Line in the Sand
An NCIS Fanfic
By 00AwkwardPenguin00
Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or anything associated with it.
Author's Note: (*Peeks out from behind computer*) Ummm... hi? (*waves*) First off, I'm so, so, so, so, a million times so sorry for the... oh my G-d, it's been over a year, hasn't it?... incredibly late update. Unfortunately, I've had neither the time nor the motivation to work on this- and both of those things are my fault, the motivation thing especially. I love everyone on this site dearly, and you're all wonderful and supportive and give me horrible, awful cavities with your sweetness, but apparently being genetically predisposed to clinical depression screws up your brain chemistry and makes you look at all of these wonderful stats (49 reviews, 46 follows, bloody 35 favorites?!) and go "(le sigh) I can't do this, I'm too tired, I just barely managed to turn my f***ing computer on, I'll work on it tomorrow" and then pretty much ignore everything that makes life awesome and/or livable for weeks on end. So, yeah. It got to the point where I just couldn't handle four college classes at a time, and had to drop out of the university I'd been waiting to go to since I was fifteen. But I'm better now than I was- I have a job that rocks and drives me bonkers at the same time, I've finally figured out how I'm getting the three degrees I'm planning to get (very, very, very, very slowly- like one or two courses at a time slowly), and I've started writing again! YAY! So, without further ado, here is the very long awaited Chapter 3 of Line in the Sand. This chapter is dedicated to Nikara, who reviewed with a request to see Tim's teaching methods. Thanks so much for your patience, love, and I hope this satisfies! And for everyone else who has reviewed and/or PM'ed me with encouragement and ideas, thank you so, so much for your loyalty, and I'll do my absolute best not to keep you waiting like that ever again.
Tootles!
AwkPen
Chapter 3
Education
February 7, 1870
Roop's Point
Roop's Point Schoolhouse
Jared Vance had already taken his seat when he realized that the man at the chalkboard wasn't Mr. Davis.
"Hey, who's that?" Carson asked, sliding into his seat on Jared's right.
"I reckon he's the new teacher Daddy's been tellin' Momma 'bout," Jared replied. "He don't look much older than Kody- wonder how long he's gonna last."
"I believe I'll last long enough," the man said, not turning around from writing the date at the upper left corner of the enormous chalkboard. "The day's barely begun, Mr. Vance- don't count your chickens before they hatch."
Jared and Carson stared at each other, neither willing to ask the other how the man had known Jared's name.
The small schoolhouse quickly filled up, each student stomping the snow from his shoes and hanging up his wrap by the large cast iron stove in the back corner before taking his seat quietly and efficiently. The man had sat down at the large desk in front of the chalkboard and was eyeing the classroom with an unreadable expression, green eyes darting here and there. When the door stopped opening every few seconds, and the students had quieted down and were looking at him quizzically, the man stood and stepped to the center of the room. He clasped his large, thin hands behind his back, and began to recite, his eyes distant and slowly moving from side to side as though he were reading something only he could see.
"I was looking a long while for the history of the past for myself and for
these chants- and now I have found it.
It is not in those paged fables in the libraries, (them I neither accept
nor reject);
It is no more in the legends than in all else;
It is in the present- it is this earth to-day;
It is in Democracy- in this America- the Old World also;
It is in the life of one man or one woman to-day, the average man of to-day;
It is languages, social customs, literatures, arts;
It is the broad show of artificial things, ships, machinery, politics,
creeds, modern improvements, and the interchange of nations,
All for the average man of to-day."
He blinked, and looked around, smirking at the befuddled expressions Jared and his classmates all shared. "That was a poem entitled "The Past-Present", penned by Walt Whitman in 1868," he said. "We will be reading several poems such as that over the course of your time in my classroom, as well as several selections of prose of varying degrees of difficulty based on your levels of expertise. However, before we start down that path, a few housekeeping tasks."
The man strode back to the desk and picked up a small notebook. "When I call your name, and please forgive me if I mispronounce it, I would like you to stand and tell me your grade level, your birth date, and your favorite thing to do in your free time," he said, smiling. "I'll begin. My name is Timothy McGee. I'm your teacher, I was born on January 26, 1846, and in my free time, I love to read." He glanced at the notebook. "Kelp, Angela."
Angela, a slim girl with strawberry blonde hair and a round face, stood from her seat on the right side of the second to last row. "Here, Mr. McGee. I'm in tenth grade, my birth date is May 21, 1858, and my favorite thing to do during free time is paint."
"Thank you, Miss Kelp, I look forward to seeing your artwork," Mr. McGee replied kindly, nodding as he scribbled madly in the notebook. "Lee, Amanda."
A skinny Chinese girl tentatively rose from her seat on the right side of the first row. "Here, Mr. McGee," she whispered, practically quaking where she stood.
Mr. McGee looked at her with an unreadable expression, and Jared tensed in his seat. Poor Amanda was absolutely terrified of men, the way he was terrified of cattle stampedes, and could barely bring herself to put three words on a string in public. Mr. Davis, the schoolmaster before Mr. McGee, had simply ignored her, while a few men in town, usually the ones around Mr. McGee's age, would yell at her and slap her to get her to answer. Jared liked Amanda, for all of her mousy quietness, and hated it when people treated her badly. He wasn't sure yet what to think of Mr. McGee, but he knew that the way he treated Amanda would figure greatly in that decision.
"Are you all right, Miss Lee?" Mr. McGee said quietly, his voice kind. Amanda nodded, staring at the floor.
Jared couldn't stand it anymore. "Mr. McGee?" He called out, raising his hand. Mr. McGee's bright green eyes snapped in his direction.
"Yes, Mr. Vance, is it?" He asked blandly.
"Sir, Amanda don't talk much," Jared said. "If she don't mind, I can answer her questions for her."
Mr. McGee looked thoughtful, which Jared decided was the best possible outcome he could've gotten for his impulsive outburst. Mr. McGee didn't seem like a violent man, but he was tall, and looked pretty strong despite his skinniness. He really didn't want to get paddled on the first day of school with the new teacher.
"I appreciate your concern for your classmate, Mr. Vance," Mr. McGee said slowly. "To answer your question, yes, you may answer Miss Lee's questions in her stead, just for today. Miss Lee," he turned back to Amanda, his voice going soft and kind again, "I would like to speak to you privately a bit later. Would you like someone to accompany you?"
Amanda nodded, her face pale.
"Would you like Mr. Vance to accompany you, or someone else?"
"Jared, please," Amanda whispered.
"Mr. Vance, do you mind?" Mr. McGee asked, glancing back at Jared.
"No sir, Mr. McGee," Jared replied, shooting a reassuring smile at Amanda, who smiled timidly back.
"Good man, Mr. Vance," Mr. McGee said, grinning broadly at Jared. "That's very kind of you. Now, back to the matter at hand, if you please."
Jared rattled off the answers he knew Amanda would give if she wasn't so scared: she was in kindergarten (Mr. Davis had basically ignored her since the day she started school, and therefore she'd never had a chance to go up the grade levels), her birth date was December 4, 1862, and her favorite thing to do during free time was sewing.
"Thank you, Miss Lee, Mr. Vance, you may have a seat," Mr. McGee said. "Meyers, Kody."
Nobody answered, and Mr. McGee frowned. "Mr. Meyers."
"Mr. McGee, sir, Kody don't come to school much," Noah called out.
"Thank you, Mr. … Taffett," Mr. McGee said, still frowning, but more in confusion than annoyance. "Does anyone know any particular reason why Mr. Meyers is absent today?"
Jared raised his hand, and Mr. McGee nodded at him. "Kody could be stuck at home takin' care of his daddy, Mr. McGee," he said, trying not to get the older boy, despite his meanness, in trouble with the new teacher.
"He's probably drunk," Carson drawled carelessly, and Jared gritted his teeth in an effort not to smack his best friend silly.
Mr. McGee frowned, and scribbled something in his notebook. "Taffett, Noah," he called.
