Disclaimer : If you recognize it, I still don't own it. All characters remain intellectual property of CBS and their creators
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
On his way back to the bullpen, Gibbs makes a pitstop in the conference room for a fresh cup of sewer water the Yard calls coffee. It's so cold he doesn't even feel it through the flimsy paper cup. He chugs half of it, wincing, before refilling it. Then, he heads to the elevator. Hopefully, Tony had enough time to speak with Tim. Whatever happened, they need to figure out a convincing story before IA shows up to question Tony's mutant status. He just hopes they'll both do the right thing: protect each other.
When he arrives, Gibbs is relieved to find Tim and Tony's desks empty. Kate stands by hers, deep in conversation with a man built like a scarecrow. That must be the big, bad IA agent who was supposed to arrive before breakfast. There was a weather delay on the red eye from San Diego. Talk about a damned shame. Kate's expression is fixed, eyes wrinkled and lips in a frown. To an untrained eye, she appears concerned. But to Gibbs, he knows that annoyance—the same reserved for Tony—and disdain—the one for Tim—simmer just below the surface. At the sight of him, she raises her chin.
"Gibbs," she says as lightly as she can.
The man wheels around. His face looks as though his features are stretched out over his skull. His hair is dark brown, his eyes as black as coal. His skin is so pale it could be translucent. His jet-black suit is impeccable and expensive. Gibbs figures he keeps the same fancy designers as Tony in business. He holds out a hand with long fingers.
"Agent Gibbs," he says, almost jovial. "I am Special Agent Elias Crenshaw from Internal Affairs."
Gibbs doesn't shake his hand. "Figured as much."
Undeterred, Crenshaw drops his hand to his side. He casts a glance around the nearly empty bullpen before flicking his eyes to Gibbs.
"I was just catching with Agent Todd up to speed," he says. "She said you weren't present when Agents DiNozzo and McGee arrived this morning."
Gibbs shakes his head.
"And you were?" Crenshaw asks.
"Working a case," Gibbs replies flatly.
"You know it is your duty as Special Agent in Charge to inform them to remain here and not converse to ensure an untainted investigation."
Gibbs smirks. "Oops."
"Do you know where they could be?"
"Well, you showed up at lunch time."
Crenshaw's lips twitch as though he might find it amusing too. "You know, Agent Gibbs, I am not here to cause any issues for you or your team. My only concern is discovering what actions led to three dead civilians. Situations like this tend to raise a lot of eyebrows. Namely, those of public officials."
"Even when those dirt bags had my agents at gunpoint," Gibbs fires back.
"That's what I'm here to determine." Crenshaw shifts his briefcase to his free hand. "How they managed to overcome three armed men. Certain things aren't adding up."
Gibbs purses his lips. "You pick the lock on the cuffs and get it done."
"That isn't what the eyewitness reported. He said the guns seemed to fly out of civilians' hands."
And that's when the pit in Gibbs' stomach returns. Even though his mouth goes dry and his heart kicks up, he just pinches his features together. He heard rumors about a subsection of Internal Affairs dedicated to uncovering mutants. And here, there is one such agent in their midst.
"What else did this 'eyewitness' say?" Gibbs asks.
Crenshaw shakes his head. "That was it. But since the report sounded like mutant activity, we must take it seriously."
"Mutant activity?" Kate repeats, stunned.
Before Crenshaw can reply, Gibbs growls: "You're going to believe a suspect over federal agents."
"Only if there is a mutant at NCIS." When Gibbs makes a face, Crenshaw shrugs. "I'm just doing my job, Agent Gibbs. I am here to interview your team and report my findings to IA."
Kate perks up. "What would happen to a mutant at NCIS?"
When Gibbs levels a withering glance at her, her cheeks flush.
"Hypothetically, of course," she finishes.
"Of course," Crenshaw retorts with a broad smile. "They would spend 20 years in a maximum-security prison dedicated to mutants. Probably some of which your team has put away." He casts his eyes on here. "And if you are found guilty of aiding and abetting a mutant, you can expect five to ten years."
