oOoOoOo
Squad Room
Bishop returned to the office following her interview with the commanding officer of the man who was murdered and found behind the motel in Arlington earlier in the week. Gibbs sent her to Fairfax for that as the dead petty officer happened to be a paralegal at JAG headquarters. His superior apparently had a less than cordial history with Gibbs' team. It seemed that whenever contact with that Navy Commander was required, it was usually McGee who was sent, but as he was still considered restricted to his desk, this left Bishop with no one to share the interviewing burden.
She looked toward McGee's desk and thought it odd that he was not there; however, she did find a note on her keyboard in his handwriting—the telltale left-handed slant giving away the author before she even needed to look at the bottom signature. Of course, recognizing the handwriting was not one thing. The foreboding sensation she felt upon read the note was something else entirely.
Retired Petty Officer Kyle Renner had made contact.
Unfortunately, that contact was with McGee.
Bishop read the phone message and nearly swallowed her tongue. She cast her eyes warily toward McGee's empty desk and wondered if she dared chance returning Renner's call during his absence. She was prepared to lift her phone from its cradle when she felt someone was watching her. She turned, cautiously, to see McGee looming over the half wall beside her desk.
"Oh good, you got the message," he remarked with a bland expression. "I happened to be by your phone when it rang. Just wanted to be helpful since I'm stuck here in the squad room with nothing to do most of the time, you know. You calling him back now?"
"Uh, no," she nodded and tried to keep her face impassive. "I'll return the call later."
"So what's that all about?" he asked. "Need any help with it? Renner seems like a real piece of work. Not the friendliest or most cooperative guy from what I could hear. If you're tied up with this case in Arlington, maybe I can talk to Renner for you. I just need to know what you were going to ask him."
Bishop tilted her head noncommittally and began to hope for anyone at all to walk into the room to save her from having to lie. As the seconds ticked by, the universe refused to cooperate. Karma was not something she ascribed to usually, but she was beginning to get the feeling that keeping this investigation secret from McGee was not going to be easy any longer nor would it end well if he found out what they were doing.
"Thanks, but I think I can handle this," she said with false confidence. "It's pretty routine."
In the back of her mind, a little voice began chanting: Stop talking; you're lying; he'll never trust you again.
"Really?" McGee wondered, keeping his voice casual. "Since when does the major case response team do anything that's routine? I thought the whole point of Gibbs' team was to deal with things that are less than routine, the big stuff that gets tricky and complicated."
Bishop plastered a phony smile on her face and shrugged in a sad impression of cluelessness. McGee continued to look at her with a mildly curious expression that made her stomach twist with guilt all the more.
"I mean routine as in it's not going to be a hard interview," she explained, choosing her words carefully. "Mr. Renner is just an old lead I'm looking into for something. You know, it probably will lead to nothing. I've just been trying to reach him for a while. He's retired and has a charter boat business. The summer is the busiest season for him, and it's getting near the end of the season. Did you know that late summer is one of the busiest times for private fishing charters around the mouth of the Piankatank River, the York River and inside Rudee Inlet? There is an entire website dedicated to the Virginia Beach Sport Fishing community which covers the waters between the Chesapeake and Cape Hatteras."
McGee shook his head slowly in response. His mind quickly told him Bishop had learned Rule 7 ("Always be specific when you lie") somewhere along the way. She continued her subterfuge unaware she was busted. A bitter taste seeped into his mouth as he felt a knot begin to twist in his chest. He swallowed back the rising anger he felt as she continued
"Yes, according to them, the hot spots are producing sizeable catches on Croaker, Pigfish and Northern Puffer," Bishop continued to ramble.
She started to relax as she felt she now had a means to maneuver the discussion out of choppy water. She had nothing more to say about fishing, but even that would open an entirely new conversation she hoped.
"That is definitely something I did not know," he said honestly. "Still, I've been wondering what retired Petty Office Kyle Renner has to do with any current cases. I checked the NCIS database and couldn't find any logged mention of him in the last year."
Bishop blinked and held her face in check.
"Uh, well, like I said, it's kind of not anything real solid yet," she said evasively as her hope of getting away clean on this faded. "It's not exactly a current case. It's part of an old file I was looking at. It's probably nothing."
McGee nodded, bitterly cataloging for future reference what her face looked like and her voice sounded like when she lied to someone she knew and who previously trusted her. He noted that Bishop was nearly as bad at lying as Abby was; the scientist's entire face and body always seemed to rebel against deception (unless she was bluffing at cards for some reason). Bishop's body was not going into quite the same shock that Abby's would when she was withholding information or being deceptive, but it was close.
"Really?" McGee questioned, his voice taking on a chill. "It was kind of funny that I answered that call—you know, considering."
"Considering what?" Bishop asked as she tried to blink away the tension while keeping a bland smile on her face.
"Considering Renner had a stellar service record during his career with only one blemish," McGee offered. "I've gone through my entire NCIS career thus far and never once did I encounter someone who had direct contact with someone I knew before becoming an agent. Renner, as you seem to know, received a captain's mast—one he blames me for no less… Well, he mostly blames his former captain—my father—but he thinks I'm the one who should have been punished."
"He does?" she asked slowly.
McGee nodded easily keeping his voice and face as passive as he could as anger boiled in his chest. He could hear his heart hammering in his ears as he felt his pulse rise while the muscles in his grew tight.
