job training is a pillar of the Watcher program.

"You've handled several important cases in the past, all without requesting additional information beyond what the vade mecum provides. Why the sudden need to know more about this one?"

A small shrug accompanies the answer. "In previous cases, it was generally easy to discern why a particular individual was deemed important… title, heritage, lineage and what have you. The vade mecum you gave me speaks of a troubled past and a fair amount of trauma. You were right that this is definitely not an assignment that a younger, lesser experienced Watcher, should handle."

"But?" Pan prompts.

"However, it does not speak to why you felt I in particular needed to be assigned, nor the reason why this particular individual is deemed important."

"Aren't all chosen people important?"

"Pan…"

"Haven't we been tasked with the protection and guidance of all?"

"That's not what I meant, and –"

"Have you deemed yourself above all others and decided that your time is more valuable, and should therefore –"

"Of course not!"

The outburst is not expected, but Pan still smiles at the vexed anger.

"Then why does it matter? I know that you will give this assignment the attention it deserves, the same as you have done to all of the lives you have guided in the past, and those you will guide in the future."

"Of course I will. And we have already established that this will be my final assignment."

"Naturally. Then let us not worry about the importance of Leroy Jethro Gibbs, yes?" A nod of acceptance is all that Pan receives, but it is enough. Pan sighs dramatically. "Unrelatedly, I think I shall be the one to acclimate you this time."

The Watcher's eyes widen and stare at Pan with open shock that is quickly masked. "You… That… I…"

"Lost for words, old friend?"

"I would be honored." The oath is spoken with a slight bow of respect. "Thank you, Phanuel."

"If it is to be your final assignment, then I wish to be a part of it." The words ring with nothing but sincerity, and the two friends bask in the warmth of the connection for a long moment.

"It is time," Pan repeats.

"I shall see you soon, friend."

"Go in peace."

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6 – There is really no death…

Timothy McGee is found lying near a park bench on September 28, 2002 at 23:53:19. He wakes during transport to the hospital, and the paramedic assures him that he's going to be okay.

After a neurological exam, cognitive testing, and a CT scan, he is diagnosed with a grade 3 concussion. He is given the option to stay overnight for observation. He accepts, but that's more due to Jim's insistence than any lingering symptoms.

The next morning he is given instructions to continue taking acetaminophen for his headache, and to take it easy for the foreseeable future. An obviously guilt-ridden Jim promises the doctors that his friend will be taken care of, and threatens to call Tim's sister and his mother if Tim puts up any kind of fuss. Tim doesn't wish for either of his female relatives to descend on him, so he readily agrees.

He's discharged with relative ease after attempting to give a report to the police. He can't remember anything of the mugging and attack, which is easily accepted due to the concussion.

Or the alcohol he had apparently consumed.

Tim decides that it hardly matters at this point anyway, since thinking about it makes his head hurt and he would rather avoid doing that if at all possible.

Tim is taken to Jim's apartment, who calls his mom and sister anyway, despite his promise not to. Tim is forced to endure his mother's distress and his sister's concern (that is inconveniently veiled in angry outbursts that only add to the pain in his head) before he can finally curl up on Jim's pull-out couch and sleep.

It is rather odd, he thinks in the few seconds between full wakefulness and sleep, that he cannot remember a single detail of the attack. Why was he in the park in the first place?

He decides to blame his concussion (not the alcohol) for his confusion. Sleep comes quickly.

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7 – The mate and companion of people…

"Do you know who you are?"

"I am Timothy McGee."

"Yes. Good. Do you know who I am?"

"Your name is Phanuel. You are my… My…"

"I am many things, Timothy, but first and foremost, I am your friend. I am also here to help acclimate you to this life. Even with hundreds of years of experience, this can be a disorienting time. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"Yes. At least, I believe so."

"Good. We will speak again soon. Rest."

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8 – I come and I depart…

"Do you know who you are?"

"Timothy McGee."

"Indeed. Do you know who I am?"

"Pan, this really isn't necessary."

"Perhaps not, but it has been ages since I have been able to acclimate a Watcher. I am rather enjoying myself."

"Of course you are."

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9 – I am there, I help…

"You know, Jhud usually checks in on me once and then leaves me alone, trusting me to do my job."

"That's because Jhud has far too much on his plate and needs to learn how to delegate. Otherwise he'd take this role a bit more seriously and not leave his Watchers behind to familiarize themselves all on their own."

"Jhud does not need your censure."

"No, what Jhud needs is a good kick in the–"

"Pan!"

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10 – Lightness and glee…

"You seem rather pleased with yourself."

"I am. I have been offered a position with NCIS at their Norfolk office."

Timothy's smile is contagious and Pan shares in his joy. "That's quite an accomplishment, Timothy. Congratulations."

"Thank you. It's just… it's what I've always wanted, you know? A chance to do real work. Dad always thought it was a cop-out since I didn't follow his footsteps, but it was never that. I never wanted to dishonor my family's tradition. This is a way for me to respect it."

"Of course." Pan's smile fades. "Timothy, this will be my last visit with you unless you summon for me."

Timothy's excitement dims and he nods in comprehension. "I understand."

"Good luck, Timothy." Good luck, my friend.

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