Noah slouched to his feet, hands in his pockets. "Here, sir," he called lazily. "I'm in seventh grade, my birth date is October 18, 1858, and my favorite thing to do during free time is skip rocks in the stream a few miles from town."
"A most relaxing pastime, Mr. Taffett, good choice," Mr. McGee said, smiling at Jared's friend, and Noah fairly puffed up with pride at the praise before sitting down primly. "Tanner, Zachary."
A tiny boy with a very stony expression on his face wriggled off of his seat and disappeared under his desk, reappearing in the aisle beside it. "Here, Mr. McGee," he said, and Jared had to stifle a grin at the ridiculousness of the boy's somber tone with his young, high voice. "Kindergarten, February 23, 1865, and carving."
"Rather stoic this morning, are we?" Mr. McGee murmured, scribbling once more in his notebook. Jared bit back a snicker- he was beginning to like this man. "At some point, Mr. Tanner, I'll introduce you to Sheriff Gibbs. He does a fair bit of carving; you could learn something from him. Taylor, Carson?"
Carson fairly leaped off his seat, nearly upending the bench with Jared still sitting on it. "Here, sir," he called with a broad grin. "I'm in seventh grade, my birth date is July 16, 1858, and I like to ride horses and go to the theater in my free time."
"Good Lord, it's another Tony," Mr. McGee muttered. "Thank you, Mr. Taylor, and do try to keep from upsetting your seat and dumping your poor seatmate on the floor? It's far too early in the morning for anyone to begin collecting schoolyard bruises."
"Sorry, Mr. McGee, sir," Carson replied, not looking sorry in the least.
Mr. McGee seemed to think the same thing, since he snorted in a very un-adult-like manner and scribbled once more into his notebook. "Vance, Jared."
"Here, sir," Jared answered, standing. "I'm in seventh grade, my birth date is August 7, 1858, and my favorite thing to do in free time is to walk 'round town with my daddy."
Mr. McGee smiled, somewhat sadly, Jared thought, and nodded at him. "Your father is a fine man, Mr. Vance," he said quietly, and Jared had the odd feeling that the man didn't say that about a lot of men. "Vance, Lily."
Jared's little sister bounced up from her front row seat and beamed at Mr. McGee. "Here, sir!" She piped. "I'm in first grade, my birth date is April 24, 1861, and my favorite thing to do in free time is play with my grass people."
"I look forward to meeting your grass people, Miss Vance," Mr. McGee said, returning her grin with one of his own, making him look even younger than he already was. And that clinched it for Jared- very few adults besides his parents and Sheriff Gibbs were so kind to his baby sister, whose high energy and somewhat distracted manner made her the despair of many adults who tried to get her to sit down and focus. Lily seemed to realize this as well, because she bounced on her seat, lit up like a birthday candle. Mr. McGee chuckled as he scribbled in his notebook. "If you can stand to sit still for a few more moments, Miss Vance, we will get up and play a game as soon as I am finished taking the roll. Five minutes, all right?"
"Yes sir, Mr. McGee," Lily said, her bouncing diminishing to a wriggle.
"Watson, Sandra?"
A thin, pale girl with light brown hair slowly rose from her seat in front of Jared, and stared straight ahead. "Here, sir," she said quietly. "I'm in kindergarten, my birth date is September 12, 1862, and my favorite thing to do in free time is sing."
"I'm sure you have a wonderful voice, Miss Watson," Mr. McGee said, smiling as he scribbled once more into his notebook. Finally, he snapped it shut and placed it back on his large desk. "All right, everyone, as I told Miss Vance a few minutes ago, we're going to play a game. I'm going to play some music, and while I'm doing so, you're going to dance. You can hop around the room, you can jig, you can walk, you can perform the Hokey Pokey- as long as you're in some sort of motion around the room. When I stop playing, you are to freeze in place. The first person I catch moving, has to answer a question for me. Does everyone understand?"
"Yes, Mr. McGee!" Everyone chorused. Jared was intrigued- they'd never played a game during school before. During recess, perhaps, but never inside the classroom and certainly never when they were supposed to be doing work.
"I only have three rules," Mr. McGee continued, placing a fiddle case on the desk and opening it. "First, you absolutely may not run in the classroom. Anyone I catch running will be made to sit in the corner behind my desk and will not be allowed to participate. Second, you must watch where you are going. Some of us move more slowly than the rest, or are smaller than the rest, and I will not have any injuries in my classroom on my first day, thank you very much. Thirdly, you must be perfectly honest about whether or not you move after the music stops. I cannot see everything, but I will not be taken advantage of. If you moved after the music stopped, you must make it known. Now, time for some fun. Is everyone ready?"
"Yes, Mr. McGee!" Jared and his fellow students replied, and Mr. McGee smiled and put the fiddle to his chin.
"Here we go," he said, and began playing a rousing rendition of Yankee Doodle.
Jared had never had so much fun in school before. Sure, it was a bit embarrassing to reveal how badly he danced, but he felt better when he realized that Carson and Noah were having as much trouble as he was. He nearly had a heart attack when he realized that Amanda was actually smiling, and dancing with Lily.
At first, the music started and stopped quickly, catching everyone off guard, but soon they learned not to be surprised, and after several tries, no one made any mistakes. Jared was relieved to learn that the questions Mr. McGee asked weren't too difficult, but they weren't exactly easy, either, and a few times he and his classmates had to concede defeat and say, "I don't know." Mr. McGee never penalized anyone for this, simply smiling and reassuring them that they would learn. Gradually, the musical interludes grew longer, once again catching Jared and his classmates off guard, until everyone had answered a question no less than five times.
Finally, Mr. McGee finished playing the song, having restarted after every freeze, and Jared and his friends slumped, panting, into their seats.
"Gee, Mr. McGee, you play swell," Noah gasped out.
"Why, thank you, Mr. Taffett," Mr. McGee replied, smiling as he placed his fiddle on top of the bookshelf next to his desk. "Now, is everyone sufficiently aired out? No cobwebs in our brains?"
"No sir," squeaked Amanda timidly.
"Very good," Mr. McGee shot Amanda a gentle grin, and Jared hadn't thought that the man could look any happier. "Now then, to business."
The rest of the morning flew by, as Jared, Carson, and Noah attempted to unravel a dastardly mathematics problem together. They had only gotten part of the way through when Mr. McGee broke through the noise of the classroom with a few high notes on his fiddle, nearly bursting Jared's ears and causing Sandy to cover her own.
"All right, everyone, time for dinner," he announced. "If you live here in town, you're free to go home for the next hour and a half, however, I want you back here before the tenth toll of the bell. If you don't live in town, I'd much rather you'd stay here, because it appears that Jack Frost has deigned to pay us a visit." He pointed with his playing stick at one of the windows, where snow could be seen gently falling. Another few piercing notes on the fiddle instantly silenced the sudden chorus of delighted gasps and shrieks. "Yes, it's very beautiful, I know, but what looks pretty now can be dangerous later, so anyone who does not live immediately in town is to stay here. If you didn't bring your dinner, Miss David was most kind enough to provide us with a stew. All right everyone, dismissed."
Jared left his slate and copy book on his desk, and hurriedly helped Lily into her wraps before throwing on his own. Daddy always had his dinner in his office in the Town Hall, if they were lucky, they might be able to join him. He couldn't wait to tell his daddy how much he liked Mr. McGee.
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Tim saw Mr. Vance eagerly suiting up to go outside, his younger sister already wrapped up like a caterpillar in a cocoon, and knew that he needed to seize the opportunity quickly.
"Mr. Vance," he called over the din of his students (His students! he thought with a thrill), "and Miss Lee, may I see you both for a moment?"
Tim saw a panicked expression cross Miss Lee's expression briefly, until Mr. Vance gently touched her arm and gave her a reassuring smile. Tim found himself smiling as well, thoroughly enjoying watching their interaction. Mr. Vance turned to his sister and said something, and Miss Vance nodded and skipped out the door. Mr. Vance then gently grasped Miss Lee's hand, and they wove their way through the classroom, dodging Mr. Taylor, who was attempting to balance a very large bowl of stew on his head.
