Fatherly Conundrums

By ProfessorElk

Disclaimer: The NCIS characters mentioned below are not mine and no profit has been made in the writing or posting of this story.

Summary: Sequel to my story Superman Soup: "The Admiral's expression was steely. 'I don't have a son. That relationship stopped the day you killed your mother.'"

Spoilers: Set after my story Superman Soup. It is not necessary to have read Superman Soup prior to reading Fatherly Conundrums, although it will help to clarify this story. General spoilers for NCIS Season 10, specifically 10x11 "Shabbat Shalom" and 10x12 "Shiva."

Chapter 2

The pale brown-gray bricks and impressive amount of glass made the building have an air of strength, power, and might. Five flags waved in the breeze above his head, reminding him of all the authority and influence that was housed in the structure. It was so different from his own building with the cheery rust red bricks, the simple entry, the guards that knew him by name and always greeted him with a warm welcome. This place felt so cold, so impersonal, so intimidating.

He visibly shook his head to rid himself of such thoughts. You're not thinking that way, McGee. A building can't be intimidating. The people can't be intimidating. You're not a probie anymore. You're an experienced special agent. Now go act like one.

Squaring his shoulders and taking a fortifying breath, he proceeded through the glass doors, nodding to a security guard who gave him a questioning look. He walked up to the front desk, the woman in a naval suit looking up from her computer screen as she felt his hovering presence. Smiling politely, she asked, "May I help you, sir?"

"Agent McGee, NCIS," he said in way of greeting, flashing his badge and shield and holding it out long enough so she could read it. "I need to speak with the officer in charge of foreign intelligence, specifically Israel. My team is working a case and needs some files."

"Do you have an appointment?" the woman asked, gaze turned back to her computer, fingers flying over her keyboard as she checked schedules.

"Um, no. Do I need one?" The confidence he had earlier tried to instill within himself was quickly disappearing. The frowning gaze the woman was giving him over the rim of her glasses was not helping his failing self-assurance.

"Let me call up there," she acquiesced begrudgingly. "Usually they don't accept walk-ins and schedules might be filled."

He mumbled his thanks as she picked up the landline, tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear as she dialed the number. She waited a few moments as the phone rang, unconsciously sitting up straighter in her chair when someone picked up on the other line. "Hi Emmy, its Sheila from downstairs. Is Captain Reynolds in yet? Oh, he is? Okay. I have a NCIS agent down here that says he needs to talk to the captain. Does he have a minute?"

She gestured for his badge, which he promptly handed to her. "Yeah, NCIS Special Agent Timothy McGee…Yup. Spelled the same and everything. Okay, thanks hun, I'll hold."

Her gaze swept the lobby, never stopping to rest on him while she waited for the woman on the other end of the line to speak. His own eyes flitted across the space, taking in the shiny tiled floors, the other clerks working at the front desk, all either on the phone or typing furiously at their computer stations. There were multiple security guards lined along the metal detector, one giving directions to a woman who was emptying her pockets and taking off her jewelry, another using a hand-held detector on a man, gesturing to the man's pocket, most likely instructing him to empty it. The guard he had greeted with a gaze before was still watching him intently, hand nonchalantly resting against his hip, right above his gun holster.

"Okay, thanks Emmy. I'll send him right up." She hung up the phone with an audible clack, passed him a visitor's badge, and peered over the rims of her glasses once more as she addressed him. "Captain Reynolds just got in and his next meeting is in fifteen minutes. He's agreed to see you, so you better hurry."

"Hey Doug!" the clerk called. The security guard that had been watching him carefully walked over. "Doug, this is Agent Timothy McGee, NCIS. He needs to get to Captain Reynolds' office on the fourth floor. Make sure he gets there, all right?"

"Sure thing, Miss Sheila," the man answered. Gesturing with his arm, the guard instructed, "This way, sir, through the security and then to the elevators."

He walked through the scanners without a problem, Doug following closely behind. The two proceeded to the elevators in awkward silence, him pressing the button to call the lift and Doug pressing the bottom on the inside of the machine to take them to the correct floor. The metal doors of the elevator closed, trapping the two together. He shifted uncomfortably as he watched the numbers above the door increase as they climbed each floor. He contemplated breaking the silence and making small talk, but one glance to the man next to him, permanent frown etched into his face, made him change his mind and opt to remain silent. Mercifully, the elevator car came to a halt, a bing announcing their arrival on the fourth floor.

