Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.
Author's notes:
- The poem is from English lyrical poet Sir Thomas Wyatt the Elder (1503–1542), named Innocentia Veritas Viat Fides, Circumdederunt me inimici mei (1536).
Chapter 4: A confrontation
A heavy silence reigned on the conference's room after McGee's exit. Ziva was inwardly fuming from what she had heard about Tony spreading dangerous, false rumors about Tim's sexuality. How could Tony be so callous towards his co-worker? Not only it could have cost Tim dearly – he mentioned having escaped three aggressions related to this stupid calumny – but the young man could have had his future impended by narrow-minded people in high places, who would have relegated Tim to minor positions for the rest of his career. And, speaking of which, never Ziva would have imagined Tony deliberately outmaneuvering Tim for a mission; that was a dirty trick if the Israeli woman had ever seen one, and unworthy of a man priding himself being Senior Agent!
Ziva also felt remorse from the fact she had laughed alongside Tony after he had played a joke on McGee – she honestly thought it was good-natured, a kind of frat friendship where boys constantly tease one another as an expression of affection. She had seen a lot of these during her time at Mossad and, even though she had never quite understood it (she thought it a "guys'" thing), she figured it was better to play along. Besides, as a stranger on a strange land, Ziva had been surprised more than once by American customs and DiNozzo's behavior at work was been odd, to say the least, but she had thought it a different way to deal with stress. Tim's outburst was the proof she had been mistaken: the jokes, pranks and names-calling may had been "locker room humor" for Tony but for McGee, it was a daily ordeal.
The young woman glared at DiNozzo, who looked away; he was in hot waters, not only with Gibbs but also with Ziva and it didn't bode well as she was known for her efficient interrogating techniques. Inwardly, he felt upset since he had never thought, not for a second, that McGee would throw old matters back to his face! But as usual, Tony had overlooked the consequences of his actions. After McGee had arrived at NCIS, DiNozzo had felt a surge of panic at the thought of this polite, handsome and intelligent young probationer shadowing him in the dating competition. Fearing for his vanity, Tony had taken action and the name-calling had started, fueled by the fact Tim took everything in stride. Sure, McGee paid him back in his own coin with a few pranks of his own but the computer tech had neither gossiped about Tony's sexuality nor betrayed him for a career-boost mission.
Tony sighed loudly and rubbed a hand over his face; he remembered Somalia, after he and McGee had been captured by Saleem, Ziva's torturer. Tony had been tied to a chair and injected repetitively with Pentothal while his partner was lying unconscious on the dirty floor, receiving a vicious kick from Saleem each time DiNozzo's answers hadn't suited him and it had happened often! Tony had described McGee to Saleem as: "Small muscles, big brains, heart of a lion" but only because modern pharmacopeia had loosened his tongue; otherwise the Senior Agent would never have admitted McGee's qualities out loud. After Saleem had been neutralized, Tony had instantly returned to his loudmouth self and Tim's contributions had been reduced to a lousy joke.
Gosh, what had he done? Tim was the most loyal, brilliant and patient man he had ever met, the partner any cop would dream to have by his/her side; but everyone had a breaking point and McGee's had reached his with his typical way – quietly, suffering in silence, not wanting to make waves because Tim forgave, but he didn't forget. And then, this Afghanistan project led by an anonymous bigwig had burst in his life, giving him a sense of being appreciated, something his teammates had never bothered to do.
"Boss?" asked Tony, at a loss of what to say or to do.
"Shut it, DiNozzo," said Gibbs with a low growl.
"Boss, please! How are we going to convince him to stay in DC?" pleaded Tony.
"There is nothing we can do. Orders came from the Pentagon and, unless you want to be tried for treason, you are going to let McGee go and let himself being killed in Afghanistan."
"Why would he be "fatally" killed out there?" protested Ziva. "Because you think he's not good enough?"
"Darn it, David! I never said that!"
"Well, you certainly didn't say otherwise and the heart of the problem lays here, Gibbs!"
