A/N: Since accessing has been dicey lately, I'm publishing the chapter early this week while I can get into the site.
oOoOoOo
McGee's Apartment
McGee stood in the kitchen listening to the rain peck softly at the windowpanes as dreary morning light seeped into the room. He stood on one foot, leaning against the counter top for support and defiantly left the crutches he was given the night before at the ER before across the room against the wall. The sewing in his foot, a few neatly tied stitches, itched and tugged beneath the bandage, but the pain from them was minimal. He had declined the painkillers offered to him—not out of a show of bravado but out of simple stubbornness. He couldn't drive if he was on anything stronger than Tylenol, and he had things to do that day.
Fortunately, his car was an automatic so there was no need for his left foot. He scoffed quietly as any number of movie comments about the Christie Brown move and quotes from it (in Tony's voice) sounded in his head.
It was nearing 10 a.m., a respectable hour to drop by unannounced to see someone on a weekend. Not that he thought the man at his destination was a late riser. As far as McGee knew, the man only slept four hours per night (and sometimes less if there was something on his mind). McGee knew how that felt at the moment.
He had not slept much between the visit to the ER and the discussion that occurred afterward. His head was fuzzy about it from fatigue and pure confusion. Running after Abby in the rain was crazy. Agreeing to start dating her was sheer lunacy. The amazing ache he felt simply saying goodbye to her when she left for church that morning was… probably a sign of mental illness, he thought as he hung his head but smiled all the same.
Rather than ponder his mental stability any longer, he grabbed his phone and made a call that he hoped would be short so that he could get on with the more difficult task of the day. Not surprisingly, the phone rang five times before being answered just before the voice mail system intervened.
"Hello?" his sister's groggy voice carried over the air.
"Let me guess, you're still in bed," McGee remarked. "Late night with friends?"
"What makes you think it wasn't an early morning?" she grumbled as she yawned then whined. "Why are you calling me so early? I could have company here, you know."
"It's almost 10, which isn't early, and a hook up in a bar doesn't count as company so please tell me that you didn't do that," McGee huffed. "Sarah?"
"No, MOTHER," she snarled. "Jesus, Tim. You're such a prude. No, I did not pick up a random stranger in a bar. I didn't go out last night. I was up until 3 translating poems in Middle English for an assignment I'm working on for Dr. Collins. Is it already 10 for real?"
McGee scoffed. His sister was a night owl. He was more of a morning person. He began questioning, not for the first time, whether they were related.
"Yes, it is," he said. "Happy birthday, by the way. Are you going to get up in time for me to take you to lunch like we planned, or should I just send a pizza delivery to your door around five in the hopes that you'll be out of bed?"
"You're going to be like this to me on my birthday?" Sarah growled. "I'm not like that to you on your birthday."
McGee did not bother to remind her that she had forgotten his last three birthdays until the weekend after they occurred. He did not mind. Birthdays were not huge events in their family. Still, he made it a point to always call his mother on hers and always take Sarah out to lunch on hers.
"Do you still want me to meet you for lunch or not?" he asked.
"I don't turn down a free meal," she replied obliquely. "The diner on 18th Street Southwest?"
"Of course," he agreed.
It was the place she always requested and would, regardless of the time of day, request her candy bar milkshake be served at the end of the meal so she could take it to go. It was the predictability in her that always made him stop wondering how they were related.
"Oh," he said paving the way to avoid a new flurry of check-ins from her, "just to warn you, I have to use crutches because I got some stitches in my foot last night. So don't freak out when I see you. It's no big deal, but…"
Her reaction was what he feared. Even over the phone, he could hear her sit up, ramrod straight and fully awake finally.
"What did you do?" she asked. "Did you get hurt at work? You're not supposed to be working on weekends or run around chasing criminals at all yet. Why did you need stitches? Why didn't you call me when it happened? Are you alright?"
McGee sighed and reminded himself what his counselor in Texas told him. It would take nearly as long for his friends and family to heal from what happened to him as it would McGee himself. While they did not go through the physical experience, they were emotionally harmed and needed to let those wounds heal.
"I'm fine," he said. "I stepped on a piece of broken glass. The cut doesn't hurt, but Abby thought I needed stitches so we went to the ER."
"Oh, Abby, that's… interesting," Sarah said then paused.
McGee waited for something more, some comment or reaction, but found that none was forthcoming.
"Yeah, she was with me when it happened," he said, figuring his sister didn't need the details of his idiotic dash into the rain. "I didn't think I needed more than a band aid but…"
"You also thought that when a building blew up in your face, Tim," Sarah reminded him flatly as she huffed in frustration. "They kept you over night because you were impaled by a foot-long shard of glass-not that I knew about that until Penny told me like two months later. Remember what you told me? It's barely a scratch. Tim, you suck at giving accurate details about yourself, you know that?"
He did not bother to argue with her. She had been angry with him following his failure to give her the full details about the injury he suffered when Harper Dearing attempted to destroy the NCIS building as revenge for the death of his son. Instead, of fighting that battle with her again, McGee focused on minimizing her worry over this new mishap.
"It's just a couple stitches," he said calmly. "I only need the crutches for a couple days so I don't pull them out. I barely know that they're in."
Sarah scoffed. She sensed he was downplaying the situation. She had all the information she needed to get full answers later… well, almost all of it.
"So you were with Abby," she remarked. "Not working, I hope."