Kate's mouth pulls into a little o. Gibbs' stomach drops slightly. Gibbs can't stand the thought of Tony spending the rest of his life in jail. Because he knows—he just knows—Tony wouldn't make it more than a week without annoying the hell out of someone with those damned movie quotes.
"Does that change your opinion on the matter, Agent Gibbs?" Crenshaw asks.
Gibbs sips his coffee. "Other than you wasting my tax dollars? Nope."
Crenshaw genuinely laughs. At that moment, the elevator dings. From their spot, Gibbs watches Tim and Tony step out of the elevator. Both men are uncharacteristically quiet and respecting each other's personal space. Tony isn't leveling digs at Tim and the younger man isn't loudly complaining about it. Staring at the floor, Tim has his hands buried in his pockets. Tony moves with his back ramrod straight, his easy expression belying the wariness in his eyes. What Gibbs wouldn't give for the chance to shove them both into the elevator, steal a Charger and drive them somewhere. Anywhere, as long as it's safe.
Because that won't look suspicious.
He tightens his grip on the coffee cup.
I couldn't protect them last night and I still can't. G-damnit.
Before the agents even reach the bullpen, Crenshaw is already on the move. Gibbs figures he is sizing them up, trying to determine the easier target. While Crenshaw might be perfectly personable, Gibbs fights the urge to shoot him in the back. As if reading his mind, Kate clucks her tongue.
Gibbs can only watch the scene unfold.
Crenshaw goes after Tim first. "Agent McGee. I'm Agent Elias Crenshaw from Internal Affairs. It looks like you drew the short straw."
Tim's unfocused eyes jump up. "For what?"
"The interview. I trust you can show me to interrogation."
"Uh, what interview?"
"The one regarding your experiences last night." Crenshaw sounds exasperated.
But it's just a smoke screen, a ploy to give Tim a moment to catch Gibbs' gaze. His eyes search his boss' as though asking for direction, advice, a blessing, anything. All Gibbs has to offer is a nod.
What Tim does is up to him.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
Tim sits on the suspect's side of the interrogation table. It's a place he never thought he would ever end up. He thinks the suspect's chair is harder than the one for the interviewer. The walls are a disgusting shade of grey, the light sickly yellow. It's unnerving, but even worse with that double paned mirror facing him. Anyone could be behind it, watching him talk to Crenshaw. Watching him lie.
But he isn't lying. Not yet, at least. Right now, they're just talking.
His reflection stares back in the mirror, silently judging him. His hands are clasped. His tie loosened. His head bowed slightly. He looks as every bit as guilty as he feels. His left leg starts to bounce.
How long before I crack?
Crime scene photos are displayed on the table. Their presentation is neat and orderly while the subject matter is anything but. Three ash-white corpses on the beach illuminated by flood lights. Their weapons strewn beside them. The sand speckled with blood and bits of grey matter. While graphic images of crime scenes stopped bothering Tim years ago, he can't look at these. Even though he didn't pull the trigger to kill the men, he might as well be responsible.
Crenshaw leans forward. "Care to tell me what you're thinking, Agent McGee?"
Tim bites his lip.
"Can you walk me through what happened? And keep in mind, you are being recorded." Crenshaw hooks a thumb over his shoulder toward observation.
Tim takes a steadying breath before he starts: "We followed our suspect from the base to the lake house. After he went inside, Tony…" he motions with his hand, clarifying "…Agent DiNozzo decided to do his old undercover go-to, 'Stranded Motorist Needs a Phone' story in hope he might gain some intel."
"So he approached the lake house first?"
"Yes."
When Crenshaw takes notes, the scratching of his pen cuts through Tim. "Where were you?"
"I stayed in the car," Tim replies. "I was supposed to give him fifteen minutes after he called before I showed up as his ride."
More writing. "But things didn't go as planned."
