Author's Notes: Minor spoilers for Scrubs 1x05 "My Two Dads" and NCIS 3x04 "Silver War". This is my first foray into Scrubs fic, so I hope I did Elliot justice. Both Tim/Elliot have that whole intelligent but insecure thing going on, and it was only as I wrote it I realized how surprisingly alike things really are at NCIS and Sacred Heart. This may be it, or I may write more, so please let me know what you think. The line about 'you don't want it to stop bothering you, because it means you don't care as much anymore' I'm pretty sure came from Dr. Greene on ER. If I remember correctly, he said it to Carter when he was first starting out.
It had been a long day, one of many that he'd had over the past month. The team had spent the day chasing their tails, always a step behind the one who murdered Petty Officers Charles Sinclair and Lily Winchester. When Gibbs had finally told them all to go home, he'd been the last one to the elevator. Normally, he would go home and write, but how could he write about L.J Tibbs and the others when all he could think about was how close they came to saving Winchester. She died right there in front of them, with Ziva and Tony doing their best to keep her alive, Gibbs calling for help, and all he could do was stare. It was hardly his crowning achievement as an NCIS agent, but unlike the rest of them, he'd never seen a person bleed to death in front of him. Rather than driving back to his apartment, McGee found himself pulling into the parking lot of a local bar. Maybe a drink or two would help.
He sat in the car for a minute, before sighing and heading inside. It was a typical dive bar, dim lighting, a jukebox, motley crew of regulars and random visitors, like himself. With only a brief scan around, he took a seat at the bar and ordered a beer. The bartender dropped it off with barely a nod, and headed down the bar to wait on another patron. As he sipped from the beer, McGee heard sniffling from the woman sitting beside him and looked over. She was dressed in hospital scrubs, as if she'd just come from work, like McGee himself.
"Are you all right?"
She looked up at him, eyes slightly wide in a 'deer in the headlights look'. "Oh, my gosh..did I bother you? I'm sorry. I-It's just that I've been having a bad day, well, bad month actually, and I thought having a drink would help. Of course, I should know better, being a doctor..."
Tim couldn't help it, and smiled a little. "It's ok. I know how you feel. I mean, not about being a doctor, but I've been having a bad time lately too." He extended his hand. "I'm Tim."
Now it was her turn to smile, as she shook his hand. "I'm Elliot. It's nice to meet you, Tim."
"So, you're a doctor?"
"An intern, actually, but I'm still expected to know and do everything doctors do without the benefit of all the experience they have." Elliot sighed, taking a drink of her own beer before continuing. "Do you have -any- idea how difficult that is to do?"
He nodded. "I do, actually. It wasn't long ago I was in the same boat you are. Well, we don't have interns at NCIS, they're called probies, but it's the same thing. They expect you to know everything with no experience, and there's no tolerance for failure."
Elliot shook her head. "Do you have a boss who has no sense of humor and always expects you to be two steps ahead of where you are?"
Without meaning to, he laughed. "I can safely say that I do."
"Then, we really are in the same boat. What is NCIS anyway?"
"Oh, it's Naval Criminal Investigative Services. We're basically the police for the Navy, investigating crimes involving Naval officers."
"So you see a lot of murders."
Tim frowned, looking down at the bottle he held as if it would tell him something.. "Yeah. I saw someone die right in front of me today, shot in the chest. While the rest of the team tried to save her life, I just stared. I couldn't move." When he looked back at her, it was obvious how much the experience had upset him. "How do you handle it?"
Elliot sighed. "Today, I came to a bar. Other days, I lock myself in the bathroom and cry. Sometimes, I even talk to my coworkers about it. It just depends..."
"Does it get any easier?"
"Not really. But someone told me that you don't want it to get easier, because it means you don't care as much anymore."
He nodded. "That's true." It was true, but he didn't have to like it. They sat there in silence for a minute or two before Elliot piped up.
"I bet NCIS doesn't have an ass box.."
His interest was piqued. "An ass box? No, we don't.."
She grinned. "Well, it's a box of things that the doctors have taken out of people's asses.." In spite of the disgusted look on Tim's face, she continued. "Anyway, Turk, he's my friend and a surgery intern, was dating Carla, a nurse, only he didn't know what to get her, so he found a really nice pen in the 'Lost and Found'. Only, it wasn't really the 'Lost and Found' box, it was the Ass box, but -he- didn't know that..."
By the time Elliot finished, McGee was laughing so hard he could barely catch his breath. When he finally could talk again, he grinned.
"That was pretty good, but now I've got a story for you, about one of -my- coworkers. His name's Tony, but that's not really important. His father was a Civil War reenactor, and when Tony was little, Dad would make him go to reenactments. But, it wasn't to watch. Dad made little Tony carry the 'poop bucket'."
Now it was Elliot's turn to look shocked and slightly disgusted. "One time, Abby, she's the forensic technician, set up his computer to play 'Dixie' whenever he got mail and he nearly jumped out of his chair." The image of the normally cool DiNozzo irritated amused Tim to no end.
"That's funny.." McGee and Elliot continued talking until the bar closed, beers forgotten. As he put his coat back on, he looked over at her.
"Need a ride?"
She shook her head. "Nah, but thank you."
He smiled. "No, thank you. I'm glad I ran into you tonight."
She smiled back. "Me too." Then, after a moment's hesitation, she scrawled something on a napkin and handed it to him. "It's my number, and my pager number, because that's always on." She paused, mentally berating herself for appearing so desperate.
He tore the napkin in half, writing his number and email address down and handing it to her. "Here is my cell, and my email. Call me anytime, if you want to talk or whatever."
"I will.."
"Good."
As he got into his car and drove away, McGee looked at the clock and sighed. It was going to be a long day tomorrow, but he felt a little bit better about facing it now.