McGee grimaced. He wasn't sure precisely what he should tell her. Hiding what was going on in his life seemed wrong—as if he was ashamed, which he was not. Of course, telling her opened up a vast area for questioning and criticism. Then again, he reasoned, that might not be a bad thing. If he had taken leave of his senses, Sarah certainly wouldn't hold back on telling him so.
"Abby and I are… we're kind of…," he began and found he didn't know the right word to use.
They were not exactly dating as they had not gone on a date. The term seeing each other was pointlessly casual as they always saw each other at the office. They weren't sleeping together in the Biblical sense at this point; although, they had both slept in his bed the night prior.
"There's something going on between us, and I don't know what it is," he said finally.
"You don't know?" Sarah scoffed. "She finally figured out she missed being with you, and obviously you've still got the hots for her so you two are having a fling to see where it goes. It's not rocket science, Tim."
The lack surprise or criticism of his decision shocked McGee as much as the accuracy in her statement. The only thing more stunning was her next abrupt question.
"Did you sleep with her?" Sarah asked.
"Yes," he said then corrected himself agitated. "I mean, no. You know, that's none of your business."
Sarah laughed at his flustered response and silently offered up a prayer of thanks to a God she didn't honestly believe in that he was still around to be such a fussy mess about something like this.
"Well, it is my business when you remember that I'm your emergency contact when Penny is not in the area," Sarah sighed superiorly. "She's leaving for Switzerland this week, and she'll be gone for 10 days. Therefore, I need to be kept apprised on your well-being during this time."
"I'm fine so that's all you need to know," he said flatly.
"Are you following your doctor's orders and keeping mindful of your restrictions?" Sarah asked haughtily. "I ask because I happen to know what those are. I've done a lot of reading this summer about heart surgery patients and their recovery. You're not supposed to physically exert yourself outside of your required physical therapy and cardio therapy regiments until after you receive a clean bill of health around the 16-week post op date. That is still a few weeks away, so if you were with Abby last evening…."
McGee ground his teeth and thought (yet again) that the thing his sister needed most was to be placed in time-out for about a year. As usual, his momentary belief earlier that she might be starting to grow up and act her age swiftly faded.
"It's none of your business," he said through clenched teeth.
It was late when he and Abby were talking, and both fell asleep. McGee was fully aware of what he was permitted to do and emphatically not allowed to do until after receiving clearance from his medical team. Running a marathon, skydiving, and sex were all in the high stress, high adrenaline category with a big NO attached to it for him at the moment.
"I can't help myself," Sarah chuckled. "Part of my job as the little sister is to annoy you. I take that responsibility seriously, and I haven't had much opportunity to fulfill my duties recently. You have to cut me some slack."
His lack of sleep made him a bit irritated, as did the mild pain in his foot, so he grumbled at her rather than let her flit about the conversation like an untouchable butterfly.
"You mean I haven't already with forgiving you for lying to me about Abby visiting me in the hospital and forgetting that detail in your confession?" he remarked. He heard her sigh heavy with guilt. "I'm dropping it and never mentioning it again after I say this: I am still disappointed in you, Sarah."
The line went quiet. Normally, he would let that get to him and start letting her off the hook, but not this time. She was all for taking a protective stance when she perceived someone else doing wrong, but the second blame was laid at her feet, she trotted out her bag of victim tricks that usually worked wonders on him. Not this time. While he did mean it when he said that he forgave her for her actions toward Abby that did not change his disappointment.
"Do you want me to apologize to her again?" Sarah asked. "I'm sorry. I've said it like 10 times now. Why did Abby rat me out?"
McGee scoffed and shook his head. No one could do sincerely sullen to aggressive offended in the same breath like Sarah… except maybe Abby. He shook his head dismissing that comparison and simply reminded himself that sometimes his little sister was a lost cause. Of course, that did not mean he would give up on her.
"She didn't," he replied. "Penny did."
"Oh," Sarah groaned. "Great. Now, I wish it had been Abby."
McGee smiled. Nothing took the wind out of Sarah's sails quite like worrying their grandmother might be displeased with her. McGee did not fully understand why; then again, he had never been on the receiving end of Penny's displeasure.
"So," Sarah sighed, "since you claim you don't know what's going on between you and Abby, can I give you some advice? This is something I learned from the wisdom of a contemporary British philosopher,: You can't always get what you want, but sometimes you get what you need."
McGee scoffed and rolled his eyes.
"That's not a philosopher," he disagreed. "That's Mick Jagger."
"Since when are you a fan of The Rolling Stones?" his sister asked.
"Since Tony always sang in the car on stakeouts if he was bored," McGee replied. "So you're saying I'm using her by agreeing to start seeing her?"
Sarah laughed. Her brother using someone for anything was truly laughable. His Boy Scout mentality pretty much prevented him from manipulating situations and people to his best advantage. Their father had often accused him of lacking ambition for that reason, but Sarah knew from an early age that her brother simply was too considerate. She was guilty of pushing his buttons and rigging situations to her advantage with him. He usually knew precisely what she was doing but still allowed it… most of the time. However, the thought of him doing that to Abby simply to get his jollies was outrageously funny to her.
"Tim, you've never used anyone simply for your own needs in your entire life," she laughed. "What I'm saying is that what you want is a future with Abby. It's what you've always wanted. The word I believe is pined, actually."
McGee groaned and then tried to explain the gist of his conversation with Abby. Still, telling her more of the story did not appear to change her take on it. Sarah was not always the best sounding board for anything of a personal nature as her view of the world was so different from his. Despite being raised in the same house by the same family, their temperaments were stridently different. He always relegated it to a question of emotional maturity. He had some whereas Sarah… not so much.
