Chapter 8

James Dalton was the firearms instructor at FLETC. He had been for the last five years, and he enjoyed his job. He had taken a lot of green agents and helped them become comfortable and skilled at handling weaponry. There was always at least one student who posed a challenge, one student who would perform poorly. That student would generally either be motivated enough to drive himself to succeed or else he wouldn't meet the standards required. Oh, occasionally, there would be the odd agent who would scrape by, but those generally knew they weren't really up to snuff and would either opt for non-field positions or else would remove themselves from the program voluntarily. James had come to FLETC after twenty years in law enforcement, and he considered himself quite the expert. He had to be to do his job right.

In order to keep his own skills up, he generally came in the evenings and did some shooting on his own. He would cycle through the various firearms. It also helped him ensure that all the weapons were in proper working condition. It was rare that any of the students were there when they didn't have to be. He didn't blame them for that. They spent their days working on courses and physical fitness and any other aspect of their training. They could have the evening off. Sometimes.

...but tonight, he was surprised to see someone there. He wasn't shooting at the moment. He seemed to be in rapt contemplation of the booth.

James kept himself back. He'd just realized who it was. Timothy McGee. He hadn't spent a lot of time here. No more than necessary. His accuracy was average, but no more than that...and he seemed to hate shooting, picking up a weapon only when he had to. It was not a good reaction in an agent. ...but Tim had never shown any interest in discussing it with anyone. James didn't blame him for avoiding the other students, considering how much they seemed to resent his presence. Unfortunately, Tim had also avoided James. James had, of course, heard about what had happened the day before, and he'd been in on some of the discussions about the fact that Tim was not allowed to be a part of any of the groups, that he'd been on the receiving end of some torment. ...which was why he'd chosen to switch Tim to a different group. The last thing anyone needed was tempers flaring with loaded weapons in their hands.

Quite frankly, he was surprised to see Tim back...and to see him here of all places.

Then, he heard Tim talking to himself.

"BRASS. Breathe. Relax. Aim. Squeeze. Shoot."

James smiled to himself. The basic steps of firing a weapon. He was a bit surprised that Tim would be relying on that after ten years of experience.

...but he stood and watched. Yes, he could just leave or make his presence known, but something held him in place.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I'm never going to get this right, Jim. I'm going to get kicked out of FLETC and I'll be a laughing stock!"

"No, you won't, Tim. Just relax. You know how to do it. You don't need to be nervous about shooting a gun."

"This is about learning to possibly kill a person. How could I not be nervous?"

"You don't think of it that way. Think of it as protecting other people."

"Unless I'm wrong."

"Tim, don't secondguess yourself. You're here getting trained to know what to do...and you're a good agent, Tim."

Tim sighed.

"Just remember: BRASS."

Tim laughed. "What?"

"I had friends in the Army. BRASS. Breathe. Relax. Aim. Squeeze. Shoot. You're having trouble getting beyond the second step. You can't skip any steps, Tim."

"I can't get to the steps!"

Jim shook his head and smiled. "Stop panicking, Tim. You have no reason to. You're letting yourself get nervous and you don't need to get nervous. Now, pick up the gun. Breathe. Relax. Aim. Squeeze. Shoot."

Tim looked at the paper target at the other end of the range. He took a breath and lifted the gun. He breathed and tried to relax. He aimed, squeezed the trigger, and fired.

"Great, Tim! That's way better! Now, let's do it about a hundred more times."

Tim smiled. Jim hadn't been kidding. He had kept Tim at the firing range until the instructor had finally come and kicked them out. ...and then, he had done it again every day for the next two weeks. Tim had got over his nerves. He'd never be an expert marksman, but he had become a good shot.

Jim wasn't here this time...and Tim really missed him right now. Not really for shooting a gun, but for a friend. He picked up the gun and assumed a basic firing position. He wasn't trying to do anything but fire. He wasn't afraid of shooting, but he knew it made him too nervous. He ran through the steps and let off five rounds in quick succession. He paused, breathed again and let off the rest of the ammo, emptying the clip. Then, he set the gun down, removed the ear protection and brought the target to him.

He'd got every shot off in a good spot. A kill shot. He wasn't sure he was proud of himself about being able to do that, but he was glad that he still had some skills.