Both exited the car, Doug leading the way. "It's this way, sir" he said, motioning with his arm to the right.

They approached another secretary desk, this one much smaller than the one downstairs. A different woman wearing a naval dress uniform was situated behind the desk, typing on her computer. Hearing them approach, she looked up and gave them a polite smile. "Agent McGee?"

"Yes," he answered, giving her a friendly half-smile.

She stood up and walked around the desk. "Captain Reynolds was able to fit you in. He's expecting you, so go right in. His office is at the end of the hall. He likes to keep his door open when he's there, so you won't have any trouble finding it."

He thanked her quietly, nodded politely to Doug, and made his way down the hallway to Captain Reynolds' office. He casually read the nameplates on the doors as he walked by, not really committing the information to memory. He came upon the last room along the hall, the door wide open, just as the secretary had indicated. Taking a fortifying breath, he knocked on the open door to announce his arrival, and entered.

A man similar in age to himself was placing papers and folders into his briefcase and looked up from what he was doing at the knock. "Agent McGee," he greeted, "Come in."

"Sorry about the mess," the captain apologized, glancing at the papers strewn across his desk. "What can I do for you, Agent McGee? Lieutenant Jacobs said it was something to do with information on Israel?"

He sat down in one of the chairs in front of the captain's desk, voice retaining civility but hardening with authority. "My team is leading an investigation against Ilan Bodnar, who murdered three people two months ago when he was in Washington, D.C. We need all the files and information you have on him to help us with our search."

Captain Reynolds' face contorted from surprise to confusion. "That's ridiculous! Mossad Deputy Director Bodnar would never kill anyone, at least without just cause."

A slight edge of anger crept into his voice when he retorted, "Is firing rounds into a residential house where a family was sitting down to dinner just cause, Captain?"

The captain blanched. "Ilan did that?"

"He put out the hit," he answered. Calming slightly, he asked, "Do you know Ilan Bodnar well?"

"Just as much as anyone could know who they worked with. We ran an operation together a year or so ago. You really think he did this?"

He nodded. "We know he did. We just need to find him. Can you get me his file?"

"Yeah, sure." The captain sounded dazed. "Let me just run a search for you." He turned to his computer and began to type. They waited in silence for a moment, his eyes scanning the office space as the captain searched. There were pictures on the wall, an older man and Reynolds in dress whites standing next to each other at a graduation ceremony, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, smiling brightly at the camera. A sound from the computer drew his attention away from the wall, as he quirked an eyebrow in silent questioning.

"It looks like I don't have high enough clearance to get that kind of information." Reynolds chewed on his bottom lip in contemplation. "My superior would, though. He's usually in by now, so let's go see if he has a minute."

They both stood up, Reynolds grabbing his briefcase as he made his way out the door, the federal agent right behind him. The pair walked through the hallway until they were almost back in the lobby, stopping at the door of the biggest office of the floor. Knocking first, Reynolds called out, "Admiral? It's Captain Reynolds, sir. I need your access to a file. Do you have a minute?"

The gruff, muted affirmative spurred Reynolds to begin to open the door, but caused him to stop abruptly from following. He knew that voice, and one glance to the nameplate on the door confirmed he was correct. There was no way to avoid it, though. No way out of a confrontation nearly a decade in the making. The door was already open to Admiral John McGee's office, and the man himself was staring at him with a stone cold expression on his face.

Oblivious to the tension, Captain Reynolds began, "Admiral, this is Special Agent McGee from NCIS. His team is investigating Ilan Bodnar and wants access to our files. I don't have high enough clearance to get it for him…" He was cut off by the ringtone of his phone.

"Excuse me, sir," he stated, as he answered the call. "Yes Lieutenant Jacobs? I'm with the Admiral. Right now? What time is it? Tell them I'll be there in a minute. Thanks Emmy."

The admiral continued the hard look during the phone conversation, to which he returned without flinching. Neither one looked away from each other when Reynolds ended his conversation and addressed them. "That was my morning meeting, sir. They need me so they can get started."