"Look," she continued, "you say you were honest with her and about your fear that this thing between you won't last because she'll be the one who walks away. Still, you're going through with this. In keeping with Professor Jagger, this is what you need. Tim, you're the science geek. You know you can't predict the future. What you're doing right now is relying on the past. I'm not saying that's always a bad thing, but it's not always the right thing, either. Think about it: If you had simply used the past as your guide last year, you would never had the contact with Dad that you did before he died. You two had a messed up relationship that no one but you could ever fully understand. If you had just used the past and what everyone else thought as your guideline, you'd never have reconnected with him. So, knowing what you know now, do you regret giving him another chance to be a part of your life?"
McGee swallowed and knew the answer without having to think about it. The problems between he and his father made the bumpy road he had with Abby look like a Sunday joyride. Finally feeling some connection with him that was mutual had saved him a tonnage of regret. McGee knew that even if he still did not independently recall the man's death or funeral. He cast his eyes to his bookcase where the night before he discovered the copy of Moby Dick with the photo tucked between the pages rested. That picture was a small thing but it refuted all the history he had firmly believed about the man. He had always care. He just never expressed it well or properly.
"Abby and the Admiral are not the same," McGee said. "With him I needed…"
"Closure," Sarah said knowingly. "I think you do with Abby as well. Tim, I hope for your sake that the two of you stick together like glue this time. You've never been hung up on anyone the way you have with Abby. I'm not saying I like everything she's put you through, but there's a reason you never cut her out of your life. She makes you happy, and not a whole lot in the world does that for you—not the way she does. The way I see it, when you broke up years ago, it wasn't a solid break. It was more like you just hit stop on the movie rather than reached the end with the credits rolling. So, if things don't work out this time, at least you'll have your closure finally."
McGee shook his head as his chin dropped. This was not what he expected to hear from his caustic sister on this matter. Granted, she was not someone he turned to for advice normally. That was more the role he left to Penny—after all, she was infinitely wiser about people and far less apt to key someone's car if she felt someone had wronged a person she cared about… usually.
"So you don't think I'm a fool for even considering there might be a chance that this time things will be different?" he asked.
Sarah laughed in a giddy way but for some reason it did not grate on him or feel like judgement.
"Oh, you're totally a fool and being completely illogical by giving her another chance," she asserted. "That's why I couldn't be more excited for you or prouder of you. After everything that's happened to you, you need to act a little crazy sometimes. Hell, you've earned the right, Tim. You're too serious and tightly wound. Know what this reminds me of? That New Year's when we stayed at Penny's house just after Dad got stationed at Norfolk."
McGee recalled it well. His grandmother was throwing a party. When the McGee children arrived, the whole house was set up for an elegant gathering. McGee was left in charge of watching his little sister while Penny rushed around taken care of last minute details in the kitchen. Sarah had begged to go outside to play. McGee had promised her at Christmas they would build a snow fort before their vacation was over, but while there was no snow at their new home in Norfolk, there was plenty at Penny's. The problem was, Sarah was not allowed outside because she had been sick with a terrible cold. McGee felt badly for having to break his promise to her until he got what he thought was a great compromise.
"You built me a fort inside," Sarah recalled, the smile on her face evident in her tone. "You pulled the cushions off every chair in the house; you took blankets off the beds and dragged the dining room chairs into the parlor. Using all of that you built me this amazing fort with three rooms and a little maze with the blankets as walls. Penny's Christmas tree was still up so you took the lights off it and strung them through my fort and turned it into my very own fairy castle. That's still the best gift I've ever gotten from anyone."
McGee said nothing. She had been pleased with it, running though the makeshift hallway and giving names and uses to the rooms. It was the first time he had seen her smile since just after Thanksgiving when she had taken ill with her cold.
"Well, I got grounded for two months when the Admiral arrived to see the mess we'd made of the house," McGee recalled.
The man had screamed loudly enough to make the chandelier shake before making McGee tear apart his creation while Sarah was sent to the guest room without any toys or books to occupy her or take her mind of the destruction of her imaginary kingdom.
"What's that got to do with me and Abby?" he asked.
"Everyone told you that you were doing the wrong thing and you got punished for it, but it was worth it, and you know it," Sarah said. "It's one of your favorite memories, Tim; you've told me so dozen times. Part of the reason you remember it so fondly is because for one afternoon, you were crazy and spontaneous. You need to be more like the kid who built me that fort, Tim. Life is too short and unpredictable to be logical all the time. It's not foolish to take the chance and act a little crazy if it's something your truly heart wants. Sometimes, following your heart is the smart and brave thing to do."
McGee could hear his father's voice grousing about Penny offering that sort of advice as well, calling her a lunatic and a hippie and any number of other chiding remarks that all amounted to the same thing. The Admiral always thought she was flighty and had no sense of reality. McGee shook his head at those memories. In truth, he could think of no one else on the planet who had a firmer grasp of the real world and its possibilities (warts and all). That Sarah was on the same page as their grandmother was surprising.
"I still feel I'm setting myself up for failure," he admitted. "I feel kind of foolish."
"Good," Sarah said encouragingly. "Being foolish is part of being in love. Just take the chance and roll with it. You have to do what your heart tells you is right and walk away from whatever it tells you is wrong. It will never lead you astray. Because, as I said at the beginning, you can't always get what you want…"
"But sometimes you get what you need," he completed her sentence. "Well, if I'm going to do that, I need to take care of something first."