The Team Leader turned his ice-like eyes towards the ex-Mossad for one of his infamous glares, but to her credit Ziva didn't bat an eyelid. This silent resistance widened the crack Gibbs had sustained in his pride a moment ago in Vance's office. The fact was, the whole situation was his fault; he could count on the fingers of one hand the times he had praised McGee for his work – and the young man had been a NCIS agent for eight years. However, the number of times he had turned a deaf ear to Tony's jibes towards the computer tech was ad infinitum; not to forget when Tim had endured Gibbs' wrath for things completely out of his control: Abby's refusal to follow safety instructions, DiNozzo's undeniable talent to irate witnesses, clues for murder cases being too well-hidden in the numeric world… Gibbs had steadfastly ignored Tim's attempts to enlighten him, weighing the young man down with unfair statements about not having done his job properly... and even punishing him a few times for Abby's disobedience.
For Gibbs, the only things that mattered were results and he didn't give a damn about the rest, acting more like the Drill Sergeant from Hell than a Team Leader. It had worked beautifully for Tony, whose attention span matched a three-year-old, and for Ziva, accustomed to military cadence. Abby's digressions were automatically forgotten since she had replaced Gibbs' murdered daughter. But where did that left McGee? Nowhere, since his boss hadn't deigned to notice the young man's talents, taking for granted Tim would stay forever just for the honor of being under the command of the great Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
The said Leroy Jethro Gibbs was feeling like head-slapping himself so hard his teeth would rattle. Whatever possessed him to treat McGee like a soldier? The kid was a civilian, for God's sakes, he had never been trained at a police academy or a boot camp! Gibbs knew his ex-Marine behavior was barely tolerable in normal life and he was quite aware of the nicknames running through the bullpen regarding him: "Dragon", "Old Bastard" oreven "Gibbs-I-am-God-himself". He usually never paid attention to scuttlebutt but this time, he would have to weather quite a storm at NCIS after the news his computer genius would face the talibans for six months to take a break from Gibbs and Co.
Well, nothing could be done about it; the cat was out of the bag and some people were going to get thoroughly scratched.
"Ziva, go to the morgue and ask Ducky what kind of medical check-up McGee had to do before hopping on the plane. DiNozzo, go to the lab and inform Abby about the situation: I'd rather have her learning it from you than from a babble-mouth downstairs."
"That's all?" protested Tony. "You are not going to do anything to prevent McGee from leaving?"
"No, I'm not and I won't. Everybody has to obey orders, Tony – even if this concept is alien to you. McGee has made his choices and he must assume them."
"You sound like he had committed a major offense, Gibbs!" said Ziva.
"That's enough, David! Right now, I'm going to have another chat with Vance about McGee's protection in Afghanistan. He had been very scarce about details but I'll be damned before I let McGee wander right in a war zone without knowing his exact whereabouts or who his commanding officer will be!"
Tim was at his desk, cleaning up the last of his computer files. He hadn't uttered a word since the stormy meeting but, then again, there wasn't anybody around to talk to. His teammates hadn't returned from the conference's room yet; only Gibbs had showed up to make a beeline to Director Vance's office, never sparing a glance to his youngest agent – ignoring the tiny light of hope shining in Tim's emeralds just before dying out of disappointment once again. McGee had sighed before returning to his work; so far, his participation to an important project abroad had won him anger, incredulity and a total opposition: tough day at the office.
Out of nowhere, the first stanza of a poem by Sir Thomas Wyatt came to his mind:
Who list his wealth and ease retain,
Himself let him unknown contain.
Press not too fast in at that gate
Where the return stands by disdain,
For sure, circa Regna tonat ("It thunders through the realms")
Yes, the thunder had erupted in NCIS...
A soft "ding" preceded the opening of the elevator's door; a furious female voice vociferated: "McGEE!"
... And obviously, the foul weather was going to worsen.
The young man raised his eyes from his computer screen in resignation: indeed, the angry woman was Abby Sciuto, Forensics specialist and number-one fan of the Goth culture, proven by her unusual apparel – skull-captioned t-shirt, mini-skirt, jewelry including neck chokers, anklets and dozens of rings. She was two inches taller than her usual height thanks to platform boots and her heavy black make-up enhanced the spider-web tattoo she sported on her neck. She and McGee had had a romantic relationship but many things had torn them apart, among them Abby's fear of commitments, bulldozing through other people's feelings and stubbornness, making her act more like a spoiled child than a scientist in charge of a Federal agency's laboratory.
And, judging from the furious look on her face, Abby had been informed about Tim's imminent departure: for sure, circa Regna tonat.