Tim chuckled before calling out, "Mr. Taylor, this is a classroom, not a circus ring, so take that bowl off your head, if you please. If you must insist on practicing your balance in such a matter, remember that if you are unsuccessful, you will be the one responsible for cleaning up the mess."
Mr. Taylor immediately took the bowl off of his head, a sheepish expression on his face. By this time, Mr. Vance and Miss Lee had appeared in front of his desk, and Tim crouched down so that he was looking up at them both, eliciting a surprised look from Mr. Vance, and thought for a moment about what he wanted to say.
"Miss Lee," he said quietly, looking at her face, even though she wouldn't meet his eyes, "if at any point you are uncomfortable in my classroom, please let me know, either through Mr. Vance if he is willing, or some other way. I want you to enjoy coming to school, to feel comfortable and safe here, and if you don't feel that way, I want to know what I can do to help you come to feel that way. I do not yell at my students if I can help it, I do not strike my students for any reason, and I will not ignore a student simply because he or she is not comfortable in my classroom or presence. You have no reason to fear me, Miss Lee, although I know how little that really matters to you right now, since you don't know me well enough to believe what I say. However, I will say it every day if I must, and eventually I hope you'll come to believe it. Do you have any questions for me?"
Miss Lee blinked, meeting his eyes for the first time, and studied him for a few minutes before turning to Mr. Vance and whispering in his ear. He nodded, and pinned dark brown eyes, magnified slightly by large, round wire-rimmed spectacles, on Tim.
"Amanda wanna know who hit you, Mr. McGee," he said, as Miss Lee hid slightly behind him.
Tim smiled. Miss Lee, despite her timid behavior, appeared to be quite a discerning young lady. "My father was a drunk, Miss Lee," he explained, "and very frustrated with his fortunes. He often took his anger and frustration out on me, since I wouldn't let him near my baby sister." He paused, and then, very quietly asked, "Who hit you, Miss Lee?"
Miss Lee blinked at him again, then whispered once more in Mr. Vance's ear. The boy's eyes widened in shock, and his dark African complexion paled significantly as he swallowed heavily.
"Amanda say a bunch of men took her when she was a babe, and she grew up with 'em hittin' her and slappin' her 'round," Mr. Vance said shakily. "They did other things to her too, but I don' wanna say those, 'cause they're real bad things. Amanda say that when her big sis and Sheriff Gibbs found her, she don't speak a word, 'cause she was scared to get hit again. That was three year ago, and men like you still hit her 'cause they want her to talk normal."
"Men like me… men my age, you mean?" Tim asked, because he had to think about something other than that sweet little girl, just a year younger than his own baby sister, growing up in such brutality or else he was going to put his fist through the wall, and that would only serve to scare both of them even more than they already were.
Mr. Vance nodded, and Miss Lee burrowed further into his back.
Tim bit back a sigh. "Miss Lee, thank you for sharing this with me," he said quietly. "I promise that I will do everything in my power to ensure that you feel safe and comfortable here, and I hope that you come to trust me enough to speak to me yourself. You're both dismissed."
Mr. Vance nodded, and fixed Tim with a piercing gaze. "And thankee, for listenin' to Amanda insteada ignorin' her or slappin' her 'round," he said. "Daddy says you live with Sheriff Gibbs. Can you ask him to 'rrest anybody who hits her? I think that'd make her feel awful better, Mr. McGee."
Tim stared at Mr. Vance for a split second before recovering himself. "You can rest assured, Mr. Vance, that I will be bringing the matter to the Sheriff's attention this very night," he said firmly. "When I told Miss Lee that I would do everything in my power to help her feel safe, I did mean absolutely everything."
Mr. Vance nodded. "Thankee 'gain, Mr. McGee. C'mon, Amanda, you're comin' to Town Hall with me and Lily and havin' dinner with us and my daddy," he said, gently grasping Miss Lee's hand and leading her away. She quickly whispered in his ear, and he grinned and nodded at her. "Sure she can, if she ain't too busy workin'. Let's go ask her."
Tim watched them wrap up and leave, memories playing behind his eyes, until he happened to spot Miss Watson attempting to reach the ladle of the stewpot, standing dangerously on her tiptoes and searching around with ghosting fingers.
"Miss Watson, if you would be so kind to wait a moment, I would be very happy to assist you," he called, making his way over to the stove and snatching her hand away before she stuck it in the wrong place and burned it, ignoring the dark scowl that appeared on her face.
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David's Saloon
Both the Mayor and the Sheriff were sitting at the bar in the saloon when Robert trudged in after school let out for the day, stomping the fresh snow from his shoes and trousers. He barely looked at them as he navigated through the warm, crowded room, deep in thought about his observations of the young McGee.
He'd never seen someone so comfortable in such a chaotic environment as a classroom. At first glance, he would never have labeled McGee as someone like that. The man was so skinny and pale that he looked like a stiff wind would blow him right over, but he handled those children, some of whom Robert himself had given up on, masterfully. Quite frankly, using the violin to arrest attention was a stroke of genius, as was the game he'd started out with.
"So, whaddya think?" The Sheriff asked, barely managing to hide a smirk.
Robert shook his head, sitting down heavily beside the Mayor. "Sheriff, I don't know where you found that boy, but damned if I've never seen a more natural born teacher in my life," he sighed. "He's young, and he's a bit rough around the edges, but the only things he needs in those respects are time and experience. I'd be a fool to get rid of him, now or ever."
The Sheriff turned to the Mayor and grinned. "You owe me five dollars," he said.
The Mayor rolled his eyes and handed the older man a coin. "Go crazy, Gibbs," he grumbled. Turning back to Robert, he grinned sheepishly. "I'm very glad you said so, Robert, since both of my children seem to think that the sun rises and sets on McGee's bootlaces. I don't want to imagine the uproar I'd hear from the students if you tried to get rid of him."
"That mean you're done watchin' him like a hawk watches a mouse?" The Sheriff asked.
"Yes, I've seen all I need," Robert replied. "As of this moment, I'm officially retired."
The Mayor and the Sheriff both grinned broadly, and the Sheriff flicked the winnings of his bet over to Robert. "Here, Davis, get yourself a couple rounds and celebrate," he said, sliding off of his stool.
Robert blinked and caught the coin mostly by accident. "Thank you, Sheriff, I think I will," he said slowly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd tasted alcohol… he'd had to set an example for his students, after all. But now he was retired… he could relax… it was a rather nice feeling.
"Miss David," he called, "a round of your finest brandy."
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Roop's Point Schoolhouse
Gibbs entered the slightly dilapidated building to find McGee sitting at the large desk in front of the chalkboard, scribbling frantically in a notebook that looked like it'd seen as much wear and tear as its owner had.
"Still here, McGee?" He asked, and the younger man jumped and nearly upended his inkbottle.
"Er, aye, B-Boss," he stammered, blinking sheepishly at him, "n-night class tonight."
Gibbs nodded, studying his boarder. The kid looked exhausted, but satisfied at the same time. "Kids run you ragged?"
"T-They wouldn't be s-so if they d-didn't," McGee replied with a small smirk. "B-But it's worth it i-if they enjoy themselves w-while learning at the s-same time."
"Whatcha writing there?" Gibbs came up carefully behind the younger man and peered over his shoulder. However, the words, while well formed and certainly legible, were in some language that Gibbs couldn't read- most likely Irish.
"Oh, j-just some observations about the c-children," McGee said quietly. "The w-way they behaved, w-what they enjoyed, w-what they disliked, their r-reactions to things I s-said or did, their progress i-in their studies. I-It helps me p-plan lessons, and d-determine if anything is w-wrong if they b-behave differently than w-what I normally observe."
Gibbs blinked. He knew McGee was the scientific type, but he'd never thought that he'd use that to teach. "Impressive," he remarked.
"Thank you," McGee replied, scribbling once more. Gibbs leaned against the chalkboard (first making sure that it was free of chalk and chalk dust), and watched him, noting in surprise when he switched the pen over to his left hand and started up again like he'd never stopped.