Then, he heard a smattering of applause behind him. He turned around in surprise.

"Good shots, there. A nice grouping," James said.

"Thanks," Tim said. He cleared his throat awkwardly and folded up the target. "Sorry if I was in your way."

"You're not. Students have the right to come and practice any time...so long as it's open."

Tim smiled but continued getting ready to leave.

"Agent McGee?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you mind my changing around the classes?"

"No. Not at all," Tim said. "I was glad."

"Good. You've never shown any indication of interest in really improving your accuracy. What brings you here now?"

"Mostly...memories, I guess. I had a friend my first go around. He helped me get comfortable with shooting a gun. It's been a while. I was just...wishing he was here now."

"You could talk to him."

"No, I couldn't," Tim said. "He died, a few years ago. ...unless you know a good medium."

"Sorry. I don't."

Tim shrugged. "It's all right. It's something I've had to deal with for a while."

"Well, you got off some good shots there. You don't like shooting, though, do you."

"No. It's one of the things I have to get over."

"So...why don't you?" James asked.

Tim smiled tentatively. It was like the attack had suddenly allowed people to talk to him. ...but in this case, he couldn't really blame James. He had tried to avoid the weapons instructor as much as possible...wanting to avoid talking about this very thing, actually.

"Why don't I get over it?"

James smiled. "No. Why don't you like it? You don't have to be a gun enthusiast to be a federal agent, but whenever you've been here, the expression on your face says that you'd rather be anywhere else than at a gun range. ...and it's not that your aim is bad."

"I've had some...bad luck with guns."

"In what respect?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Because I'm the arms instructor. My job is to prepare you for your job...and quite frankly, if you're afraid of shooting a gun, you're not prepared. I can't do my job if I don't know what's going on in your head."

"You know why I'm here."

"You mean your previous employment with NCIS and the fact that you resigned?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"When I was undercover, I was..." Tim hesitated. He didn't talk about this almost at all...and he definitely didn't talk about it to near strangers. "...I was sleeping with one of the people involved in the case. ...and I ended up shooting her...killing her. It's been one of those things that's...kind of stuck with me. Then, last year, my old gun was used to murder a man I hated. It's something that I've been struggling with. I can shoot a gun. I just don't like it."

"Well, to be blunt, Agent McGee, you're going to need to get over that. You have to be able to fire your weapon without wrestling with yourself. As an agent with previous experience, you should know that already."

Tim nodded. "I do."

"You're not going to get over it by avoiding firing your weapon. You need to get used to it again...and that means firing your weapon more."

"That's what Jim would have told me, I'm sure."

"Jim?"

"Yeah. Jim Nelson." Tim furrowed his brow. "Why do you ask?"

"My first name is James. Friends call me Jim."

"It's like I'm starting over. I'm going back in time to the first time I came to FLETC..." Tim laughed. "...down to a guy named Jim telling me to shoot a gun."

James grinned. "Well, I'm giving you a grade...but I do want you to get through FLETC successfully. If you want to get any help, I'm always here in the evenings...and you need help."

"What kind of a grade do I have?"

"Passable, but no better."

Tim nodded. He should have realized that it would be a problem, just from a grade standpoint. ...and he knew that he had to do better just to be a good agent.

"So...what do you recommend?"

"Practice. Time. That's the basic idea."

"Figured."

"Then, do it."

Tim looked at the target he'd used already. Then, he looked back at James.

"You have time right now?" he asked.

"Lots of time."

Tim smiled and reloaded his gun. He did want to get back to his previous level, and if this is what it would take, then this is what he'd do.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The next few days didn't bring much change to Tim's time at FLETC. People still mostly avoided him...but he could tell it was for a different reason now. Instead of because they didn't care for him and the decision he'd made to come back, they were avoiding him out of a sense of guilt (well-deserved in his opinion). It didn't lessen the loneliness, but it made the isolation less difficult to bear.

He spent a lot of extra time practicing with his gun, and he was surprised at how much it helped him work through his lingering reluctance to wield a firearm.

He also talked with Dr. Lewis on the phone for a while about what had happened. The passage of time, days without the torment he'd come to expect, also helped him started to release some of the tension. Tension that he'd been feeling since coming to FLETC. It was a distinct relief to get rid of that.