"Yes, Abby?" asked McGee with a calm voice, deliberately ignoring the stupefied faces of the other agents working in the bullpen. Conversations had died and ringing phones were left unanswered as all NCIS members had their eyes riveted on the scene displayed in front of them.
"WHAT IN THE WORLD DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" yelled the Goth, making her dark pigtails fly in every direction. McGee didn't recall having seen her so furious, not even at the time she had been mad at him for shooting a drugged German shepherd in self-defense, and then compelled him to adopt the dog as expiation for his crime. Abby had baptized the animal "Jethro" in honor of the Team Leader and she had even forbid McGee to change its name.
"I'm leaving the USA for six months on a mission, Abby. This is all what I'm doing."
"THIS IS ALL WHAT YOU'RE DOING? HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT?"
"Abby, it's important. I'm working on a project..."
"TO HELL WITH YOUR PROJECT! YOU CAN'T LEAVE!"
"It's only for six months, Abby; not forever."
"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! YOU ARE THE MOST SELFISH MAN I'VE EVER SEEN! HOW CAN YOU DO THIS TO GIBBS AND THE TEAM? AND TO ME? AND TO HIM? OH, BUT YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT HIM, OF COURSE! ALL WHAT MATTERS TO YOU IS YOUR STUPID CAREER!"
This last statement made Tim frown; he was getting to what Abby was implying and he didn't like it one last bit.
"I am not going on vacation, Abby. I'm leaving for Afghanistan. Now, if you'll excuse me..."
But the very agitated scientist wasn't ready to drop the matter. She raised her right hand with a growl of anger, visibly getting ready to strike at McGee but the slam of the staircase's door, followed by an out-of-breath Special Agent Tony DiNozzo flying through the bullpen like a cannonball to grab Abby firmly by the wrist, putting an abrupt end to an upcoming brawl.
"Abby! What on Earth!"
"LET GO, TONY!"
"No, I won't! Are you out of your mind?" replied DiNozzo, barely recovering for what he had witnessed. "I go downstairs to tell you about Probie's departure and you scream like a banshee before slamming the elevator's door to my face; and now you wanna slap McGee?"
"LET GO OF ME!" screamed Abby.
"It's okay, Tony; let her go, otherwise you'll be in trouble with Gibbs," said Tim.
Abby yanked her wrist off Tony's hold and stood in anger in front of McGee, shaking so hard it looked like she had abused one time too many of her favorite drink, the ultra-caffeinated 'Caf-Pow' she drank endlessly at her lab.
"YOU'RE A DISGUSTING MAN, McGEE AND I NEVER WANNA SEE YOU AGAIN! YOU CAN GO TO AFGHANISTAN AND ROT THERE FOR ALL I CARE; AFTER WHAT YOU'VE DONE, YOU DON'T DESERVE ANYTHING GOOD ON THIS EARTH!"
"Abby!" protested Tony.
"And what have I done, precisely?" asked Tim, his voice soft but firm at the same time.
"YOU'VE ABANDONED HIM! YOU'RE LEAVING HIM BEHIND SO YOU CAN BOOST YOUR CAREER!"
"Who?"
"JETHRO!"
A stunned silence fell on the bullpen. Tony looked completely dumbfounded, standing agape behind the Goth fury who had proffered such an absurd accusation. Everybody around was looking with rounded eyes and the sound of a pin dropping on the room's carpet could have been heard like the crack of a rifle shot. McGee, however, seemed to remain calm in spite of the sorrow slowly veiling his eyes.
"I am not abandoning him; he's my dog, remember?"
"BUT YOU LEAVE FOR SIX MONTHS! WHO'S GOING TO TAKE CARE OF HIM?" screamed Abby at the top of her lungs.
"That's the only thing you're worried about? A dog?" exclaimed an indignant voice nearby the elevator.
"HE'S NOT JUST A DOG, HE'S JETHRO!" screeched Abby without bothering to look at the interferer. "AND McGEE WILL HAVE HIM LOCKED UP IN A KENNEL; HE'LL BE MISTREATED! HE'LL DIE IN THERE! HOW CAN YOU DO SUCH A TERRIBLE THING TO THAT INNOCENT ANIMAL?"
Tim rose to his feet, fed up by the Goth's rants. He had already been labeled a traitor by Gibbs and an incompetent by Tony; the last thing he needed was being accused of animal cruelty by his former lover.