A few minutes later, McGee suddenly paused in his scribbling, placing his pen down and leaning back in his chair. He began muttering rapidly in Irish, staring out the windows in the front of the schoolhouse. Gibbs thought he caught the names "Lee" and "Kody Meyers" somewhere in the mass of soft murmuring.
"Michelle Lee come see you today?" Gibbs asked, taking a stab in the dark at what the younger man could possibly be muttering about.
The rapid murmuring stopped as the Irishman turned wide, surprised green eyes on the older man. Then he blinked, and shook his head. "No, but I d-did have the pleasure to speak t-to Amanda Lee," he replied.
This time it was Gibbs's turn to be surprised, although he was much better at hiding it. "Amanda actually spoke to you?"
"In a w-way," McGee murmured vaguely. "I asked q-questions, Miss Lee whispered the a-answers in Mr. Vance's ear, and Mr. Vance r-relayed them back to me. It was not an ideal s-situation, but it was a promising start. At l-least she didn't become completely unresponsive, which I w-wouldn't have blamed her for in the least." Fierce green eyes pinned his, as dark brown eyebrows furrowed furiously. "W-Were you aware, Sheriff, that Miss Lee's elective mutism has been prolonged and exacerbated by the treatment she's been receiving from Mr. Davis and other townsmen? Mr. Vance has told me explicitly that she has been deliberately sneered at and ignored by Mr. Davis, and routinely slapped by townsmen in an effort to quote "get her to talk normal" unquote?"
Gibbs wanted to sigh, but instead met the Irishman's gaze calmly and said, "Yeah, I was."
He didn't think it was possible for the normally placid younger man to look even more irate, but then again, he was Irish, and the Irish were infamous for their explosive tempers. "Do you mean to tell me, Sheriff, that you were aware of this, and yet did nothing?"
"My hands were and are tied, Mr. McGee," Gibbs replied coolly, glaring right back at the red-faced teacher. Then he softened his gaze. "I hate it as much as you do, son, but I can't arrest someone for assault unless I have physical proof or an eyewitness account."
A muttered Irish curse brought a smirk to his lips, and he waited a few beats before adding, "But I can open an investigation, if ya think it'll help. Gotta warn ya, though, can't promise much jail time, or even if we'll have much of a case. People 'round here don't take kindly to havin' their "private affairs" bein' poked around in."
"How on earth does routine minor abuse of a little girl qualify as "private affairs"?" McGee grumbled, shaking his head. "No, if you don't think you'll get much of a case, it might be best to wait a bit. The poor girl needs some time to get used to things here, before we try changing anything out there. I just promised Mr. Vance that I would bring it to your attention tonight. Now, what do you know about Kody Meyers?"
"Kody not show up today?" He asked.
"No, and when I asked the class where he might be, Mr. Vance said that he might be taking care of his father, and Mr. Taylor said something about him being drunk again," McGee explained, frowning worriedly.
Gibbs frowned as well. "Kody's the son of the town drunk," he said. "If the boy ain't drunk himself, he's takin' care of his pa or workin' the homestead to keep the bank from foreclosin' on 'em. Boy's ma died four years ago, causin' Ken, Kody's pa, to crawl into a bottle. He ain't taken a peek out since."
Gibbs could read the stark alarm in McGee's eyes before the boy had even opened his mouth. "Is Kody all right? Does he need help? His father hasn't hurt him, has he?"
"Hold on just a minute, McGee," Gibbs said. "Kody's the violent drunk in the family, not Ken. Boy's fine, just in over his head."
McGee released a gusty sigh of relief and slumped back in his chair. "Thank G-d," he said quietly. "So, what's been done that hasn't worked?"
Gibbs cocked an eyebrow at the odd question. "Don't ya mean, what do we do?"
"There's no point in following an avenue of inquiry that's already been disproven," McGee replied. "Worse is following it multiple times despite its obvious failure. Knowing what's been done before can help clear the way to a solution that actually works."
Well, Gibbs couldn't argue with that logic. "'Bout six months after Kody's ma, Angela, died, Kody was found full as a tick and shootin' his pa's rifle in the air right in the middle of Main Street, hollerin' somethin' about the damn angels holdin' his ma hostage. A few days in lockup dried him out, but when Tony and I took him home, we found his pa passed out on the floor of their shanty, stinkin' so badly of booze you could smell it half a mile away. A few families 'round town took Kody in, but it never lasted very long. He'd run off, or do somethin' to cause the family to kick him out or hand him off to someone else. Eventually, no one wanted to take him, and he's spent the last three and a half years splittin' his time between takin' care of his pa, workin' their farm, and drying out in my jail cells. Boy's spent more time in my jail than a good bunch of men twice his age. Everyone's given up on him."
McGee's eyes narrowed, and to Gibbs's shock, the normally placid young man practically growled. "Has anyone ever tried to talk to him? Instead of punishing him for acting out, has anyone tried to treat the cause, instead of just the symptoms?"
For a moment, Gibbs thought he was talking to Ducky, but furious green eyes immediately banished that notion. He swallowed heavily, suddenly realizing his mistake, the mistake every single person in town was guilty of making. "Can't say anyone has, McGee."
McGee's eyes pierced him for a few more seconds, before closing as he sighed heavily. "The damage has already been done," he said quietly. "It'll take much longer for him to start trusting people again, after four years of people simply pushing him away. He's going to be angry, and belligerent, and he's not going to listen to anything anyone has to say. He'll be looking for proof that people care about him, actual, physical proof, not words. Words are just sounds, they don't mean anything, really."
Gibbs's brow furrowed. "Harvard?" He asked.
"No."
The older man blinked. McGee's expression was hard, his eyes distant, voice flinty.
"Experience."
Gibbs nodded slowly, sensing that the conversation needed a new direction. "Davis is retirin' for good," he said suddenly, and hurriedly hid a smirk at the wide, surprised green eyes that whirled around to land on him.
"I've still got two days!" He gasped. "He was supposed to observe for two more days! How can he make a decision this quickly? What if I mess up?"
Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Man was singin' your praises in David's, McGee," he growled. "Davis don't compliment easy, but he couldn't stop goin' on and on 'bout you."
"But… but…"
"No buts, boy," Gibbs replied. "He decided so soon because he's confident in your abilities, McGee. He's confident in you. Dammit boy, you're a fine teacher, and he knows that with only a day of watchin' ya with these kids. He never woulda considered hirin' you in the first place if he didn't think you could hack it."
McGee sighed. "Can I hack it?"
"Doin' a pretty good job so far, I reckon," Gibbs replied simply. "And I'd be the first one to tell ya otherwise."
The smile McGee gave him was tentative, but grew stronger when Gibbs smirked at him in return.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Roop's Point Schoolhouse
Tony jumped down from Ferarri's saddle and picketed him a few feet from the fence surrounding the schoolyard. It was McGee's first night of adult education classes, and Gibbs had sent Tony to make sure that none of the field- and ranch- hands that made up a majority of the students in the classes made trouble for the younger man trying to get them to learn to read.
He walked up to the whitewashed board fence and leaned on his forearms on it, watching the slow trickle of people going into the schoolhouse. He hadn't set foot in the building since he was twenty-two, four years ago. He and Davis hadn't gotten along at all, which had made trying to learn the basics like reading and math hell for the both of them. Gibbs had finally stopped making him go after he'd threatened to burn the place down, Deputy Sheriff or no, and he'd walked proudly out of the building with an eighth grade education.
When it finally looked like nobody else was going to show up, Tony gave Ferrari a pat and moseyed into the schoolhouse, planting himself in the back of the room and leaning against the wall next to the door. Almost all of the desks in the room were full of murmuring field- and ranch-hands, and McGee himself stood in his vest and shirtsleeves with his back to the room at the chalkboard, writing something in some fancy script Tony had never seen before and couldn't make heads or tails of. When he finished, he placed the chalk back on the little wooden running board beneath the chalkboard and turned to face the room, hands clasped primly behind his back.
