A/N: Thanks again for all the support. For those of you who posted 'anonymously', sorry I couldn't respond to you directly but I really appreciate your reviews :). This is an AU that jumps around in time. Tim and Tony won't always be this young or this old. I'd like to take the time and say that Gibbs' canon is not the same here as it is on the show. He wasn't married to Shannon. There isn't a Kelly. Like I said before, all (or most ) of the characters will make an appearence but not in the way you would expect. Just keep that in mind. This is unbeta'd so all the mistakes are my. Sorry.
In case it becomes confusing when you read, the dialouge in italics is Gibbs having a flashback.
I don't own NCIS or it's characters. I also apologize to all the Sarah Elizabeths who are reading.
Gibbs' POV
Attaboy 'verse
Tim:Age 8
Tony: Age 11
Project
"D'ya know what sucks, Dad?"
Gibbs blinked in surprise at his son's choice of words but not wanting to discourage the conversation, decided to humor him.
"What sucks, Tim?" he asked as he put a steading hand over his eight year old's, helping to keep the Coping Saw straight.
"Being left handed," the boy answered seriously.
It took some strength on Gibbs' part not to laugh at his son's solemn expression.
"You always have to sit at edge of the table so you don' bump anybody," Tim griped as another piece of scrap wood fell to the basement floor with a clatter, "There're never any left handed scissors AND whenever we write with pens in school the ink gets all over my hand."
"That sounds like it does suck," Gibbs considered while he adjusted the clamps holding their project in place.
The little man leaned back into his father's chest.
"I wish we could just do science an' math all day 'stead of language arts. Those subjects are easy," Tim stated with a bit of pride.
"Yeah, for you." Gibbs shoved him playfully.
Tim smiled, rubbing sawdust from his hair before frowning again in thought.
Gibbs watched as his son became increasingly distraught but didn't say anything. Let the steady arm around Tim's shoulder and the comforting back and forth motion of the saw speak for him as the kid worked up the courage to say what he needed to say.
"If," the boy started quietly a few minutes later, "an' if I wasn't a leftie we'd be finished a lot sooner, huh?" Tim glanced at him before dropping embarrassed eyes to the basement floor.
Gibbs frowned.
Their differences in dexterity did make it harder to pull off the proper cuts. He either had to stand on the wrong side of Tim without being able to see the pattern or try to guide the saw with his left hand. Neither position was particularly comfortable. Even so, the extra work was worth it.
Over the past two years, he'd seen Tim really start to come into his own with the help of Cub Scouts. That's not to say all Tim's insecurities were gone, but he was making friends, gaining confidence and trying new things. It was also giving them a chance to bond over common interests. So when his son came home last Thursday with a block of wood and orders to turn it into a derby racer Gibbs had to admit he'd been a little excited. Camping trips, nature walks and lessons about tying the proper knot were all well and good, but he looked foward to another woodworking project with his son.
He'd taken Saturday off, skipped the housework and sent Tony over to a friend's house. It would take some work, but this was definitely a design they could do. It was important to Tim and he wanted his son to see that it was important to him too.
Gibbs carefully removed the saw from the boy's grip before setting it down and turning the kid around to face him.
"You have somewhere to be, Kiddo?" he teased lightly.
"Well, no... but your arm will get tired waitin' around for me to finish. You shoud do it. It'll come out better anyways," Tim blushed, scratching a ratty sneaker against the back of his calf.
Gibbs sighed internally. Eight years old and his son was already a worry wort. A few more years and he'd be sporting grey hair.
"Freddy Rinnert said he and his dad were going to make fastest car alive. He won first place last year, 'member? All I got was a good sportsmanship medal," he mumbled.
Gibbs remembered that night. How Tim didn't come in first or even third but shook the hands of the winners after each and every game without prompting.
"Last time I checked good sportsmanship was pretty damn important," he said.
Tim blushed again, this time from the praise. "I guess, but I'd still really like to have a winning car this time."