"Uh oh," Sarah remarked. "You don't sound very enthused. You sound the way you used to when you had to ask Dad for permission to do something you knew he wouldn't like."
McGee sighed.
"Well, it's something like that," he replied warily. "I'll see you at the diner around 1."
oOoOoOo
Gibbs' Basement
As church bells tolled in the morning mist across the District, McGee hobbled down the steps to Gibbs' workshop, feeling awkward as he did so. First off, maneuvering on crutches was not normal for him. He did not want to use them, but the ER doctor who put seven stitches in his foot the previous night had assured him they were necessary. Next, Gibbs' lair was not some place he normally visited.
Others on the team were known to visit Gibbs after hours in this spot, but never McGee. In fact, he had only been in the basement once previously. That was at Gibbs' direction when the team temporarily set up a makeshift squad room while the FBI swarmed the NCIS building to look for the murderer of a French arms dealer. Therefore, descending into the depths of the house for something not directly related to a case felt odd to him.
He did his best not to trip and fall down the stairs. The last thing he needed was to add broken bones to his list of the year's medical incidents. He was certain he could ambulate just fine without he crutches, but Abby had taken the ER doctor's words to heart. He had half-expected Abby to make a kindly threat to hurt him if she found him walking without them, but no such comments were made. Frankly, that worried him more than if she had issued an "or else" statement. He just didn't know what to make of it—or the hairpin turn his life seemed to have taken the previous evening regarding her, which was part of why he was at Gibbs' in the first place.
His world had turned on it's head, and he needed answers on a variety of fronts. As all of them started or intersected with NCIS, he figured Gibbs was the starting point for getting those answers.
As he hobbled slowly down the stairs, McGee spied his boss standing at his workbench surveying some sort of chisel in the sparse light cast by the bare bulbs in the ceiling. As always when approaching Gibbs unannounced, he was wary.
"Hey, Boss," McGee said as he managed the steps. "Is now a bad time?"
"Depends on what time you think it is," Gibbs said as he ran his thumb over the recently sharpened chisel edge.
"Well," McGee said, "it's almost 11 a.m. as far as the clock is concerned, but that's not really relevant."
Gibbs turned his head to see the three-legged approach and sighed. He received a text message from Abby around midnight letting him know he could stand down on his threat to drag his stubborn junior agent to get treatment as the sewing was complete and she was bringing McGee home. Not that Gibbs had been worried. Abby was more than capable of taking care of McGee. That he put up any resistance to her the previous evening had been surprising… or would have been if this was the McGee who left DC for Afghanistan the previous April. Again, Gibbs reminded himself, there were things still to learn about the man who had returned to them.
"Late night?" Gibbs remarked as he jerked his chin toward the crutches.
"Kind of," McGee answered. "Abby said I have to use them. Well, the doctor said so and she agreed with him, but I can walk just fine if I'm careful. I'm just supposed to use them for a few days so I don't pop the stitches. I can barely feel them, but Abby insisted, and she's… you know."
Gibbs nodded then walked to the series of boards resting on his work table. What the project would be, McGee had no idea. All he was certain of was that it looked like too small a pile of wood to become a boat. Putting the project's possibilities out of his mind, he cleared his throat as he gripped the hands rests on the crutches to keep hidden the slight quiver he could feel in them.
"Boss, I wanted to talk to you about a few things… if you've got the time," he began carefully.
Gibbs sighed and scowled at his project and the opening statement. More than a decade of instructing the agent, hundreds of hours spent working on serious and dangerous cases with him, and still he hemmed and hawed like a high school freshman asked to explain what he was whispering to his a friend about during class.
"Spit it out, McGee," Gibbs commanded.
McGee swallowed and lifted his chin slightly.
"Were you told about Director Vance's decision to let me return to the squad room?" he asked.
While his expression was hesitant, Gibbs also saw a crystal of hardness in McGee's eyes, a fragment of anger, and a shard of betrayal.
"Yeah," Gibbs said. "I got the email."
McGee paused. He was not entirely sure why he did. Gibbs was not big on discussions, chit-chat or verbal communication of any kind normally. If someone worked with him long enough and paid close attention, he could learn the nonverbal language of the eyebrow lifts, the twitches of the lips, the crinkles around the eyes. It was a complex language that was easy to misunderstand; however, given the man's stance and his flat expression, McGee read his unspoken word clearly: So?
"His message doesn't say where I go specifically on Monday," McGee offered. "I'm back in the building, but it doesn't say I'm back on your team."
Gibbs exhaled slowly as he absorbed the statement and the implied question.
"No, it doesn't," Gibbs replied. "Where do you think you should go?"
"Does it matter what I think?" he asked then grimaced as his aggressive sentiment sounded more petulant than anything else. "Your team is down one person. I'm allowed 8 hour days now. I can help with research and background information from a desk."
Gibbs sighed and offered him a suffering look.
"You got that wrong," he said flatly.
"I can still type," McGee argued. "You think I lost the ability to write a search query or how to electronically cross-reference data points? Maybe I'm not allowed to chase a suspect down an alley, but…"
Gibbs scoffed and pointed at the crutches.
"Not allowed?" he questioned. "Not able is more like it today. So you're wrong about that, too. McGee, I'm saying…"
"That I'm useless?" he questioned hotly. "As a field agent, I am for the moment. I know I can't do what you need me to do yet. You need someone who can help out the rest of your team. Well, I can do that from a desk. It's not all the help you need to fill the vacancy, but it's better than nothing. That kind of work is why you put me on your team in the first place. You needed someone with technological skills in the squad room because Abby is usually bogged down with all here other duties and the guys in the cyber unit aren't exactly user friendly and don't think like investigators. They always need explicit instructions or they freeze up. Well, I can still fulfill that role."
