"C'mon, McGee!" Tony groaned for what seemed like the fifth time in three minutes. "How long could this possibly take?"

"Tony, you have trouble logging on to the internet, so I don't think you're the best person to berate McGee on his computer skills," Kate commented with a sly smirk.

The younger agent was staring intently at his computer screen, the on-going spat barely even reaching his ears. Any outside noise was drowned out by the loud thumping of his nervous heart. He was also beginning to sweat, not because the task at hand was so tedious and difficult, but because he knew that if he got caught doing this, especially on company time, Gibbs would have his ass. Just a few more keystrokes and…

His head snapped forward as a result of Tony's head slap. "McGoo! Get cracking, will you? If I don't get tickets to that show, Trixie will throw me out like yesterday's garbage!"

Tim glowered but continued. "Maybe you shouldn't have waited until the day of the show to get tickets for Madonna's comeback tour…" he muttered.

"What was that, Probie?"

"Nothing," he replied with a sigh. He'd found it was better not to fight with Tony. Compliance made the big brother/little brother relationship easier. "I think I may be able to squeeze you guys into the eighth row of the second balcony."

"Not good enough, Probie!"

"Tony, most of the seats are already taken by customers who actually paid for their tickets! The best I can do for you is try to free up some seats that the arena currently has on hold. They're not going to be A-class seats!"

"I don't want excuses, McGee; I want results!"

"I do too," Gibbs bellowed as he entered the squad room, his obligatory cup of coffee firm in his hand. "Gear up!"

"Got a case, boss?"

"Would I have told you to gear up if we didn't, DiNozzo?" Gibbs grabbed his own badge and Sig, hooking them to his waistband. "We've got a dead Marine in Alexandria. The local LEOs have identified him as Cpl. Daniel Wickmar."

A loud thud caused Gibbs, Tony, and Kate to turn around to where the greenest team member stood. Tim had dropped his bag upon hearing the name and his face was ashen, his green eyes wide in shock. "D-Daniel Wickmar, boss?"

"You know him, McGee?"

Tim glanced down and saw his fallen bag laying there. He sheepishly scooped it back up, holding it firmly over his shoulder. "Yeah," he replied softly as he stepped ahead of them onto the elevator. "Yeah, we went to high school together."

Kate eyed the young man with concern. "He a friend of yours, McGee?"

Tim opened his mouth and his head began to shake no; then he stopped and opted to shrug instead. "He was someone I knew," he told them vaguely, giving his team mates the distinct impression that he wasn't telling them the entire story. But this was not the time to hear Tim's life story, especially not stories of his high school days which they all suspected involved at least a little bit of bullying. So the subject was dropped for the time being.

In the back of the elevator, Tim fidgeted with the strap of his bag. His teeth were gnawing violently, a childhood habit he often reverted back to in times of great stress.

Daniel Wickmar. While the man was someone he hadn't talked with in quite some time, he had seen Cpl. Wickmar only three weeks earlier when he and Tony had gone to Quantico during an embezzlement investigation. Tim had been shocked to come face to face with a malicious figure from his past and had clammed up, letting Tony conduct the entire interview while he stood to the side mute. Wickmar hadn't even recognized the young man who had once been the target of his high school torments. Tim, though, remembered the face—he remembered every line and crevice—and it had taken much inner strength to keep from rehashing past grievances.

He hadn't told Tony about it of course. No doubt the senior agent would dissolve into a fit of snickers when Tim related his high school days. That night, though, Tim had felt the urge to tell someone bubble up inside. So he'd called Chris Blanchard, a friend and fellow bully-target of his from high school, to let him know who he'd run into. Together they'd lamented their high school days until Tim had finally had to call it a night. In a strange, perhaps pathetic way, it was comforting to talk with someone who had been there, who had gone through the same things he had gone. It was like his own private support group.

"You coming or not, McGee?"

Tim looked up and saw that the elevator had reached its destination. The team was waiting not-so-patiently for him to get in the truck.