"Good evening, gentlemen," he called, his tone pleasant enough, but with an odd undertone that Tony hadn't heard him use before. Whatever it was, it did a damn good job of silencing the room, something that both shocked and greatly impressed Tony. "If you didn't already know, my name is Timothy McGee, and I will be teaching adult education on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights. Tonight, and every Monday night until spring planting begins, we will be covering reading skills, both the mechanics of reading and reading comprehension. I am now going to arrange seating by skill level, so that I have a good understanding of what everyone needs to work on the most."
Tony watched silently as McGee patiently tested the skill level of each man in the room, smiling encouragement when needed and scowling firmly when anyone tried to downplay their skills to get into easier classes. Finally, each man had been given a new seat in the classroom based on how well they'd done, and McGee set his gaze on Tony.
"Deputy DiNozzo, please recite the alphabet," he asked.
"Huh?" Tony blinked, surprised. "Wait, I ain't here for schoolin', Gibbs just sent me here to keep an eye on things for ya, McGee."
The younger man's gaze grew chilling, and Tony found himself wanting to squirm under the cold green eyes.
"Deputy DiNozzo," McGee replied, carefully pronouncing every syllable in a tone that made Tony cringe inwardly, "I am perfectly capable of keeping my classroom under control, a fact of which Sheriff Gibbs is very much aware. Therefore, if he sent you here, then he meant for you to attend to the studies I set you as a student, not to doze next to the stove and take up valuable space in my classroom. If you refuse to follow my instructions while in this building, then I will ask you to leave. Am I clear?"
Tony gulped, trying to figure out when the timid, stuttering younger man of last week became this fierce, intimidating schoolmaster who could give Gibbs a run for his money. He thought for a split second whether or not he should just leave and risk Gibbs's wrath, but quickly decided that it wasn't worth the concussion's worth of headslaps he'd get for leaving his post.
"Yessir, crystal," he replied.
"Now then, the alphabet, if you please, Deputy."
Tony recited the letters, and then read the progressively difficult sentences written in normal writing on the board. He had to stop when he got to the fancy script writing, but McGee seemed impressed all the same, although he didn't say anything. He found himself seated near the back of the classroom, next to Jimmy Palmer, of all people.
"What the hell are you doin' here, Gremlin?" Tony whispered, as McGee began lecturing.
"Dr. Mallard is always saying that I need to work on my reading skills, and I was curious about Mr. McGee's teaching style," Palmer shrugged. "Miss Amanda couldn't stop talking about him."
"Speaking of, how's your courtship with Ms. Lee goin'? We gonna hear weddin' bells soon?" Tony teased.
Before Palmer could reply, McGee appeared out of thin air in front of them, scowling darkly. "Deputy DiNozzo, Mr. Palmer, I expect your complete attention when within my classroom," he growled. "If I catch the pair of you conversing during a lecture again, you will both be asked to leave, understood?"
Both Tony and Palmer nodded dumbly, while inwardly, Tony fumed. He'd told Gibbs that he was done with book learning- as long as he could read wanted posters, case files, and inventories, could count up steers for herding, and could calculate bullets and prices, he didn't need to know how to read a G-d damn book.
A small packet of papers landed on the desk in front of him, and Tony blinked at McGee in confusion.
"Your assignment for the evening," McGee explained. "Read it, solve it, and then report to me and tell me about it. Once you've done that, you're free to go." He turned to Palmer and handed him another packet, repeating his instructions.
Tony sighed, and opened up the packet. Case File: Deep Six- Murder on the New York Docks.
Well, that's different, Tony thought, scanning the clear longhand on the pages. Davis had made him read ridiculous fairy tales and fables, things the little kids in his class had eaten up, but only promised boredom of the highest degree for a fourteen year old who had never set foot in a classroom before. But this- this actually looked interesting.
Before Tony knew it, he had his notebook out and was frantically scribbling down notes, reading through the file once, twice, three times. The victim was an Irish dockworker, twenty years old, stabbed once in the chest and left for dead on the Boston docks where he worked. Time of death was thought to be around three in the morning, caused by his heart being sliced clean open. No witnesses, although some of the other workers had said that they'd seen the man get into an argument with another man the day before. The victim had no family, lived alone in a room in a boarding house five minutes walk from the docks, and was generally even tempered, well mannered, and well liked by all. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason for his death. The murder weapon, a large carving knife typically used by butchers, was found at the man's feet.
For a moment, Tony was stumped. This just seemed like a random dockside killing, common enough for that area of New York City. But something in the back of his mind and deep in his gut told him to look again, because if he knew McGee, then there had to be something more.
What about the guy he was arguing with the day before he died? Tony wondered. He leafed through the packet to see if McGee had thought to include that line of questioning. Sure enough, he found a page describing a witness's statement about the argument, and a drawing of the victim's opponent.
Male, 21-22, well-off looking but not well-to-do, very strong arms, Tony thought, studying the drawing. He turned to the witness statement. Never seen him before… ranting and cursing at victim… said something about a party… victim scoffed and brushed man off… man screamed something about getting what he [the victim] deserved and stormed off…
Party… party… what kind of party? Tony mused, only slightly more confused than he'd been before.
There had to be something he was missing, a connection he wasn't making. McGee was the most analytical, thorough man he'd ever met- whether or not he'd made the case up, he would've made damn sure to have every single scrap of information he could get his hands on before turning it over to a real investigator. But he was also one of those creative writer types who could find meaning and purpose in a rock. If this case had been made up (and Tony was pretty sure it was, he'd never seen a case file so damn detailed), then there had to be a reason for every single word. McGee was obsessive like that.
Wait… an Irish dockworker… there's a reason McGee wants me to know that… Tony blinked, and suddenly everything fell into place.
An Irish dockworker…
A well-off, but not well-to-do young man…
A party…
Getting what he deserved…
"The bastard's not going to a party, he's a member of a party," Tony hissed triumphantly. "He's a nativist."
Now that he'd figured it out, Tony couldn't make out how he hadn't seen it. New York was a hotbed of crime and gang violence, exacerbated by the influx of new immigrants over the last several years. For whatever reason, a growing faction of people had decided that America didn't need any foreigners, and were very, very opposed, sometimes to the point of violence, to immigration, especially towards Catholics, primarily from Ireland, but really of any nationality. To be perfectly honest, it confused the hell out of Tony, despite his nearly encyclopedic knowledge of New York gangs and their affiliations, rivalries, and activities. However, despite the confusion of their cause, Tony knew fanaticism when he saw it.
He had no doubt now that the man the victim had fought with the previous day was the murderer. The knife used to kill the victim had been of good-quality- not the best, but good enough to be a bit pricier than a typical household knife. One that only a well-off man of the trade would've been able to afford. And it would've taken quite a bit of arm strength to punch even a very sharp knife through the nearly rock hard bone above the heart, strength that only a butcher, or someone with very strong arms, would have.
Tony looked over his notes one more time, making sure that he had everything, and then rose from his seat and strode confidently over to McGee's desk. The man looked up from the book he was reading and smiled lightly.
"Finally finished, Deputy?" He asked, amusement ringing through the nearly musical words as his bright green eyes danced.
Tony frowned in confusion. "Whaddya mean finally?" He asked.
McGee simply smirked and nodded his head at the classroom. Tony turned, and blinked at the completely empty room.
"Where'd everybody go?" He asked, wincing as his voice pitched up in his surprise.
"Class began at seven o'clock, it is now almost ten, Deputy," McGee replied, laughing. "Well, let's see if you managed to solve a cold case in three hours."
Tony nodded and consulted his notes. Pretending that he was reporting to Gibbs, he outlined his conclusions about the case quickly and succinctly: the dockworker had been mistakenly believed to be a member of the Boodle Gang, notorious butcher cart hijackers, by one of the gang's victims, who happened to be a nativist and was inclined to believe the worst of the victim simply on principle. The Nativist had tracked down the victim and confronted him, resulting in the argument the day before the victim's death. However, the Nativist had refused to accept that he had been wrong, and had lured the victim to the docks and stabbed him through the heart with his best butcher knife.