Still, Tim regretted that he was enjoying his time at FLETC so little. It was a drag on his excitement at getting back his job. These people seemed to think he deserved only to be miserable. It didn't seem fair to him. He refused to give in to what other people thought, but at the same time, it was discouraging.

Perhaps that was why he called someone he would never have considered calling in normal circumstances. One afternoon when he had finished his classes for the day, he sat on a bench and dialed a number. He'd already looked it up earlier, but it was still a bit strange for him.

"Fornell."

"Hi...Agent Fornell."

"Agent McGee?"

"Yeah."

"What's going on? You hear from Janssen?"

"No. Should I?"

"You shouldn't, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. So if it's not Janssen, what are you calling about?"

"You said that a lot of people wanted me to succeed. Who?"

There was a chuckle. "Why?"

"Because...honestly, it would be nice to hear about someone who doesn't think I'm a horrible person for doing this."

"Who thinks that?"

"Apparently...most people here."

"So...just out of curiosity, why are you calling me about this? I wouldn't think that I'm your go-to guy for encouragement."

Tim smiled. "You're not. ...but you said that people want me to make it. Who wants me to make it?"

"Well...me, for one. I don't deny that I had my moments of frustration, but you're doing everything right, Agent McGee. That means something, and to me, it's a sign that you deserve what you're getting...in terms of getting your job back, not the people at FLETC." There was a pause. "Actually, I would rather have had you give up on NCIS. Then, the FBI could have snatched you up. I wouldn't have minded lording that over a few select people."

Tim laughed and leaned back on the bench. He hadn't felt a reason to laugh in quite a while. It felt good.

"If you need others, believe it or not, there are quite a few people at the FBI who are quietly cheering you on. I know he'd deny it, but Sacks is one of them."

"I don't believe it."

"Believe it. ...and, I don't know if you want to hear this, but from what I can tell, you've got everyone at NCIS Headquarters hoping that things work out. I mentioned to Gibbs that I was going down there and the reason for it, and he dropped everything to come with me. If he had told DiNozzo and David, I have no doubt that they would have tried to come with us, too. I know you're not exactly bosom buddies with them, but they want you to make it."

Tim sobered. There were so many painful tendrils woven into his connections with his former teammates. He appreciated what Fornell had said, but at the same time, it made him nervous.

He was silent for too long and it was clear that Fornell understood all too well why he wasn't speaking.

"Hey, kid, this isn't some kind of a test. You asked, and I answered. Even if the idiots down there don't think you deserve it, you do...and those of us who know you know that you deserve it...and they know that we can use your skills. So don't listen to them. ...and I'm sure it's not any fun to face that every day...but they're not examples of what everyone thinks."

"Thanks, Agent Fornell. I...I'm sorry for bothering you."

"No bother. ...but while you're on the phone, can I ask you to reconsider letting Janssen off?"

"You can ask, but I'll say no."

"It's your choice, but it's a mistake. Janssen's not the kind of guy who'll cool off and move on. This has festered...and he doesn't seem to care about taking care of it."

"I did the same thing."

"Only you did it to yourself...not to others. Janssen's attitude is way more dangerous to people around him than yours."

Tim swallowed, but he stubbornly shook his head, even though Fornell couldn't see him.

"I'm not changing my mind."

"All right. If you see even a glimpse of him, you tell someone, Agent McGee. If Janssen is around, then he has a reason for it...and you've already experienced what he's done."

"He blames me for his brother's death."

"Without reason. He needs someone to blame and you're convenient. Don't let him get to you...in any way. That's my recommendation as an agent. You told me to look in his eyes. I did, and what I saw there was not someone you can trust to be reasonable. He's not."

"If I see him...but I won't. He won't know where I'm ending up. I don't even know that."

"All the same..."

"I'll tell someone."

"Good. Was there anything else?"

"No. Thanks, Agent Fornell."

"No problem, Agent McGee. Good luck."

Tim hung up and looked around. No one was near, and he didn't mind that at all. People were nearly always the problem. ...but he did have people who wanted him to make it.

Maybe that would be enough to get him through these last few weeks. With that last thought, he got up and headed for his room.