Gibbs dropped the slim, rounded piece of wood in his hands and turned to face McGee. He shook his head and scoffed again as he blinked in surprise.
"You hit your head when you were running around without shoes last night?" Gibbs asked. "You haven't said a single correct thing since you got here other than Abby's busy in the lab and the cyber guys are pains in the ass. You're usually more on top of the situation than this, McGee."
The junior agent clenched his jaw as he looked toward the floor in shame. He felt greatly like the last time he was lectured by his father—in front of Gibbs no less. He sagged dejectedly on the crutches as he decided simply leaving was best. If it was anyone else pointing out his mistakes, he might have offered an apology for the interruption, but with Gibbs that would only make the moment worse.
"You going somewhere?" Gibbs asked as he saw the defeat in his visitor's eyes as he turned marginally toward the stairs. "I thought you were looking for answers."
"I have them," McGee said.
"Oh you do?" Gibbs asked. "Do you even know what you got wrong? It started when you said 'your team is a one person down.' My team is your team. We're not one person down. As of Monday, we're one person short in the field. Oh, and another thing, I didn't pick you for my team because you're slick with a keyboard. That's what got my attention, but it's not why I chose you."
McGee looked at him with confused eyes. He was grateful he was still considered part of the team; although, he figured Gibbs could have found a less obtuse way to say it. He wasn't sure how to take the offering that his strongest skill was not what made him worthy to be on the team.
"I needed someone who could think and was willing to learn," Gibbs said. "Do you know what actually impressed me most when I first met you? It wasn't your degrees. It wasn't your FLETC scores. It wasn't your family's history in the Navy. I met a 24-year-old kid who had all of that going for him, someone who looked like the golden child for the agency on paper, but who was in over his head and did something damn difficult for someone used to being the smartest person in the room."
McGee scrunched his brow as his face reflected his confusion. He recalled the case well. A sailor's body, nearly obliterated by acid, found in a sealed oil drum at Norfolk. McGee didn't even try to tackle the case alone after taking the preliminary steps to secure the crime scene. He called the Navy Yard. He did not find that act remarkable. It simply showed how green he was that, despite his degrees and grades at the Academy, when confronted with his first homicide he was out of his depth.
"You asked for help," Gibbs continued, mirroring McGee's recollection. "You didn't assume you knew best because you'd memorized a textbook. You didn't try to solve it on your own. I've known a lot of young and bright agents in my time. The brighter they were, the more they had in common. They all thought they knew everything. Not you."
McGee huffed. He wasn't sure if that was meant to convey that he did not belong in the "brightest" group or something else. Either way, it didn't feel like the type of evaluation he needed or wanted to hear that morning.
"You were the smartest probie I ever met," Gibbs said. "It had nothing to do with your Bachelors or your Masters degrees or you being a genius with computers. It was because you wanted to learn—not just from books, but from guys who had actual investigative experience and less formal education that you. You recognized their value. Your ego didn't get in the way then. So I'm curious what happened that you're letting that happen now."
McGee blinked. He thought he had just been called arrogant and a snob, in a certain sense. Sure, he got that kind of label when talking among programmers and there was a disagreement about various languages, but he never thought he would hear that characterization coming from Gibbs.
"I'm not," he shook his head. "Boss, I just wanted to know if… It's not ego. I wanted to know if I still was considered worthy of being a field agent on your team. I spent couple months not hearing anything from anyone. It seemed like I was dismissed."
Gibbs offered him a frank and flat gaze. It wasn't that Gibbs doubted Ducky's assessment; he just didn't like hearing how true it was. He wasn't sure there was any blame to dole out for the latest blemishes on McGee's self-esteem, but he knew none of the marks were intentional.
"I did what I thought was best," Gibbs said rather than apologize. "Given the same circumstances again, I wouldn't change it. Do you realize what happened to you, McGee? Do you understand the shape you were in when we saw you last? You needed to recover. Complaining to me about that won't change the past."
McGee rested on his crutches, feeling the full weight of Gibbs' eyes. It was not a malevolent glare. It wasn't a searing stare. It was simply a gaze, an unapologetic, honest gaze. He wasn't sorry for leaving McGee in the hinterlands with his no-contact order for the team. McGee was prepare to accept that ruling and try to move on from it, but there was one question nagging at him.
"Would you have done the same thing to Tony?" McGee asked as he raised his eyes to meet Gibbs'.
The question caught Gibbs' off guard. He raised his eyebrows then blinked several times in silence as he was forced to consider that scenario. After a moment, he shook his head with confidence.
"No," he said.
"Because you figure he's stronger and could handle it whereas I'm… not like him," McGee replied coldly.
"No," Gibbs scoffed. "DiNozzo needs attention and an audience or he becomes Tony times 10. He'd hurt himself worming around for calls and email and visits. Hell, he'd have himself brought into the office on a stretcher still wearing an oxygen mask so he would have someone to hear his movie quotes. You're normally more mature than that so I figured you could handle downtime like a grown up. Was I wrong?"
Put that way, McGee could not argue and felt childish for being needy. He bit his lip as he tried not to smirk, but failed miserably. He was never quite sure when Gibbs was kidding as the man did not joke often; however, he figured there was enough truth and sarcasm in his offering that it was fair to determine he wanted to end the tension in the room.