McGee nodded and smiled grimly. "Completely correct, Deputy," he said quietly. "The murderer, one Trevor Cobb, was a well known and well respected butcher in the area and a loud and proud member of the Know-Nothing Party. The victim, Tommy O'Brian, had arrived from Ireland a year previous with exactly twenty cents in his pocket. Cobb tracked O'Brian down because he looked marginally similar to the ringleader of the Boodle Gang, but he killed O'Brian because he was Irish." McGee sighed, looking terribly sad for a moment, before shaking his head and visibly hardening himself, a process that made Tony blink in surprise. But before he could say anything, McGee stuck his hand out. "Notes and casefile, please," he requested.
Tony handed them over, and McGee paged through the small notebook that the older man carried everywhere. "Handwriting's atrocious," he muttered.
"Thank you," Tony replied, shooting a beatific smile at the teacher. McGee scowled at him.
"That was not a compliment, Deputy," McGee growled. He looked back down at the notebook. "Could do with some vocabulary expansion, seems to have a moderate grasp of basic grammar, eighth grade education, I presume?"
"Yes, sir," Tony replied. "That was as far as I got before I got sick of Davis trying to cram fairy tales down my throat. Walked out when I was twenty two, and Gibbs couldn't do a damn thing to stop me."
McGee tried to keep his stern teacher face on, but Tony could see a tiny twitch at the corner of the younger man's mouth that could have been a suppressed smirk.
"Be that as it may, Deputy, there is always room for improvement," he said blithely. "When did you begin schooling?"
"Fourteen, after Gibbs adopted me," Tony replied.
McGee blinked, obviously surprised. "That late? May I ask why?"
Tony shrugged. "Twelve of being pretty much ignored by my sleazebag of a father, then two years on the streets," he drawled. "Mama tried to get me to learn some letters before she died, but I was too young to keep up with them afterward, and mio padre was too busy at the races to give a damn."
McGee nodded absently, and Tony was relieved to see that there was no pity in the younger man's face. "I know you're still completely fluent in Italian, and tolerably in English, are there any other languages that I should know about?" He asked.
"The family cook was from Mexico, taught me some Mexican Spanish," he said.
A dark brown eyebrow cocked up. "Impressive," McGee said simply, and Tony couldn't figure out if he was talking about the Mexican Spanish or the fact that he'd had a family cook.
McGee scribbled something in his own notebook before handing Tony's back. "Well, you're free to go," he said. "It's getting late, and don't you have morning shift tomorrow?"
Tony nodded frowning. "What about you? Ain't you comin'?"
"Not yet, I still have a few things I need to do around here before I lock up," McGee replied. He turned back to his desk, obviously expecting Tony to simply shrug and walk away.
And two months ago, Tony would have, but something made him stay and ask, "Can I help?"
"May I help," McGee corrected absently. He blinked as Tony's words penetrated, and looked up at the tall foreman in shock. "You want to help? I would've thought you'd prefer to go home and go to sleep."
"You have to get up just as early as I do, McGee, and them kids don't deserve your morning grumpiness, which is goin' to be a lot worse if you gotta deal with me bein' bright eyed and bushy tailed," Tony retorted.
McGee still gaped, but quickly shook himself and snapped his mouth shut. "Well, most of what I need to finish is paperwork, but if you wouldn't mind giving the floor a quick sweep, that would be very helpful, thanks," he said hesitantly, and for a brief second, Tony saw the timid, beaten down young man he'd rescued from the snow two months ago.
"No problem," Tony replied with a grin, spotting a broom in the corner. He grabbed it and began sweeping, as McGee continued to scribble and mutter to himself.
Finally, McGee put his pen down and closed his notebook, reaching his arms up above his head to stretch. He quickly put his things away and stood, quickly tying his cravat and tucking it under his vest, and then shrugging into his frock coat. He wrapped himself up in his duster, tugged that G-d-awful gray cap onto his head, and nodded at Tony.
"Ready to go?" He asked.
"Yessir," Tony replied, tossing the broom back into the corner of the room. The floors had been swept sparkling at some point that evening, so Tony felt no shame in completely abandoning his work. The pair banked the coals in the stove, doused the kerosene lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and exited the building, Tony heading straight for the large dark shape that was his horse standing just beyond the schoolyard fence.
"Oh, Ferrari, il mio destriero galante, il mio migliore amico, ho lasciato tutto da solo?" He called, jogging towards the large Quarter Horse. Ferrari, having been awoken from a rather pleasant nap by his rider's caterwauling, slowly lifted his head and snorted dismissively. "Aw, amico mio, non essere così," he groaned, slapping the horse good-naturedly on the shoulder. "Non volevo lasciarti qui per tanto tempo. Prometto che ce la farò a voi..." He checked the girth and bridle out of habit before looping the reins over his arm and yanking up the picket stake.
"Okay, McGee, we're ready to ride- where'd he go?" Tony blinked and glanced around, wondering if the late winter darkness had swallowed up the schoolteacher and if so, what on earth was he going to tell Gibbs? But he caught a glimpse of a dim bobbing light in the distance.
Tony mounted up and urged Ferrari into a canter after the light. He quickly caught up to find that McGee was making his slow but steady way through the half frozen slush that covered the packed dirt streets of the dark and silent town. He had no doubt that if he didn't stop the mad Irishman, the stubborn fool would probably walk all four miles back to the ranch.
"Hey, McGee!" He called, pulling Ferrari up alongside the younger man. "Tell me you ain't walkin' all the way back to the ranch by yourself, 'cause that's just plain bone-headed stupid!"
"Alright, I won't," McGee replied simply.
Tony gaped. "Ya can't walk out here by yourself McGee, it ain't safe! There's wolves and cougars and coyotes and bears, not to mention Apaches! You'd get yourself scalped!"
Even in the flickering lantern light, Tony could see McGee's dubious expression clear as day.
Tony growled to himself. "Fine, don't believe me," he said. "Just don't come cryin' to me when some cougar rips you to shreds 'cause you was stupid enough to go walkin' at night by yourself without even a knife to protect ya."
McGee simply shrugged, and continued walking. Tony sighed and swung down from Ferrari's saddle mid step, quickly falling into step beside the younger man, leading Ferrari by the reins.
They walked for the better part of an hour, the winter silence broken only by the clopping of Ferrari's hooves on the frozen dirt road. Tony kept sweeping his gaze from left to right and back, determined to catch any predators stalking them before they struck.
Finally, they made it to the ranch, and McGee accompanied Tony to the barn to take care of Ferrari. While Tony removed Ferrari's tack and rubbed the stallion down, McGee said hello to Nonna, Charger, and Diane, as well as Stephanie, a Mustang mare Tony and Gibbs had rescued a few years ago, and her colt, who they were calling "Bud". Gibbs hadn't yet decided if he wanted to sell Bud or not, but as Tony rubbed Ferrari down, he watched McGee rubbing Bud's face and ears and cooing softly at him in Irish, and saw that Bud's ears, normally turned down against himself and Gibbs, were perked interestedly in McGee's direction.
Well, if McGee's gonna be a ranch hand, he's gonna need a horse that's up to the job, he thought absently. Bud ain't given me and Boss the time of day, but he seems to like Probie okay.
When Ferrari's red chestnut coat was nice and shiny, Tony gave him a pat on the shoulder and led him into his stall for the night. A pitchfork-ful of hay from the loft, and the tall stallion began chowing down.
"'Kay Probie, bedtime," Tony called. "Say goodnight to the nice horsie now."
McGee gave him a glare, but obediently gave Bud one last stroke down his forehead, and followed Tony out of the barn and into the ranch house.
February 9, 1870
Roop's Point, Kansas
Law Offices of Hart and Lee
Michelle Lee looked up from her paperwork as the door to her office opened, and her baby sister skipped in, a huge grin on her face.
"Why hello there, little sister," Michelle said in Chinese, wrapping her arms around Amanda and kissing the top of her head. "Did you have a good time at school today?"
"Yes!" Amanda replied, beaming. "Mr. McGee played his violin again, and Angela and Lily and I played dolls during dinner and recess!"