"Yeah, I'm coming," he muttered.

It was just too bad he got so little support at work.


The sight at the Alexandria park in which Cpl. Wickmar had been dumped was one of the more grotesque ones Tim had seen during his time with NCIS. Actually, the sight itself wasn't so bad; it was the smell that really got to him. The smell was not common to crime scenes as it wasn't simply the rancid smell of a dead body; this scent had a none-too-wonderful additive. Apparently, the rest of the team agreed with him on that one.

"Phew!" Tony groaned, waving his hand in front of his nose. "Did ever dog in a ten block radius take a collective dump here or something? Wish I hadn't left my Vicks at the office."

The body of Wickmar lay face-down in the grass with his hands bound behind his back. He was still wearing his military uniform, though it was now covered with grass stains, blood, and a few suspicious looking brown spots. Flies buzzed freely above him, walking about his lifeless frame.

"Flies are already zoning in," Kate commented. "He must have been here for a while."

Tony squatted down beside the body and examined the face of their dead Marine. Aside from the expression of horror and fear which his eyes and mouth had frozen into, there was another disturbing feature on his face. "Actually, Kate, I think that may have more to do with the crap covering his head."

"What do you-" she began to ask as she too squatted down. Then she stopped and nearly vomited. Cpl. Wickmar's face was covered in what—based on sight and scent—could only be bits of feces.

Tony stood, hand clamped over his nose. "Man, this guy would have gotten a bad case of pink-eye if he had survived."

Gibbs jumped in, doling out tasks. "Kate, talk to witnesses, starting with the guy who found him; Tony sketches; McGee, you…" he trailed off as he turned to the young agent. Tim was pale and was visibly trembling. He looked apt to upchuck at any moment. "McGee?" he asked. "You okay?"

The voice was a million miles away in Tim's mind. As he stood there, looking down at the former bully, a memory was pulled forth, a memory he thought he'd tucked away and locked up tight…

"Hey! Maybe geeks make good plungers!"

"C'mere, dork!"

"Guys…guys, please!"

"Don't worry, McGeek! This won't hurt a bit!"

"Remember to hold your breath!"

His eyes were closed as he felt it happen all over again. He felt the water submerge his head, covering his screams for help. He felt the disgusting bits of…stuff floating around in the water. He smelled and tasted it, rushing into his mouth and nostrils. He was pulled out, coughing and hacking. A line of brownish drool dripped from his mouth as he gasped for breath between angry sobs.

And then it was back in…

He'd once told Tony that he'd never had a swirlie. It was true. This had been far worse than a swirlie.

"McGee!"

Gibbs' bark pulled him from his trance. The older man was staring at him with a mixture of perturbation and concern.

"What's the matter? Smell getting to you?"

Tim didn't answer, nor did he nod or shake his head. He continued looking at the dead Marine. Gibbs could only imagine what vicious scene was playing out inside the young man's head. Had this dead man been a tormentor? Was Tim feeling relief and satisfaction? Or, perhaps, guilt?

He handed the camera to Kate. "Kate, you do photos. McGee, interview." He knew he wouldn't pull the truth from Tim at the moment, but the least he could do in the meantime was make sure the young agent was as far from the body as possible.

But Tim didn't move. He gulped, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. He was beginning to feel dizzy. Maybe it was the heat. Yes, he decided, it was the heat; the heat and the smell.

It took a not-so-gentle prod from Gibbs to get Tim into motion. He closed his eyes and made the trek to where the police were standing with the unfortunate morning jogger who had stumbled upon the ghastly sight.

Gibbs watched his youngest agent walk off, an uneasy feeling churning about in his gut. When they got back, he and Tim would have a talk. Something told him that Tim's reaction to the body had to do with more than just the horrid smell.

The young and brilliant computer geek was hiding something from him, and that didn't sit well with Gibbs.


AN: Thanks for the reviews, guys! Someone asked if this story would take place in Season 2 like My New Kitten, and as you can see, it will indeed!