I was trying to write something happy, with a friend in mind. I don't quite think it worked, but at least in this, Mr. McGee is content with the way things around him are. Kind of based of an idea I had about what it would be like if Tim finally faced all the death around him.
Not mine.
For puppypants, as she was rather the inspiration for me to try to break my NCIS writers block.
Timothy McGee was no stranger to loss. He had lost his grandfather, his father, seen suspects killed in front of him, sometimes by his own gun. He had waited as Tony searched for Ziva, remembered crying at her loss. He had been shot at first when Kate had been killed, and for ages he had thought that it should have been he that died.
But it was not agent McGee that died, no, it never was. It was however he that felt the guilt each time. It was he that took blame and pain and guilt like a child taking sugar. It was adding up too. Like a child and their sugar, one can only handle enough until they crashed.
And upon the day that Tim McGee crashed, he was later found, lying on an autopsy table.
No, it wasn't like that. He wasn't dead. No, he was thinking. It may have been cold, but the dark, silence of the morgue was ever so peaceful. He supposed that could have been the point though, as all of its occupants were promised to be at peace. He couldn't bring himself to care though, it wasn't like Gibbs hadn't done it a million times.
As he layed there, on the cool metal surface, his mind filled with faces, stories, a thousand bullets and numerous knife wounds. Stabs of glass shards, nooses, and slit wrists. He saw death, he saw destruction. All of it filling his mind.
He thought to himself that life was a beautiful thing, and how sad it was to see it taken away. He hated that it was sometimes him that did it.
It couldn't be helped that he thought back to history classes from the many schools he had attended, thought of the ancient myths.
Greek folklore had always fascinated him. It wasn't like technology, which was constantly expanding. No, it was set in stone and by now, a fact.
Thanatos, the forgotten god of death. One overlooked in favor of his master, Hades. And while the former did rule over the souls Thanatos did collect, he was not the one to find them. He was not the one to watch the living greave, or hear their last words and wishes. No, Thanatos did his job alone, and stayed true, attempting to be kind.
But as Tim thought of how he and his co-workers were not reapers, he knew that Thanatos watched over them in action, guiding their bullets, choosing if they should hit or if they should miss.
Tim knew that his days were filled with wrong-doings, and each attempt to put things right. He knew that what he did was right, and that there was nothing left for him to be ashamed of. He knew in his own gut that the Fates planned each movement, and how every person is merely their pawn.
He was alright with his realization, he rather liked the mental image of chess pieces being humans on each board. Tim was fine with the knowledge that one day each person dies. The fact that sometimes the unlucky ones, are the ones left behind. He liked knowing where to stand.
And when in the morning, Ducky came in and flicked on the lights, Tim had been asleep, at peace in his mind. He peeled himself from the table, and said said good morning, leaving behind one confused doctor, with a smile.
At his desk he started up his computer, waiting for his boss to arrive. Soon the Gunny exited the elevator, usual styrofoam cup in hand. The gray haired man nodded at his worker, and resigned himself to the paperwork that was never done. He left Tim to finish any cold cases at hand.
Tony entered in a whirlwind of stories and tall tales. All of which were tuned out by Tim.
Ellie came into the bullpen with Tony quickly announcing her tardiness for the world to see. Gibbs bid her good morning and informed her of her cold case. Tim gave her a greeting and returned to each thought in his mind.
His cold case was the death of a 19 year old, a navy seal's son. The boy had been in college, but was killed when he had returned home to the naval base. The boy's mother and father had been out, he was home alone.
There had been no motive to find, no DNA that was left behind. The crime was perfect, in every way. And in his mind, Tim couldn't help but think, that maybe this crime had been committed by death himself. A boy done in by Thanatos.
Tim shrugged his shoulders to clear his mind. He knew that out there somewhere, someone had helped this boy meet Thanatos' deadline.
But that all mattered little. And back to the last night's ponderings Tim allowed his mind to wander. Back to the thoughts that flooded his mind as finally, he had crashed.
His crash had been a crash, there was no denying. But in the morning after, Tim couldn't help but know that now things might just be clearer, that things could maybe be easier.
He also knew that nothing would be easier, but that's life. And in life it was often easier to lie to oneself than face the truth. He then chose, to face the truth. So then, he thought.
He thought of how death is death, how life is life. He let his mind give way to fate, and knew in his heart, his gut, that each thing happens for a reason. And this, he was more than willing to accept.
I can't help but ask for you all to please review, and apologize for my obsession with Greek Mythology.