Michelle smiled. "So that's why you didn't come pestering me during dinner," she teased. "Did you have fun?"
"Yup!" Amanda replied, giggling. "Mr. McGee said that he was going to come visit us later."
"Oh? What for?" Michelle asked.
"He didn't say," Amanda murmured. "I was good, I swear! I didn't do anything bad!"
Michelle sighed and pulled her little sister into her lap. "I'm sure you didn't, Mandy. We'll just have to see what he says."
The little bell Allison had hung over the door to alert them to potential clients jingled merrily, and Amanda tensed in Michelle's lap.
"Shhhh, it's okay, baby, that's probably Mr. McGee," Michelle murmured. She got up and gently placed Amanda down on her chair. Smoothing her hair and clothes, she strode out into the main office, where Jimmy Palmer was standing awkwardly in front of the door, his somber black bowler hat clenched in his hands.
"Afternoon, Ms. Lee, ma'am," the physician's assistant said, smiling hesitantly.
"Jimmy, please, it's Michelle," Michelle sighed, smiling resignedly as she pecked her fiancée on the cheek. "We're getting married, darling, you're going to have to get used to calling me by my name."
"Jimmy!" Amanda shrieked, racing into the young man's arms and allowing him to lift her up and swing her around.
"Why hello there, Miss Mandy," he laughed. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"I missed you!" Amanda replied, grinning. "I haven't seen you all week! Why don't you come over more often?"
"I'm sorry, little miss, Dr. Mallard's been keeping me quite busy," Jimmy replied sheepishly. "Besides, if I came over more often, your sister wouldn't get a bit of work done." He shot a hesitant smirk at Michelle, who tried to look severe in the face of his ridiculously waggling eyebrows, but couldn't stop the giggles from escaping.
A gentle knock sounded at the door, and Amanda squeaked in fear and buried her face in the shoulder of Jimmy's frock coat.
"Jimmy, please take Amanda back into my office while I go see who this is," Michelle said. Jimmy nodded and disappeared into the small room, whispering comfortingly to the little girl. Jimmy was the only man Amanda trusted enough to be left alone with, for which Michelle thanked G-d every day.
She opened the door to find Mr. McGee standing on the doorstep, gray cloth cap in hand, and a small smile on his face. "Ms. Lee?" He asked. "I'm Timothy McGee, your sister's teacher. I wanted to talk to you for a little bit about Miss Lee and how we might make her time in my classroom a bit more comfortable for her."
Michelle blinked, surprised. The last teacher had all but ignored Amanda, and when she'd angrily confronted the nasty old man about it, he'd brushed her off with a scowl and a scathing remark to the order of "I have no time for stupid mutes, Ms. Lee".
"Of course," she said quickly, suddenly aware that she was staring. "Do come in, please, Mr. McGee. Can I get you anything?"
"Just a place where the two of us and Miss Lee, if you wish her to join us, may talk for a bit," Mr. McGee replied with a kind smile. Michelle nodded and led the rather tall young man back to her office, where Jimmy and Amanda were playing some sort of game with their fingers. She opened her mouth to alert them to their presence, but stopped when she felt Mr. McGee's fingers brush her sleeve. She glanced up to see him studying her sister and her fiancée intently, with an unreadable, but somehow not frightening, expression on his face.
"I'll just make us a pot of tea, then," Michelle whispered, inching away towards the conference/break room, where she brewed a pot of the specialty tea she kept for long nights preparing for court. She returned with a tray loaded with the tea set her parents had managed to carry all the way from their tiny village in central China to find Mr. McGee sitting in Allison's chair and chatting with Jimmy, while Amanda watched with large dark eyes from Jimmy's lap. She lightly kicked the doorway to announce her presence, and blushed lightly when both men turned and smiled at her.
"I thought we could use some tea," she said quietly, placing the tray on her desk.
"Should I go?" Jimmy asked in a whisper.
"I would much prefer you to stay," Michelle answered. "You will be a member of our family soon, and I want you to know all that I do about Amanda. Here you are, Mr. McGee." She handed the teacher a cup of the tea, which he accepted with a murmured thanks.
"First of all, I want to make it quite clear that Miss Lee is not in any sort of trouble," Mr. McGee said with a gentle smile. "Rather, I'd like to know what I can do to help her be more comfortable and confident in my classroom."
Michelle and Jimmy exchanged glances, nonplussed. Michelle wasn't quite sure what to say- she was so used to having to fight Mr. Davis tooth-and-nail for even a tiny fraction of the attention they were getting right now that to actually be asked what it was she wanted was overwhelming.
Mr. McGee chuckled. "Let me guess, you've never been directly asked what it is you want for your sister, have you, Ms. Lee?" He asked kindly.
Michelle nodded, blushing. "I'm afraid you're right, Mr. McGee," she said quietly. "Mr. Davis was never very receptive to Amanda's needs. In fact, he outright terrified her sometimes, and so she wouldn't say a single word the entire day while she was there. I know she was learning, she can read and perform more basic arithmetic than I knew at her age, but she never demonstrated it in the classroom."
Mr. McGee nodded. "She told me through Jared Vance that she'd been traumatized when she was younger, resulting in a deep-rooted fear of men," he said gently. "Did Mr. Davis remind her of that time?"
Michelle turned to Amanda, still curled up in Jimmy's lap. "Xiǎo mèimei, bìng zài xuéxiào de lǎoshī tíxǐng nǐ, shuí bǎ nǐ de huài nánrén?" She asked.
Amanda blinked at her, and nodded slowly. "Shì," she whispered.
Michelle turned back to Mr. McGee, who was staring at the both of them with an expression of utter fascination on his face. "Amanda says that you are correct, Mr. McGee," she said.
Mr. McGee blinked, and seemed to remember why he was there. "Well then, that's one problem solved," he said cheerfully, smiling. "Mr. Davis has officially retired, you won't be seeing him again, I don't think. I'm in charge now, and I would very much like to see Miss Lee regain her confidence and succeed the way I believe she can. Now the question is what can we do to facilitate that?"
Michelle sat back in her seat and carded her hand through Amanda's hair, thinking. She'd love for Mr. McGee to try and work with her one on one, with a third person in the room so that Amanda wasn't uncomfortable, of course (she absolutely just couldn't see the kind-almost-to-a-fault and gentlemanly Mr. McGee attempting or truly even thinking about doing anything inappropriate, and it surprised her how much more comfortable that made her feel). However, she'd heard from Allison, who'd in turn heard it from Miss Abby down the street, that the young man had his hands full trying not only to teach a classroom of children by himself, but he was also giving Julie Watson and Miss Abby lessons in some new alphabet that little Sandy was learning to read, as well as doing bookkeeping for three stores and the Sheriff's ranch. Michelle was afraid he just wouldn't have time to spare for Amanda.
When she hesitantly voiced this thought, Mr. McGee blinked his large green eyes at her for a second, before bursting into laughter.
"Ms. Lee, I believe that you are under the mistaken impression that I have every square inch of time tied up in Gordian knots," he said breathlessly. "Ma'am, one thing I've learned quite quickly about living here is that quite a lot of people understand the necessity of educating children, even if they don't have any of their own. As much as I dislike backing out of commitments, no one will think any less of me if I do so in order to make time for a struggling student. And even if they did think less of me for it, I would still do so, because I am first and foremost a schoolteacher, and my students are and will always be my first priority. Everything else is secondary."
Out of the corner of her eye, Michelle could see Jimmy staring at Mr. McGee in awe, and understood the feeling. She'd never met anyone so passionate about his occupation, and it relieved her to no end to know that Amanda was learning from someone who truly cared about his students.
They scheduled a weekly meeting time for Thursday afternoons, between three and four o'clock, during which time they would work on any class material Amanda was struggling with.
By the end of the meeting, even Amanda herself was chiming in, asking questions and making comments that seemed to surprise Mr. McGee in their insight and intelligence, although he hid it fabulously. She even shook his hand as he left, something Michelle thought she would never see.
"Thank you so much for this, Mr. McGee," Michelle said, shaking his hand as well.
