A Bowl of Cherries
by channelD
written for: the 2010 NFA White Elephant Exchange in which prompt sets were swapped.
rating: K plus
main characters: Tim and Gibbs (non-slash)
genre: drama
spoiler warning and prompt: "On the episode Jetlag, we saw that Gibbs saved McGee's life. This time, however, I'd like to read a story about how McGee saves Gibbs' life-and endangers his in order to do that."
setting: season 7, shortly after the events in Jetlag
xoxoxoxoxo
disclaimer: I still own nothing of NCIS.
xoxoxoxoxo
I just want to say—and I mean this sincerely—thanks, boss. Thanks for risking your life to save mine.
Crap. That sounds like a greeting card, Tim thought. There must be something else I could say to him…
You're the best boss I've ever had. Not even my boss in the potato chip factory moved as quickly as you did the time I got the sleeve of my factory shirt caught in the convey-o-belt. And he was young enough to be your son!
Uh…no.
That was an awesome thing you did back there in the parking garage, boss. You rock!
Did I really come up with that? I will never watch MTV again!
xoxoxoxoxo
"Hi, Dad! Just thought I'd call and see how you're doing."
"Doing fine, Tim. We're just fine out here. Finally getting a little cool air down from Canada. This is one of the warmest springs on record."
Tim smiled. The first thing Midwesterners always talked about was the weather. "I was hoping you'd be cooling down. Washington's still like a sauna."
"So what's on your mind, son?"
"Why does something have to be on my mind? Can't a boy call his one and only dad to say 'hi' and 'I love you'?"
"Yes, but this is the second time this week that you've called. Your mother will be sad that she missed your call. Again."
Tim felt guilty, knowing he'd timed it this way. "I'll make it up to her. I just…"
"Tim?"
"…I love you, Dad."
"And I love you, too, son. Are you having problems with Gibbs?"
He fought the urge to hang up. Even when he didn't say anything, his father seemed to know him all too well. "There was…an incident last week. In the field. We went to a parking garage to stop a suspect, and…he came at us with his car. Gibbs pushed me out of the way, and got slightly injured. Did you ever save anyone's life, Dad? While you were in the Navy?"
"Gibbs saved your life?"
"Dad…"
"Well, there were some classified missions I can't talk about, Tim, but…no, not directly. Not in the way that you agents face danger every day. Gibbs saved your life?"
Tim sighed. "Yes, and it bothers me."
"Why is that?"
"I…I don't know, exactly. It just does." He paused, unable to go on.
"Tim, I think you need to figure out just what is troubling you, before you can ask for my help in fixing it."
I wasn't… "Gotta go, Dad. I'll talk to you later. Love to Mom." Tim hung up quickly before his father could say more.
xoxoxoxoxo
Tim knew that he had a problem, and that his problem's name was Gibbs.
For the third time this week, Gibbs was already at work when Tim came in. Being so early was unlike Gibbs, of course; his team suspected that he normally lingered at home as long as he could, drinking his favorite brand of coffee. But now, since the accident that had left him with a damaged wing, he was dependent on public transportation and so left home early enough to not be late in case there was a slowdown on the Metro.
Tim had pushed himself to likewise get in early each day, hoping to talk to Gibbs. But try though he might, he couldn't muster up the nerve to get his boss to do more than grunt when Tim tried to say 'thank you' once again.
"McGee, why is this so important to you?" Ziva would ask him, once the boss was out of earshot. "Gibbs has heard you say 'thanks'. He does not need or want anything more."
"But I do," said Tim. "I do."
What do you say to someone who has risked everything for you, and probably didn't give it a second's thought?
xoxoxoxoxo
The music in Abby's lab was loud (typical!) when Tim walked in. This morning's tune sounded kind of nice, though, in a loud way. Harmonious. Abby was dancing lightly while seated on a stool, staring at the monitor. She sensed, rather than heard, him come in, and turned with a smile. "Timmy!" Bounding off the stool, she ran forward and smothered him with a hug.
"You remember what I said, Timster," she added, when she loosened the grip and finally let him breathe. "Until you cheer up, you're going to get at least one big cheer-up hug from me a day. Have you cheered up?"
His face wavered between a smile and a frown. "No," he admitted. It had been a rough week. "What's the song?" he asked, trying to divert her attention.
"The Pickled People, doing a cover of Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries. One of my favorite old songs."
"I don't know it."
"McGee, no offense but the sum total of your pop cultural knowledge would fit on the head of a pin. And a very small pin, at that. Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries is a fabulous song from the early 1930s." She turned down the volume and sang with the group:
Life is just a bowl of cherries;
Don't make it serious;
Life's too mysterious.
You work, you save, you worry so…
Then she playfully altered it:
Gibbs is just a bowl of cherries…
Tim snorted. "He might be easier to deal with if that were the case."
"Timmy…"
"Abby, he treats me like a kid! I try to thank him for saving my life back in the parking garage, and he just brushes it off, like it's his job to babysit me."
Abby only raised her eyebrows slightly.
"Come on, Abby! Yes, he's a supervisor. But that doesn't mean his team can't take care of themselves!"
"Have you tried telling him that?"
xoxoxoxoxo
Tim had, in fact. And he tried doing it again, and again. But each time, the words froze in his throat. Gradually he came to accept that Gibbs would not change, that the older man would always treat him like a kid, and that Tim could either learn to live with it…or else leave NCIS.
He talked to Ducky about it. "Well, Timothy, you are going to have to find a way to change Jethro's attitude. Or else, just accept it."
"I can't accept it. I didn't think it would get this bad, but it's really started to gnaw at me."
"Then, get him to change."
"How? By somehow saving his life?"
"Is that not what you agents do, from time to time? 'Have each other's backs,' as Tony would say?"
Tim shook his head. "It's not that easy. Gibbs doesn't get himself into situations where he needs saving. It's part of why he always gets the Special Agent of the Year award. He's better than good. He's perfect at his job."
With a slight sigh, Ducky inclined his head. "Now that's where you're wrong, Timothy. Where Jethro sees you as a youngster, you see him as all-knowing. As long as you view him that way, you won't be able to find a way to help him…including when he may need it most."
xoxoxoxoxo
Ducky meant well, Tim knew, but even Ducky wasn't right 100% if the time. He certainly wasn't right now. Gibbs might be unreasonable at times, but in the end, methods questionable or not (and Tim did have doubts at times about how Gibbs got things done), Gibbs came through as a winner.
Tim, on the other hand, was the weak animal in the herd. The one that prey sought out as an easy meal. Gibbs had saved him…but for what? To keep the team's skill level down?
Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself, part of him said. But he couldn't shake the feeling that, after seven years on the team, Gibbs still felt he wasn't able to look out for himself.
A grown-up does not expect a child to thank him for things that are a grown-up's duty.
Only if he could somehow get better than Gibbs at something would he have a chance of leveling the field. But at what? The man had more than 20 years of experience than Tim did. He had military time. Was a prize sniper. Had seen combat. Tim had no hope there.
Tim had degrees that Gibbs didn't, and understood computers and some sciences much better than Gibbs did, but those things didn't matter in Gibbs' eyes. They weren't talents, just learned skills. They wouldn't save someone's life. They were nothing more than merit badges. Kids' stuff.
Knowledge is power. What if there was some way that he could learn something useful, something Gibbs didn't know, that could come in handy some day? (Assuming there was such a body of knowledge…) It would have to be something practical, something intense, something with dangerous applications.
Tim had an idea.