Rifiuto: Non Miriena

A/N: Actually, now that I go back and look through the folder I had for this one, I actually rewrote chapters 1 thru 10...

All he wanted was to climb back into bed and sleep; after the... the Cassandra Watson problem- of which Leon had advised him to place her under Gibbs' care, especially when the older man found out who she was- all Tim wanted was to be home with Ziva, cooking dinner or making love in the living room with the blinds haphazardly pulled. Taking a deep breath, he got up, slipping out of his office and heading towards the catwalk.

Leaning against the rail, he watched as the three leaders of his MCRTs got acquainted with the rookie agents he had assigned them. He could see Gibbs talking to a petite blonde that, if Tim remembered, was Ellie Bishop, a transfer from NSA, who had originally applied for NCIS before taking the job with the "puzzle freaks" as Tony had so aptly called NSA office once. Two bullpens over, Tony was shaking hands with a thin, lithe brunette named Delilah Fielding. And in the middle bullpen, he could see Ziva introducing herself to the three rookies she'd been assigned: Zach Tanner, a former Marine that Tim knew too well, Damon Werth, and a young woman named Caroline Martinez.

A moment passed in silence as he watched his teams get to know each other; he didn't look up as he heard the ding of the elevator doors open. He soon felt a familiar presence beside him, and sighed. "Hey Ducky."

"Ah, Timothy, how has your first day as acting director gone so far?" The wily M.E. asked as he joined the young man he'd watched go from green rookie to the highest position in NCIS. Tim chuckled softly.

"There have been a few bumps, but you know, it hasn't been that bad so far." He replied, glancing at Ducky. A moment passed, before he caught sight of the bottle the older man held in his hands. "What's that for?" It was then that Ducky held out the bottle with a flourish.

"A bottle of one of the finest red wines in the world. A nineteen-seventy-two Nebbiolo. It was in Mother's wine cellar. When you were sworn in yesterday, I knew that this would be the perfect gift for you to celebrate your accomplishment." Tim gave the older man a warm smile, truly touched as he accepted the bottle. "Be sure the share that with your lovely fiancée, Timothy. I'll not have Ziva coming down to Autopsy to complain that you held out on her." He chuckled softly, glancing back down at the bullpens.

"I will, Ducky. I promise, I'll share it with her." A moment passed, before Ducky asked,

"So, how is everyone taking the new changes to the agency? I understand that you have created three MCRTs-" Tim nodded.

"And so far, it seems to be doing pretty good. Like I said, a few rough patches at the start of the day, but now, everything seems to be going well." He looked up, to find those in the bullpens watching him.

Gibbs gave McGee a small smile. He'd watched Thomas Morrow stand at that catwalk, his smoking pipe held tight in his hand as he watched the teams work; he'd seen Jenny Shepard grasp the steel rails, her hazel eyes moving rapidly as she drank in every agent under her command; he'd often come into the bullpen to see Leon Vance standing behind the railing of the catwalk, a toothpick clutched within his teeth. And now, one of his kids stood on that catwalk, leaning on the railing, watching his agents get acquainted and settled into work.

Which would Tim be? Would he clutch a pipe, like Morrow had, taking a puff when he was truly concentrating on someone? Or like Jenny, who would lean on the rail, fingers drumming out a rhythm as she studied and processed what each of her agents was doing? Or would he follow in Vance's footsteps, and stand back from the catwalk railing, toothpick tucked between his lips, as he surveyed his teams and their interactions?

It was too soon to tell who Tim would follow, or if he would forge his own path when it came to the catwalk. But after a moment, Ducky bid him a soft goodbye with a pat on the shoulder, and returned to Autopsy. Agent Watson asked him a question, and he turned away from his study to answer her, and when he turned back, Tim was gone.

Once the door was closed behind him, Tim set the bottle of wine on the serving board that sat on the opposite wall, across from his desk. Then, he turned to the window, drinking in the sight before him. He didn't get to enjoy it long, as Nora's voice over the speaker interrupted him. "Director, the Secretary of the Navy is on the phone for you." Tim sighed; this day would never end.

"Thank you, Nora. Patch him through." Soon, Clayton Jarvis's voice came through, and Tim had to force himself to play nice. He'd become most acquainted with the older man when he was still under Gibbs' watchful gaze as an agent, and he'd learned to take everything the man said with a grain of salt. He'd watched as Vance and Shepard both had come to blows with him- both before he became the Secretary of the Navy and after- and had picked up covertly how to deal with the older man.

"Congratulations, Director McGee on the promotion." Jarvis's gravely voice came over the speaker, and Tim forced himself to swallow the insult he felt rising in his throat. "I hope there hasn't been too much commotion regarding your swearing in."

"No, none, Sir." He replied, swallowing thickly. He itched badly to end the call. Taking a deep breath, he sat back in his chair and asked, "What can I do for you, Sir?"

Silence met him for a moment, before Jarvis continued.