"No," McGee replied. "But I think you're not giving Tony enough credit. He'd have nurses to entertain him and bore with his movie trivia before he came to bother any of us. He'd probably spend most of his time telling us about his games of 'Wanna See My Scar' with the nurses who gave him a sponge bath."
Gibbs snorted his agreement with that and considered the matter closed as he turned back to his woodworking. He felt McGee lingering near the workbench and sensed their discussion was not yet over.
"You have something else to say?" Gibbs asked keeping focused on the board he was sanding.
Late night discussions aside, McGee was not entirely sure he needed to say anything to Gibbs about Abby. Still, if he was to be on the man's team still, he wouldn't (couldn't) lie to him. However, it was his life and Abby, while technically a co-worker, was someone he had dated in the past without it being a problem for the function of the office. Granted, they were not working together regularly at that time, but even when things did go off the rails, they did not miss a beat in getting the job done of solving cases.
History was also on his side in this in another way. Tony had breached Rule 12 and dated a co-worker previously. That didn't turn out well in the end, but it hadn't been detrimental to the team's work. It did nearly get that other agent killed, but E.J. Barrett had trouble following her before she ever hear the name Anthony DiNozzo, so no one could really fault Tony for how her career ended.
"Well," Gibbs prodded. "What did you need to ask me?"
McGee cleared his throat and tried to find his most confident and assured voice.
"Not ask you," McGee said as he took a steadying breath. "Tell you. I'm going to break a rule… I think."
"You think?" Gibbs repeated. "One of my rules?"
He looked at his agent with a surprised expression. He did not know what he was about to hear, but an upfront admission of a rule violation was not one of them. If pressed in that instant, Gibbs would have guessed it was going to be rule 6: Never apologize—it's a sign of weakness.
Gibbs was on the verge of cutting off the apology, figuring it would be wrapped up somehow with the extended (and necessary) leave McGee had taken during his recovery, but what he heard next let him know he guessed wrong.
"Rule 12," McGee said.
"Twelve?" Gibbs blinked as he looked up to stare intently at his agent.
"Boss, you're my supervisor and you've taught me a lot, more than anything I ever learned at the Academy," McGee said. "You've saved my life and my career more than once. I owe you and I know that. So, I don't mean this as disrespect. In fact, it's because I do respect you that I'm telling you."
"You're showing me respect by rambling in my basement on a Sunday and telling me you're breaking rule 12?" Gibbs asked as he narrowed his eyes on confusion.
"It's about Abby," McGee said. Gibbs rolled his eyes at that predictable answer. "Well, about Abby and me. She and I may… that is… We're kind of… She wants to… I'm breaking rule 12 with Abby. I didn't want to sneak around and hide that so I'm telling you."
Gibbs stared and folded his arms.
"And if I have a problem with that?" he asked.
McGee looked back at him with a firm expression that was only marred by the nervous swallow evident from his Adam's Apple.
"Then we have a problem," McGee said plainly without backing down despite the quaking in his voice and the frantic, nervous blinking of his eyes. "I know you have your rules for a reason, but some of them I don't… agree with entirely… or at all."
"Really?" Gibbs remarked. "Like Rule 12?"
"Uh, in this instance, yes," McGee said cautiously. "Rule 12 is a problem for me. I understand why you have it and, generally speaking, I see the wisdom in it."
"Generally?" Gibbs repeated. "Generally for everyone other than you?"
McGee looked at him sheepishly, knowing he was caught in the man's crosshairs and there would be no escape until Gibbs permitted it. Like dealing with his father, McGee knew the only way to survive was to answer truthfully and take the punishment when it came without protest.
"In this instant, yes," McGee held his breath and waited.
Gibbs snorted then looked back at his woodworking. Just as McGee began to relax, Gibbs turned back toward him and hit him with a flat, demanding stare.
"What else?" he asked with a narrowed eye. McGee stared back blankly. "You just said you said you don't agree with some of the rules, McGee. Some means more than one."
"Uh, yeah," McGee said with regret as he swallowed with difficulty. "I guess it does."
McGee worked his jaw for a second as he considered his options. Under the weight of Gibbs' glare, he summoned the courage to answer.
"Rule 6," McGee said tentatively.
"Never apologize?" Gibbs wondered gruffly, unsurprised by the answer but not pleased to hear it.
McGee nodded hesitantly as he swallowed dryly.
"Boss, sometimes apologizing is the right thing, the hardest thing, and the brave thing to do," he offered. "A sincere and truthful apology is a sign of respect and good character—not a sign of weakness."
Gibbs looked at him flatly.
"That all?" he asked.
"Rule 6 and Rule 12, yeah," McGee nodded. "That's not enough?"
"Oh, it's more than enough," Gibbs replied. "Anything else you want to say?"
"Um, no," McGee said.
He paused, keeping rooted in place, as he waited for the lecture or the order or some sort of snarling bark. However, none came. Instead, Gibbs merely shook his head and snorted softly as he turned back to his tools.
"Uh, Boss," McGee began hesitantly. "You don't have anything to say?"
"Such as?" Gibbs asked.
"I don't know," MCGee replied warily. "You're not going to tell me I can't break rule 12? Or that… I don't know, something. Boss, I don't break rules usually."
"Walked into the squad room against orders," Gibbs offered.
"Orders and rules are not the same," McGee replied without thinking, but his eyes opened wide upon hearing his words.
They also got Gibbs' attention as he turned with raised eyebrows to gaze at his subordinate with a blank expression. McGee looked back at him cautiously.