Tim shakes his head. "One of the guys came outside to smoke a cigarette, I think. He walked up the road to where I was parked. He made me and when I tried to get my cell to warn Agent DiNozzo, he dragged me out of the car and hit me with his gun." He gestures to a deep bruise on the right side of his forehead. "I'm not really sure what happened before Agent DiNozzo and I ended up by the lake. I was pretty out of it. All I remember is we were handcuffed. They were making us walk somewhere."
Crenshaw takes more notes. Tim bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds. He ignores the hot, metallic taste flooding his tongue. Instead, he starts to roll his fingers.
"And then?" Crenshaw asks.
"I don't know," Tim says as honestly as he can.
Crenshaw huffs quietly. "Are you telling me that you have no idea how three men ended up dead?"
Pressing his lips together, Tim looks at the photos. Three sets of unseeing eyes bore into him as though they can see into his very soul. And for a split-second, he wants to blather about how Tony killed them and how it was his fault because he antagonized them. But when the thought of Tony cradling his head as he kneeled on the beach last night flashes in his mind, Tim gets it. He finally gets it.
Tony risked his career for me.
Tim's eyes drift to Crenshaw.
I guess it's my turn.
When Tim touches the deep gash on his left temple, he winces. "I think I pissed them off because one of them clocked me. When I woke up, they were dead. I don't know what happened."
Crenshaw stares at him reproachfully. "Is that so?"
Tim nods. "Yes."
"Here's what I think, Agent McGee. I don't think this is normal human activity."
Keeping his eyes locked with Crenshaw, Tim struggles to be braver than he feels. He stills as though any twitch might be a confession. He hopes the floor will swallow him whole because he doesn't know how long he can remain steadfast. Sweat blossoms on his back. His heart pounds in his ears.
Suddenly, Crenshaw chucks his notebook in Tim's face. Tim doesn't get his hands up in time; the book whacks him square in the forehead.
"What the heck was that for?" he yelps.
"To see if it is you," Crenshaw replies as though it explains everything.
Tim's chest heaves. "If what's me?"
"The mutant."
Tim blinks. "The what?"
"Look, Agent McGee. I know a mutant is responsible for these deaths." Despite himself, Tim pales. "But I don't think it's you. I think you're protecting someone, willingly or unwillingly."
Crenshaw studies Tim for a long moment. He keeps his face open, expression neutral as though if he waits long enough Tim might change his mind. Tim can feel every second ticking on his wristwatch. He covers it with his left hand. When Crenshaw seems to accept the younger man won't fold, he reaches into his briefcase to produce a file labeled, McGee, Timothy.
As he flips through it, Tim swallows audibly.
If this is a mind-fuck, it is totally working.
Crenshaw studies a page. "You know, Agent McGee, your credentials are quite impressive. BS in biomedical engineering from Johns Hopkins and MS in computer forensics from MIT." He looks up approvingly. "With that type of resume, you could be running NCIS someday."
Tim doesn't respond.
Crenshaw shifts back in his chair. "Which is why you could see how lying would be a problem. No one likes a director who is a liar."
"I'm not lying," Tim blurts out. "I was – "
"Furthermore, I see here that you are still a probationary field agent," Crenshaw continues. "Do you like it here in DC, Agent McGee?"
Tim's breath catches in his throat. "Very much."
"Did you know that I can recommend revoking your field status to the director? You could be reassigned to Norfolk before the end of the week." There's a twitch in his mouth that plays into a cruel smile. "Or if they aren't any case agent positions available, you could be sent anywhere in the world. I hear Great Lakes is quite nice in January."
Tim's heart falls straight into the pit of his stomach. He tears his gaze away from Crenshaw's face before it glides across the photos of the dead men, the pictures of the beach, his own file.
"Alright, Agent McGee, perhaps we should try again." Crenshaw slides a photo of the three men closer. "What happened to those men?"
Tim's eyes land on his reflection in the two-way mirror. He is haggard, a caged animal ready to gnaw his own arm off to be free. But in the desperation, there is something more. If he sells out his friend, he knows he'll never be able to look himself in the eye again. To keep his courage, he doesn't look away.
"Someone knocked me out," he whispers.
Crenshaw's look is pitying. "I thought you were smarter than this, Agent McGee."