"Go on then, son," the admiral replied without breaking the gaze.

"Yes, sir." Reynolds was almost to the door when he stopped and turned around. "I couldn't help but notice that you both have the same last name. Any relation?"

"No," the admiral answered quickly. Reynolds did not notice the stricken look on his face, but his father did. "I don't have a son."

"Right." Reynolds looked uncomfortable, beginning to sense the strain in the room. "It's a common enough last name, I guess. I'll see you later, sir."

He closed the door softly behind him, leaving the two men alone. The admiral looked away first, turning to his computer and quickly began to type.

As his father typed, he walked over to the window behind the Admiral's desk. The view was spectacular. The office was situated high enough to be able to look over the Anacostia, and the clear day made the water sparkle under the sunlight. He easily found the Barry docked in the naval yard, and if he squinted, he could make out the red bricks of NCIS headquarters. Always so physically close to one another, yet so, so far away.

The whirl of the printer caused him to glance over to the Admiral, who had stopped typing, but did not turn around. The printer emitted a final beep as the last page was printed. His father said nothing, just remained fixated to the computer screen.

He walked over to the printer situated against the wall and picked up the sheets, flipping through them quickly, scanning the information. Finding that it included everything that he needed, he folded the papers and tucked them within the inside pocket of his coat. He proceeded to the door, fingers almost wrapped around the knob, when he paused.

Without turning around, shoulders shaking with suppressed emotion, he asked, "You really have nothing to say to me?"

"I don't have time for this," was the cold reply.

He spun around on the heel of his shoe, blue-green eyes meeting the matching pair across the room. "When have you ever, Dad? When Sarah had chickenpox, when Mom first learned she was sick, any of my graduations, when that guy was going after Penny? When NCIS blew up?"

The Admiral's eyes narrowed. "You got your damn papers. You're dismissed."

"Did you even think of me?" He dreaded the answer, but was unable not to ask. "You must have seen the smoke, at least, from your window. Maybe even felt the vibrations from the blast. Did you even once think that your son might be in that building?"

The Admiral's expression was steely. "I don't have a son. That relationship stopped the day you killed your mother."

The words cut him deeply, and he could no longer hold on to the mask he was trying so desperately to hide his emotions behind. "You know I did what Mom wanted." His voice shook. "She didn't want to be forced to live that way."

"So you forced her not to live at all," his father replied, twisting the allegorical knife in his heart, tone getting harder without rising in volume. "You are a disgrace to McGee name. You're a selfish bastard who rather have had his mother killed than take care of her. She was your own damn mother! You turned your back on this family, so don't you dare come into this office and think you can try to manipulate what really happened. You're not a hero here. You're a sick, perverted excuse of a man. You don't deserve to be called anyone's son. Get out."

He could feel the backs of his eyes stinging, but refused to give the Admiral the satisfaction of seeing him lose his composure anymore than he already had. He cleared his throat, trying to loosen the constricted feeling. He turned around to leave, hand hovering above the knob once more, but he made no indication to move farther. His voice was dead, but professional when he asked as an afterthought, "Captain Reynolds seemed close to Bodnar. What can you say about him?"

"He's the son I never had, the kind of man any father would be proud to call his own. Hardworking, respectful, loyal." There was a pause. "Someone to bring home at Christmas," the man added.

He flinched, thinking of his own past Christmas alone in an empty apartment watching the specials on television, leftover Chinese his only option because all of the fast food places were closed.

"You were at his graduation," he murmured, realizing now that the man in the graduation photo on Reynolds' wall was none other than his father.

The Admiral ignored him, instead vowing, "You come after him, you blame him at all for those deaths, you come after me. You understand?"

Not trusting his voice, he simple nodded.

"You ever want something from ONI again, call. We don't have time to pander to navy cops. Now get out."

His hand finally wrapped around the door knob, pulling the door open forcibly. He was gone before he could hear it slam closed behind him.

a/n: A big 'THANK YOU!' is due to all who have taken the time to read my story, and especially to all who left a review. I so greatly enjoy reading your responses, and your comments put a smile on my face. The next chapter, the epilogue, will be posted soon.