"If I built it it wouldn't be your car," Gibbs reminded him, " And I don't care how long it takes, Tim, or what place it comes in. As long as it's your best work."
Tim contemplated this before turning back to the model and smiling sheepishly, "I guess I think I can do it. It does look pretty cool so far," he admitted.
"It'll look even better once it's finished" Gibbs agreed, handing Tim the necessary tool and nodding encouragingly toward their half formed racer.
They continued their work in comfortable silence, their efforts slowly taking shape. Then Gibbs thought of something.
"Your father was left handed" he stated, while they worked on a particularly stubborn curve.
The kid tilted his head upwards, pressing further into Gibbs' chest as he looked up at him with surprised green eyes.
"He was?"
"Uh huh." It was something he'd forgotten but Tim's story brought back memories of teasing the man about his own ink stained hands. "Jeff used to pitch at the NCIS - FBI charity games. Adjust your grip, Tim, like this. That's, right."
He paused to correct the boy's stance, giving the small shoulder a squeeze, "He was a southpaw."
"Was he any good?" his son asked.
The eight year old turned his attention back to the racer but his ears were wide open, ready to soak in every last detail.
"He was, although he wouldn't stop complaining about the sun being in his eyes," Gibbs smiled at the memory. "Used to get ink all over his hands too. Said that's why he preferred computers."
"Me too!" Tim chirped. " 'Cept," he frowned, "I bet Jeff was better at buildin' stuff than I am."
" I don't see why I have to help you with this," Jeffery McGee sighed.
"It's for your wife!" Gibbs defended
"Yeah, but it's your gift. And I couldn't build something to save my life." Jeff picked up one the smaller pieces curiously before setting it back down again, "How long does it take to make one of these things anyway?"
Gibbs frowned, "You want it done fast or you want it done right?"
"I want it done within the next millenium, Jethro." It was that tone of voice that never failed to get Gibbs moving and bug the crap out of him all at once.
"I'm on it, Jeff. Maybe if you got off your lazy ass and helped it would get finished sooner," he responded without heat.
The man shook his head, "I'm not touching it. I can't do anything with those right handed tools and Rachel will kill me if I mess this up. "
Gibbs snorted, "Is 'wussing out' something they teach you in the Navy, McGee?"
The man held up a warning finger even as he took the offered jar of burbon, "Watch it, Probie. This Navy man can still kick your ass."
"Aw, don't you start that 'Probie' crap too. I hear enough of it from Mike. You'd think after two years-"
"Once a probie, always a probie, Probie" The senior field agent laughed as he took a pull of his drink "What do you think my first team lead still calls me?"
"Forget the help. You can leave. Now." Gibbs grunted with a glare in his partner's direction.
Jeff gave a small shudder. "Watch it, Gibbs. You could kill a man with that look. Besides, you can't kick me out. Then I'd have to go home."
"Here. Sand" Gibbs said, throwing him a piece of sandpaper. "Even you can't mess that up."
The senior agent made half hearted swipes at one of the smaller pieces while grumbling,"She asks me what I think of the paint job and I say, 'Whatever you think is best, Honey, but I think we should go for more neutral colors.' Next thing you know I'm locked out the house."
"With the grain." Gibbs directed. "You don't have a key?"
"Did you really think I was going to go back in there? "
Gibbs snorted."See, your problem is that you don't know women."
"Yeah, says the unmarried man."
"What you should have said was 'I love it, Honey' and kept your trap shut."
"She wanted forest green, Gibbs!" Jeff said incredulously
"Could have been green, turquoise, pink, yellow or any other color of the damn rainbow. Your answer is the same."
"Technically turquoise isn't a color of the rainbow, or pink for that matter. They're a ligh-"
"Missing the point, McGee."
"Yeah, well, it's too late now. So I get to enjoy your fine company for the next few hours," he said with a sardonic grin.