"It's my pleasure, Ms. Lee," Mr. McGee replied, and Michelle could see quite clearly that it truly was.
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Meyers Homestead
Gibbs reined in his horse and studied the tiny single room shanty. Unlike the Watson place, which tried its best to look presentable despite its shabbiness, the Meyers place was falling apart at the seams. It really was no wonder that Kody spent all of his time fixing this place up rather than at school.
Although he tried not to show it, his discussion with McGee on Monday had given him quite a lot to think about. The kid was right, dammit, nobody had ever tried to sit the boy down and ask him how he wanted to be helped. They'd all assumed that they knew what was best for Kody, and then punished him when he tried to show them that what they'd put in place wasn't working.
McGee was also right in that it was probably too late in Kody's book- the kid probably wouldn't listen to him at this point. Which Gibbs understood, now that McGee had spelled it out for him: nobody had listened to Kody when he'd needed them to, so now Kody wouldn't listen to anybody.
But he had to try, at least. Gibbs couldn't stand the churning in his gut that resulted from him knowing something and not doing anything about it. He swung down from Charger and picketed him a few feet away in a nice patch of prairie grass, shoved away his uncertainty, and knocked on the door.
"Go the hell away, ya'll get yer money when I got it!" Hollered a young male voice, hoarse with drink.
"This ain't the bank, Kody, it's Sheriff Gibbs," Gibbs called, his spirits sinking already. "Open the door, son."
The door opened slowly, a wary brown gaze glaring at Gibbs. "What'chu want?" The teen demanded.
Gibbs fought the urge to cock an eyebrow. "Kody, is your pa home?" He asked simply.
"What's it matter?" Kody shot back.
Gibbs sighed. Caginess wasn't gonna work here, he had to remember that. "Just wanna help ya out, Kody," he said simply. "Can I come in?"
Kody hesitated, then opened the door wider and stepped away. Gibbs went inside and carefully shut the thin plank of wood, lest if fall off of its old, worn out leather hinges. Kody stood off to the side, and Gibbs turned to study the boy, whom he hadn't seen all winter.
The lad was skinny, was the first observation he made. He wasn't malnourished (yet), but like McGee had been when he'd first arrived, Kody hadn't been eating nearly enough to maintain a healthy weight for a boy his age. His clothes were also in a very sorry state, nearly falling apart at the seams, threadbare, stained, and ripped in a multitude of places. His hair was dirty and matted, pulled back into a messy horsetail that nearly reached down to his shoulders, and his hands were dirty and scarred. The entire shack smelled like booze, and not in the pleasant way that Ziva's barroom did.
"Well?" Kody demanded, teeth bared in a snarl. "Ya gonna stand there and stare at me, or ya gonna say what ya wanna say and get the hell out? I ain't got time to waste on ya right now, Sheriff."
Gibbs blinked. "You eaten today, son?"
Kody was brought up short, bloodshot brown eyes blinking rapidly. "Huh?"
"You eaten today?"
A fierce scowl. "What's it to you?"
Gibbs leveled his gaze at the boy. "I wanna talk, but we can't do that on empty stomachs. C'mon, we'll put it on my tab."
Kody hesitated again, but a quick glance at the corner of the shack that served as a "kitchen" seemed to convince him, because he grabbed a tattered linen cap and yelled out, "Pa, goin' out!"
The reply was a slurred conglomeration of various obscenities, some of which Gibbs was pretty sure the old man had made up. Kody simply rolled his eyes, and led Gibbs out the door. The older rancher paused to take Charger off the picket line, and then the three ambled along the half-mile dirt track that linked the Meyers homestead with the town itself.
Roop's Point was bustling, ranch owners and ranch hands and freelance cowboys looking for winter work until herding season began again. Gibbs cut his way through the crowds easily, Kody hot on his tail. They entered David's Saloon and found a quiet table in the corner near the huge stone fireplace. Gibbs motioned for Kody to sit and told him, "Stay put."
He made his way to the bar, where Ziva was whirling around, filling drinks and exchanging plates as fast as patrons could empty them. "Shalom, Sheriff Gibbs!" She called, tossing a grin his way with a swish of her skirts.
"Howdy, Miss Ziver," Gibbs replied, returning her grin with a smirk of his own. "You got time for a shot of bourbon and a cider?"
"For you, Gibbs, any time!" Ziva laughed. "Wait one moment, bevakasha."
Gibbs nodded and made himself comfortable, leaning against the bar. The saloon was hopping this afternoon, nearly every table and every seat at the bar was occupied with drinking, smoking, laughing patrons enjoying the lunch time break.
Gibbs was startled out of his perusal of the dining room by the dull clunk of two glasses impacting the solid wood of the bar, along with the rattle of two tin plates loaded with several strips of beef jerky and stewed carrots.
"Thanks Ziver, this looks mighty tasty," Gibbs said, tipping his hat to the landlady before grabbing the food and drinks and making his way back to the table.
Kody was still there, much to Gibbs's hidden relief, and he handed the teenager a plate and the glass of cider without a word. Kody accepted them silently as well, and immediately tucked in. Gibbs followed suit, sipping his bourbon thoughtfully.
"All right, Sheriff Gibbs, what the hell am I doin' here?" Kody growled finally, pushing his plate away and leaning forward on his forearms.
Gibbs sat back, fingering his glass. "Thought we could have a chat. Man to man."
Kody snorted. "Since when have you treated me like a man?"
"If ya'd start actin' like one, I would!" Gibbs shot back.
Kody snarled, and Gibbs had to fight to keep his temper under control. Damnit, he hadn't done this to fight with the kid!
Gibbs sighed. "Look, Kody, I don't want to fight with ya. I'm just worried about ya."
"Well don't be, I can take care of myself," Kody said stubbornly.
"I don't doubt that, son, but there are times when it's okay to let someone else take the reins for a while," Gibbs replied easily. "Even I need help managing everything I do, that's why I got Deputy DiNozzo and Mr. McGee."
"Who the hell said I needed any help?" Kody growled.
Gibbs's simply cocked an eyebrow at him, and a very slight pink tinge of embarrassment suffused the boy's sallow complexion.
"I'm helpin' my pa," the teenager grumbled, averting his eyes.
"Son, you're not helpin' your pa, you're his slave," Gibbs said bluntly, ignoring the shocked, wide eyed expression on the boy's face. "Your pa has no right to ask you to pull the amount of weight you've been pullin' for him. He bought the ranch you're fightin' like hell to keep, he's responsible for it. Now, I ain't sayin' you shouldn't be pullin' your own weight 'round the place, but ya shouldn't be the one doin' all the work, on top of keepin' the house and keepin' yourself and your pa fed. That's too much work for a single person to deal with, especially a young man who needs to go to school."
"School's a waste of time," Kody grumbled, scraping his spoon around his plate. "M'too stupid for it.
"Is that what ya tell yourself, or what your pa tells you?" Gibbs asked.
Kody simply shrugged, and Gibbs smirked.
"So, how do you know you're stupid if you don't even try?" He asked, standing and stretching. "Chew on that for a while, son. If you wanna try, come by the Sheriff's office tomorrow morning, and we'll talk to Mr. McGee. If not, the offer still stands. You okay to get home by yourself?"
Kody nodded, his scowl softening into a pensive expression, and Gibbs smiled. He'd have to remember to tell McGee to expect the teenager in the classroom on Monday.
Translations
Oh, Ferrari, il mio destriero galante, il mio migliore amico, ho lasciato tutto da solo?= Oh Ferrari, my gallant steed, my best friend, did I leave you all alone?
Aw, amico mio, non essere così= Aw, my friend, do not be so
Non volevo lasciarti qui per tanto tempo. Prometto che ce la farò a voi= I did not want to leave you here for so long. I promise I'll make it up to you
Xiǎo mèimei, bìng zài xuéxiào de lǎoshī tíxǐng nǐ, shuí bǎ nǐ de huài nánrén?= Little sister, did the teacher at school remind you of the bad men who took you?
Shì= yes
Author's Note: 11/16/2013- Made some edits to a couple of dates.