DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN NCIS OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS!
McGee the Killer
Little Timmy McGee sat on his sidewalk with big drops of tears hitting the pavement as his body shook with his sobs. Hearing the cries of her child his mother rushed out her front door wringing her hands in the apron tied around her waist.
"Tim, honey what's wrong?" she hurried to comfort her little boy. She sat on the ground and pulled him onto her lap. It was a testament to his sadness that he gave no protest. Normally, the five year old would try to argue that he was too big for his mommy's lap, especially while his father was away from base, like today.
"I-I k-killed it, Momma," he sobbed.
Confused his mother looked about not sure to what he could possible be referring. "Killed what?" she asked pressing his warm head to her chest while running her fingers through his short wavy hair.
"This," he said putting his hand out palm up.
His mother felt her breath ease as she fought to hold back the relieved smile, as she saw the tiny insect in her son's still chubby hand. Knowing her sensitive child truly felt the guilt that fueled his tears, she searched for the right words to comfort him and relieve the burden he carried so heavily.
"What happened?" she asked deciding to get his version and see if it might shed some light on why he felt so responsible.
"I was playing with my marbles," he started pointing at the glass balls still in front of him, "When he started buzzing around my head. I-I only me-ant to chase him a-away," a new sob erupted as he relived the horrible act he committed. "I-I didn't me-an to hit him, b-but I felt him hit my fin-finger and saw him hit the gr-ground. He moved around for a little bit. I thought he might get u-up and f-fly away," Tim looked up at his mom the tears brimming and falling from his big green eyes, "But then he just stopped."
"Oh, my poor darling," his mother soothed rubbing her hand across the back of his shoulders trying once again to calm his crying. "It was an accident, honey."
"He's still d-d-dead," the little boy sobbed.
The now distraught mother rocked her son back and forth desperately trying to find a way to soothe her inconsolable son. She hummed as she held him tightly and finally felt his body relax as his bawling ceased into a few stuttered sobs.
"Would you feel better if we gave him a proper farewell?" she asked.
Her son looked up with knitted brows unsure what she meant. "What kind of farewell?" he asked.
Sighing she smiled sadly at his innocence. "We can put him in a tiny box and bury him."
Timmy's eyes opened wide, "Can I dig the hole?"
Mussing his hair she assured him he could indeed dig the hole. She stood him up and taking his free hand walked him to the garage to find a garden shovel he could use. Together they picked a spot near some flowers Tim was certain were the little fly's favorite.
His mother found an old ring box that was still a bit too big, but stuffing it with some cotton balls made it a nice little resting place. Satisfied with the tiny 'coffin' Tim placed it in the hole he had carefully dug and filled the loose dirt back over it. He stuck a tooth pick on top of the mound and said he was sorry once again and goodbye.
His mother gave him a few moments to stare at the tiny grave, before urging him inside to wash up. When all the dirt was clean off his hands and face, she sent him out to retrieve his marbles and help her prepare dinner.
Bringing his marbles back into the house, he stopped to hug his mom tightly around her waist.
"What is that for?" she asked hugging him back softly.
"Because you're the best mommy in the whole world," he smiled up at her, and then went to put his marbles in his room.
