A/N: I've decided to spilt "Secret Unkept" into multiple different stories. This one, now called "Knowing What We Know," is going to continue to follow what happens after Bishop confesses to McGee that Ziva's still out there.
"McGee, how the hell did you get here? Have you been driving?" Gibbs is scowling as he guides his senior agent towards the couch (with a bit more force than is strictly necessary.)
Satisfied with McGee's quiet "oof" as he lands haphazardly on the sofa, Gibbs steps back towards the front door for a moment to peek through the window. Sure enough, there's Tim's car, parked crooked on the street with all the skill of a man who's had much too much to drink.
Gibbs glances over at McGee again as he moves through the living room to the kitchen for a glass of water. Tim is sitting near the edge of the couch, head in hands, shoulders shaking silently. Gibbs sighs and hurries through the motions of finding and filling a glass.
"Drink."
McGee looks up, eyes red, to see Gibbs extending a glass of water towards him. He hesitates a moment before taking the glass; keeping his hand still enough to keep from spilling the water is proving to be much more difficult than usual. He takes a small sip, then realizes that Gibbs is waiting expectantly for him to finish the water, so he gulps it down quickly and sets the empty glass on the nearby coffee table.
Gibbs stares hard at his agent for a moment after he sets down the empty glass. He's seen Timothy McGee in all forms over the past fifteen years, but the look he's got going now – face red, beard damp (drinking neatly from the glass had been a real challenge), shirt wrinkled, and expression absolutely devoid of hope – has got to be one of his most pitiful. He's not sure what's going on; he's pretty sure McGee isn't this distraught over the way Torres was framed (it's not like Tim's never seen a teammate accused of murder before), so he is finding himself completely at a loss.
"Ah, Tim," Gibbs sighs. He joins McGee on the couch and sits quietly for a minute before saying softly, "You need to be more careful next time, McGee. Let me know you're here. I could've shot you." He shakes his head to himself as he remembers pointing his gun at his colleague and friend not twenty minutes ago.
"Shouldn'ta been stumblin' around so much," Tim concedes. "Was makin' too much noise." He's back to hanging his head, and between his terrible posture and his slurred speech, Gibbs is really having to work to understand him, but he gets the gist.
"No, you shouldn't've been," Gibbs agrees, then sighs, "But if I'm gonna keep leaving my door open, I can't go for my gun every time somebody wanders in."
McGee giggles roughly at that, and Gibbs rolls his eyes.
"What's going on, Tim?" He asks. McGee shirks back. Gibbs always was one to get straight to the point, and he supposes he should be grateful he's avoided the question for this long. Still, he says nothing.
Gibbs taps him on the arm. "Hey. McGee. What is going on?" Silence. Gibbs sighs, then stands up. "Alright, then, come on," he says, tugging McGee shakily to his feet.
McGee blinks. "Where're we goin', boss?'
"I got work to do downstairs. You can be here, but you're not staying up here by yourself. Next visitor could actually be dangerous, and you're pretty defenseless right now." Gibbs pauses for a moment, then slaps McGee – albeit gently – on the back of the head. "That's for driving drunk," he explains. He steps towards Tim, takes the other man's face between his hands and says very deliberately, "You need a ride somewhere, you call me. You don't get on the road if you've been drinking. You hear me?"
McGee swallows hard and has the decency to look embarrassed. "Yes, boss."
Gibbs nods. "Good. Let's go." He heads back towards the basement, listening carefully to make sure he hears still-drunk McGee clunking along behind him.
When they both finally make it downstairs, Gibbs watches McGee struggle to balance on a sawhorse for several moments before taking pity on him and grabbing him a folding chair from the basement's far corner.
"Thank you, boss," Tim mutters. Gibbs grunts an answer and turns back to sanding his latest boat.
Several minutes pass in relative silence before Tim says, "I'm really drunk, boss."
Gibbs goes still, then turns slowly over his shoulder. "No kidding, McGee," he agrees. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"
McGee swallows and shakes his head vehemently. "Can't. She said not to tell."
Gibbs furrows his brow, sets his tools back on his work desk, and perches on the sawhorse nearest McGee's chair. "Tim," he says, soft but fierce. If someone is screwing with his team, that's not something he's going to take lightly. "Who said not to tell? Are you okay?"
McGee just sniffs – he's quietly crying again – and Gibbs, against everything he stands for, decides to press the issue. "Is it Delilah?" he ventures. "Is she okay?"
This seems to strike a nerve. "Oh, God, D'lilah," Tim moans, and Gibbs' chest constricts. The last thing the McGees need is more trouble. "She's gonna be so mad," Tim continues, oblivious, and Gibbs blinks slowly.
"Because you're drunk?" he guesses. "Delilah's gonna be mad because you're drunk?"
McGee nods violently. "Left her 'lone with the kids to go drinkin'," he laments. "'m the worst husband ever."
In spite of everything, Gibbs laughs out loud. "Believe me, Tim McGee, you're not even the worst husband in this basement."
Gibbs is quiet for another moment, the silence broken only by McGee's sniffling tears. It's McGee who speaks next, looking over at Gibbs for the first time in several minutes. The look in his eyes nearly breaks Gibbs' heart as Tim whispers, "Why wouldn't she tell me, Gibbs?"
He has a sinking feeling he knows where this conversation is going, but he lets Tim keep talking for another moment to be sure.
"She told you, boss, an' she told Bish-op. Why'd she tell Bish'p insteada me?"
Yep, there it is. Gibbs swallows, takes a deep breath, and says, "Hold that thought, Tim." He hurries back up the stairs to lock the front door. It's been a long time since he last locked it, but if there was ever a conversation that called for it, it's this one.
"Alright, McGee," he calls as he heads back down the stairs and crosses the dimly-lit basement. He settles back onto his sawhorse and waits until he has Tim's full attention before he says, "How'd you find out?"
A/N: Stay tuned for the rest of McGee's conversation with Gibbs!