"For your information, Abby, my dog will be perfectly fine during my absence. I've never said or had the intention to put him in a kennel, you simply jumped at the wrong conclusion. A friend of mine has agreed to take him at his house; Andy loves dogs, he has a garden and he's a jogging-addict so Jet will have all the exercise he needs. I've already paid for his food and I gave Andy the vet's number in case of emergencies. No doubts Jet will miss me but then again, something tells me he'll be the only one!"
It was Abby's turn to remain agape, her fury deflating like a tire after a fatal encounter with sharp nails. The blind rage she had felt out of worry for the dog's well-being had dissipated like mist under the morning sun and she was suddenly aware of the glares she was receiving not only from Tony, but from the other NCIS agents – not to mention their comments, in the lines of "Unbelievable", "What a jerk", "Inconsiderate Goth scarecrow", which were getting louder by the second. Abby's nervousness increased, especially after she realized the person who had interfered earlier had been Ziva, accompanied by Doctor Donald "Ducky" Mallard, Chief Medical Examiner of the NCIS. The ex-Mossad officer was obviously furious and the Scottish-born doctor was looking straight at Abby with a disappointed look upon his face, a rarity since the man was renowned for his good-natured character.
Abby made a final protest just for the principle of it, but her squeaking voice made her attempt sound quite pitiful:
"His name is Jethro, not Jet..."
"He's my dog and I call him whatever I want. You lost all rights over Jet the day you forced me to adopt him, regardless from the fact he had nearly torn open my throat."
"But..."
"Go back to your lab, Abby. You've already made a perfect fool out of yourself so try to not worsen the situation any further. And don't try to barge in at my flat; you are not welcomed here any longer."
"Timmy..."
"Please don't, Abby. You made your feelings pretty clear when Jet attacked me; I've been nothing to you but a back-up plan, somebody you could date and have sex with after your latest boyfriend dumped you or got busted for drug possession, whichever came first. But you showed your true colors after you've read me the riot act for defending my life from an eighty-pound dog drugged up to the ears. My heart also got mauled on that day but you've never cared about that particular organ in the first place, have you? Then you invented this "My best friend is Tim McGee" line just to humor me but your recent Humane Society Drama Queen act has proved, once again, that you care more for this dog than for me so there goes my hope of us parting in good terms before I leave."
"Tim..."
"Bottom line, the only thing I regret is having wasted time thinking you would eventually treat me like a human being instead of your doormat. I'm sorry, Abby, but it's over. You'll have to find another computer tech to exploit, yell at or take the blame in your stead whenever you don't feel like following basic safety instructions. However, I've already told Gibbs the other guys at the Cyber Crimes Department are not as patient as I am so here's a word of advice: you may consider putting your whims on "hold" for the next six months because being Gibbs' favorite won't always save your bacon."
Tim felt a wave of tiredness washing over him; he was getting exasperated from having to defend his decision come Hell or high waters and it wasn't the best state of mind to organize his electronic files. Since Director Vance had given him the rest of the week off to prepare for his journey, he might as well go home, start packing and make a few phone calls. He would go back at NCIS in the evening, after everybody had gone and the bullpen was quiet, to finish cleaning up his computer. At least, he would leave a spotless desk for his substitute… or his successor, depending of the outcomes of his mission.
McGee grabbed his jacket, his backpack and headed for the elevator, but not before adding a last parting shot to the Forensics expert:
"By the way, this mission in Afghanistan will be difficult and dangerous; thank you for not asking."
McGee pressed a button and the elevator's doors opened immediately. The young man stepped inside the cabin, too lost in a haze of pain to notice Ziva's and Ducky's appalled looks or the figures of Vance and Gibbs standing on the bullpen's mezzanine; however, just before the doors closed, he heard the voice of Director Vance shouting loud enough for the world to hear:
"Miss Sciuto! My office, now!"
Tim closed his eyes and sank against the cabin's wall; no, this day definitively couldn't have gotten any worse. As on cue, the ghost of Sir Thomas Wyatt whispered inside the young man's brains:
The high mountains are blasted oft
When the low valley is mild and soft.
Fortune with Health stands at debate
The fall is grievous from aloft.
And sure, circa Regna tonat.
TBC...