"I don't normally disregard those either—the orders, your orders, I mean," McGee said. "Last week was an exception. I just really needed my wallet and keys back, Boss. You know me. You know I respect rules, your rules, most of them."
"Yeah, except 6 and 12," Gibbs nodded. "We covered that already."
McGee hung his head feeling his face grow red with the shame of putting his foot in his mouth and beginning to buckle in his resolve under pressure. Gibbs sighed explosively.
"They're my rules, McGee," he said. "I like it when people follow my rules. I think life is better and makes more sense when people do follow them, but they're not laws. They can be broken."
McGee sighed with relief.
"At your own risk," Gibbs added.
"I promise you it won't be a problem," McGee said in a rush. "You won't even know that Abby and I are… I mean, you'll know because I told you, but if I hadn't you wouldn't. What I mean is, we'll be totally professional and not let anything get in the way of doing our jobs."
Gibbs scoffed and fixed his agent with a hard and disbelieving stare.
"What, like me finding you rooting around under her desk rewiring something she called her hot box while she sits at her computer flirting with you?" Gibbs began. "Or when the two of you playing touchy fingers on the keyboard while you're working on a computer? 'Cause that's what I've been getting from the two of you for a decade already."
McGee swallowed and looked at his feet guiltily for a moment before raising his eyes and offering a half-shrug.
"Well, that will… probably continue," he admitted. "It's just how we work together, Boss, which one could argue is actually solid evidence that we can work together in awkward situations without it being a detriment to our ability to do our jobs."
"Uh huh," Gibbs said. "This announcement related to that call I got about you needing to visit the ER?"
"Sort of," McGee said as he leaned forward on the crutches. "I was running to catch up to Abby, but I forgot to put on shoes first."
Gibbs shook his head as he looked away, a smirk tugging briefly on the corners of his mouth. Smartest guy in the room on paper, but couldn't think practically enough to remember to wear shoes, Gibbs mused with a sigh. McGee hung his head and felt his spirits sink as he watched Gibbs return his attention to the wood on the table.
"I can see how that might make it seem like I wasn't thinking straight, and it might lead you to think that I can't be professional like I just promised," McGee said. "But Boss, I had to do it. I just... I had to. It was required. Honestly, it was the only logical and appropriate action."
"You ran after her?" Gibbs guessed as he cut in without looking up. "She went to see you, you said something that made her walked away, and then you chased after her?"
McGee nodded.
"I made a mistake," McGee explained. "I said something I shouldn't have and didn't mean. Then I remembered something that someone with a lot more experience dealing with complicated relationships told me once about how he almost lost the love of his life by doing something just like that. After Abby left my apartment, all I could think of was what a stupid mistake I had just made; that's when I remembered his advice."
"Which was what?" Gibbs wondered.
"If you love her, chase after her," McGee said.
Gibbs looked up from his work with an understanding expression. He considered the statement and the man who had just spoken it to him. He offered McGee a thoughtful expression before turning back to his sanding.
"That's good advice," Gibbs nodded deftly.
He paused and McGee waited. When it appeared the man had nothing more to add, the younger agent hesitantly prodded him for something more.
"So you're okay with this?" McGee asked.
Gibbs shook his head.
"No," he answered. "And I'm not giving you permission to break any of my rules, but I'll hold my objections right now if you tell me the answer to something I want to know—a complete answer."
McGee nodded eagerly, happy to oblige.
"What made you want to become an NCIS agent?" Gibbs asked, recalling Cranston's instruction to him that the reason might shed light on the San Francisco cold case. "I know you made the decision when you were a kid. Something triggered it. I want to know what it was specifically."
McGee offered him a puzzled look, but the boss's steely gaze did not waver. The junior agent looked at the floor then shrugged as he offered the only answer he had.
"I thought I saw something when I was a kid that seemed like it should have been investigated but no one bothered to do that because only some kids said it happened," McGee shrugged. "I figured someone should have listened to us. It made me mad that no one did so I wanted to be the person who did the right thing."
Gibbs nodded. If this was an interrogation room, he would begin to push at this point. His instincts initially told him to do so, but there was a little voice in his head (very different from the pang in his gut telling him to proceed) that reminded him of something vital: This was not a suspect. McGee was ultimately the victim in a case in a larger sense. He wasn't willfully hiding anything, of that Gibbs was certain. He was, however, in possession of more information that he probably realized. Getting at it was going to take a more delicate touch than Gibbs was used to using. Ironically, the member of his time he would have sent into this kind of situation to question the victim was in fact McGee himself.
"What did you think you saw?" Gibbs asked.
McGee shook his head then shrugged. After a moment, he offered a bland answer of not seeing anything precisely but being with a friend who may have seen something. It was not far different than interviewing a child, Gibbs realized, which made sense because the recollections in the agent's mind would be with only a child's level of context since that's what he was when the memory imprinted.
"What did your friend see?" Gibbs wondered. "Must have been something remarkable to make you decide all those years ago to do this for a living."
McGee nodded as he thought about it. It had been remarkable. It was his anger at not being believed, or worse at being accused of making up the story entirely for attention, that made him burn with the desire to be someone who found answers and solved crimes, someone who helped victims and made sense of what witnesses saw to find the truth.
"I know there was blood," McGee said staring distantly at the wall. "I don't know how much. Enough that we knew it was there. Something spattered up through the vent… or maybe it was just paint. Boss, I don't remember. We were kids and Carter was always looking for some excitement back then so it was probably exaggerated."
The name he uttered prickled in Gibbs' mind. It was the first acknowledgement that the child no one could find existed.