"Hey, you invited yourself over here." Jeff had a habit of stepping in to check on his 'favorite' junior agent unannounced.
"Your door was unlocked."
Gibbs pretended to look affronted. "You gonna help me with this or what? Wait, never mind. Don't touch anything."
"I'm sanding." Jeff pointed at the rail he was squatted next to unconvincingly.
Gibbs focused on smoothing the edges of the last leg, "So neutral colors, huh? Guess I'm not carving baseballs into this thing?"
"Rachel's sure it's going to be a boy but I don't know..."
"You think it's going to be a girl?"
"I was kind of hoping..."
"Huh."
Jeff's eyes narrowed. "Something wrong with that, Probie?" he challenged
Gibbs swallowed his smile and tried to look serious for his friend, "No, Jeff. Not at all."
"He thought I was gonna be a girl?" his son asked with all the offence an eight year old boy could muster.
"Yep. Wanted to call you Sarah Elizabeth"
"Bleck!" Tim made a face, "What a dopey name. Did you finish the crib on time?"
"Not before your father broke two legs and one of the rails trying to 'help'." He handed his son a soda before settling on the steps beside him.
Tim laughed. "My dad was still a good agent, even though he broke stuff and was left handed... right?"
"Right."
"Wish I coulda seen it. The crib, I mean." Tim sighed. Gibbs found himself without the words to make that little hole in his son's heart ache less.
"You have seen it," he said instead, "You know that dusty old thing we keep in the attic?"
"That's mine?" Tim said in awe, "You built that for me?"
"Well, I don't think you would have appreciated having to sleep on the floor," Gibbs joked.
"That's so cool!" His son exclaimed. "You can build just 'bout anything, can't you."
Gibbs studied his son closely before answering, "Do you know how many times I had to practice before I could make something like that, Tim?"
Tim shrugged, "I dunno. A lot?"
"Years and years. Sometimes learning how to do new things takes practice."
"Like learning how to tie a slip knot? Or pitch a tent?" Tim offered.
"Exactly." Gibbs went to the work table and picked up their just finished car frame, finally cut and sanded to a smooth texture.
It wasn't the design Gibbs initially pictured but it was solid, well thought out and very much a Tim Gibbs original.
"This is good work, Son," he praised.
" You think so? 'Cause they said we should pro'bly build a wedge shaped car," Tim rushed to explain, "That's easiest. But I already did that last year and it's kind of borin' to try the same thing over again so I thought-"
"-Tim," Gibbs cut off gently, "I said, it looked good."
"Yeah" he nodded then added with a smile that was just a tad smug, "I bet Freddy and his dad didn't use hand tools like we did."
Gibbs scoffed,"Slackers."
Tim giggled.
"I just wanna win one race this time." Gibbs watched the kid who looked every bit of Jeffery McGee frown with anxiety and an overwhelming need to prove himself.
"Hey Tim," he advised the boy, "We still have to add the wheels and weight, not to mention paint this thing. If you're going to worry about something, worry about that."
"Okay" Tim decided before giving his dad a sly look, " But still, you think it's gotta good chance of winning, doncha Dad?"
Gibbs couldn't help himself. He laughed and ruffled the boy's hair enthusiatically. "As determined as you are, I wouldn't be surprised if you came home with a trophy. You think about a name yet?"
" Well I thought of one name... while we were workin'..."
"Well?"
"'S stupid," his boy mumbled.
"Tim," he insisted.
"I was thinkin'... The Southpaw?"
A/N:Okay. I'm incredibly nervous about this chapter. Gibbs' pov, the Jeffery McGee character, the plausibility of Tim's back story, the flow. Let me know what you think, please. Oh, and everything I know about the scouts, derby racing and woodworking I got from brief research online so I apologize if I got anything wrong. The stuff about being left handed, well that's from personal experience :).
ONE MORE THING: Whoever call tell me which episode of NCIS I got the name 'Freddy Rinnert' from can have a story with the prompt of their choosing. If they like.