"What was Carter's first name?" Gibbs asked, recalling the name of the child no one could identify.
"Carter is his first name," McGee replied. "Carter Scott. We grew up together, played baseball together at Alameda. His mother was a nurse at the base hospital. His father was a SEAL stationed at Coronado. They were divorced so he bounced between the two bases depending on which parent was taking the other to court."
Gibbs nodded, filing the information away for further review later.
"Any idea where is he now?" Gibbs asked, knowing there was no way to ask that question without getting McGee's warning lights to begin blinking.
McGee wrinkled his brow at the oddity of the question but answered as he figured it was merely Gibbs making him jump through hoops (not unlike the hazing a probie would receive) in order to receive his unofficial blessing to break Rule 12.
"He was in Iraq the last time I got a message from him maybe six months ago," McGee replied. "He's a SEAL now—a Commander with SEAL Team 4. We've always stayed in touch; he used to say he knew I'd make a million dollars playing around with a computer and that I'd need to hire him as my bodyguard. He was my contact who helped us locate that witness to the sexual assault last fall. Remember, there was that Marine Corporal, Brenda Alwood, who was attacked at Little Creek. The man who she said raped her was a civilian contractor and got shipped to Baghdad before we caught up with him then no one with the company claimed to know where he was."
Gibbs nodded, recalling the case well. The attacker's uncle was a manager with the company and made finding the suspect extra difficult.
"Well, Carter is the one who found him and got him to Agent Sanchez to escort home," McGee reported. "I didn't ask how Carter found him. I figured the less we knew the better. Carter's a little... Well, he's a SEAL so..."
"He's crazy," Gibbs offered with an understanding nod.
"Yeah, the good kind, mostly," McGee said mildly defending his childhood friend.
Gibbs had never thought to ask who McGee had contacted at the overseas base. All of his agents had a lot contacts after so many years digging into cases. Gibbs shook his head briefly as the answer to who the mysterious "Carter" from Franks' incomplete NIS file was had been practically within their reach the whole time.
"So what happened with you and Carter when you thought you saw something with blood?" Gibbs asked, feeling only marginally guilty that he was surreptitiously interrogating his agent. "What were you saying about a vent?"
"We were kids snooping around where we shouldn't be," McGee shrugged then looked oddly at Gibbs as though he was seeing something he did not recognize. "I'm having sort of déjà vu moment, Boss. Have we spoken about this before?"
Gibbs kept his face placid and shook his head because, honestly, they had never had the conversation. McGee had been too doped on painkillers to say much of anything other than no one had believed him.
"Okay," the younger agent accepted the response. "Well, we were on a Tiger Cruise. I was 8 so he must have been 10. We snuck away from our group. We ended up in another part of the ship for a while. Actually, we, uh, crawled into the overhead maintenance conduit; there's a void up there where pipes and wires are run through the ship."
Gibbs bowed his head and rubbed his brow as the repressed father in him cringed at the deadly possibilities of such a stupid stunt. Burns, getting lost, suffering suffocation, falling or even electrocution were all definite possibilities. McGee appeared to read his mind as he nodded sullenly.
"Yeah, it was extremely stupid," he agreed. "We were kids, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. I mean, no kid worries they might die just playing around. Don't worry—I learned my lesson that weekend."
He grew pale and a little green as whatever memory rose in his made feel a wave of sickness. Gibbs only saw that look on his agent's face in two conditions: On boats or when heights were involved.
"Anyway, we were above this one compartment-I think it was store room near the laundry-and we heard something," McGee shrugged. "Carter could see through the vent to the room below us. He said he thought he saw someone get stabbed. Whatever he saw scared him, so he yanked me back to where we crawled in and then he took off running, dragging me with him. It's supposed to be in an old NIS file, 86-152-1519. I think it is anyway. I tracked down the file when I was first stationed at Norfolk after I graduated from FLETC."
"Did you read that file?" Gibbs asked.
McGee narrowed his eyes in question as he shook his head.
"No," he replied as he was caught Gibbs' uncertain stare. "Boss, I was fresh out of the Academy and still thought the regulations were absolute. If you're in any way connected to a case, regs state you stay away from it. Obviously, I have a looser interpretation of the rules now."
"Rules 6 and 12 for example," Gibbs offered.
McGee winced at the offering but he nodded all the same.
"So if there was an NIS file on the incident, you must have told someone who called NIS," Gibbs said. "Who was it? Your mother? Your grandmother?"
"I don't know who told NIS," McGee said. "No agent ever talked to me or Carter, but I found a file that referenced us as subjects so I figured that had to be the one. The date was right."
"You never told anyone?" Gibbs pushed. "I don't believe that. Tim, I know you. You told someone. Maybe they didn't believe you, but you went to someone. Was it your father?"
That was Gibbs' first guess; McGee still worshiped his father at that young age. His mother had said her son came back from the cruise sullen and (as it turns out) in shock. A seriously stern scolding from then-Captain McGee didn't seem likely to push his son into that sort of state, but perhaps the man was more forceful than the little boy could handle. Gibbs waited for the answer as McGee paused and clenched his jaw. He shook his head stiffly. The bitterness on McGee's face startled Gibbs, who narrowed his eyes at the sudden change in his agent's demeanor. His gut told him to wait for the response. He suspected he already knew, but he needed to hear it from McGee and was rewarded a moment later.
"I told one person," McGee said disgustedly. "My father's friend, Paul Porter."
oOoOoOo
A/N: More to come…