"Of course, he didn't know who he was talking to when he said that, but he still had plenty to say," McGee offered. "For the record, if he said to my father even half of what he said to me on the phone, I'm not surprised he got a two week restriction back then. Actually, I should say, I'm surprised he only got a two week restriction. Even when he was a captain, the Admiral required a showing of respect in all conversations, particularly between a superior and as subordinate."
Bishop swallowed and looked at him with very wide, very round eyes as her face turned a misty pink. She sucked in her bottom lip as she looked into his unblinking and very much not amused eyes. She had seen McGee annoyed (usually with Tony); she had seen him displeased (usually with a failed computer search), but she had never seem him angry. Until now.
"That's interesting," she remarked slowly.
"Of course, I assured Mr. Renner that NCIS wouldn't be wasting agency time on a matter that resulted only in a captain's mast decades ago," McGee continued. "I couldn't figure what made him think otherwise. Can you?"
Bishop shook her head and half shrugged her response. How much he knew, she could not yet determine. Whatever he knew, or thought he knew, about her inquiry she suspected it was not sitting well with him. She could not tell if he was genuinely baffled or on the verge of being angry. It unnerved her that she could not read him; McGee had never been an enigma to her in this way.
"Yeah, that's… I don't know," she said evasively.
"Really?" McGee asked offering up another detail in such a way that it sounded innocent yet her gut was telling her was more contrived. "That's odd because he said that your message for him was specifically about that incident. That's strange: him saying that and you not remembering it. Maybe he got the message wrong."
"Uh, yeah, must be," Bishop said simply cutting her eyes away as she felt waves of guilt radiating off her. "I just have some questions I need to ask him. We haven't opened a case file on anything."
McGee scoffed. He heard the doublespeak in her tone clearly.
"Well, you specifically haven't as far as the records I can find are concerned," McGee said, the offense in his tone rising. "You know, the one thing I always appreciated about NCIS over other federal agencies is that we don't investigate friends and colleagues without a compelling reason. Or, I should say, that's not how we used to do things. I've been out of the loop for a while so maybe I missed something."
Bishop took a deep breath as she knew she could no longer maintain her hopeful denial that the phone call could slip back under the radar. Her orders from Gibbs and Tony were firm: Find and question Renner. McGee was involved in the case somehow (they were still sketchy on that) so he was not to be looped in at all. Bishop dug in her toes and turned a stony face to meet his.
"No one at NCIS is under investigation," she said firmly.
"What about my father?" McGee pondered. "He's dead, so I've been told. Little bit of expert testimony for you Agent Bishop, the man never did anything illegal. He was a difficult person to know and like, but he was not a criminal."
Bishop shook her head vigorously as she looked at him and saw the furious narrowing of his eyes and the flat line of his mouth
"No one is investigating any member of your family," she assured him.
McGee's face was a mask of doubt and betrayal. There was something wary yet hard in his light eyes.
"Why should I believe you?" he asked. "You've been sitting here lying this whole time. Care to tell me, if me and my family are not under investigation, why someone took a hard look at all my electronic records and my mother's in the last month and a half? I'm talking about a deep, long, forensic look at just about every electronic system I know of, using some untraceable methods. Well, nearly untraceable."
His reflexive smile was more of a sneer, a triumphant taunt.
"Nearly untraceable?" Bishop swallowed as her throat got tight.
She realized the culprit must be Parsons. He reported that he was looking into a variety of records—including McGee's. Fortunately, he had found nothing of interest with McGee other than the secret role Admiral Porter played in covering his staggering medical bills. McGee and his family was in the clear, but it did not appear that Bishop simply saying so was giving him much confidence. Given that he had no clue why anyone would be looking, his doubt was justified.
"Whoever it was is good, but Abby and I are better," McGee said with a sharp glare at her. "We found their trail—kind of like electronic breadcrumb. I think we'll have it linked back to the source anytime now. I can tell this much already: It's a U.S. government entity. The only questions now are why and who. The why will probably sort itself out once I know the who part. I've been sitting here, waiting for you guys to return, and making it a game: Who is it? CIA seems highly unlikely—what would they care about me and my family? The NSA is apparently a possibility—I found out your old friends crashed my father's funeral and recorded it. Of course, there's always the FBI. Well, whoever it is, I'll know soon enough.""
"You and Abby are working on this?" Bishop questioned. "She's helping you?"
"Of course," he nodded. "That's what friends do for each other."
Bishop felt the sting of his words despite the lack of an audible barbed tone. It did not sound expressly like a passive aggressive comment, but there was no way to overlook the double meaning.
"That's nice of her," Bishop remarked trying to keep her voice light. "I can save you checking one office: this one. We're not looking into you or your family."
"We?" he grabbed onto the word. "I thought you said you were looking into an old case involving Renner. Now it's 'we'? Interesting. So someone else on the team is involved."
He turned his head and looked suspiciously at Tony's empty desk. He then looked back at Bishop and watched her face crumble as she realize she had said too much and needed to attempt some damage control.
"Tony and I are just looking into something," she said.
"You and Tony?" McGee wondered, his voice sounding suddenly and disarmingly affable and only mildly curious. "The team is short a team member on present day cases. Are you sure talking to Renner is worth the effort? Between the chip on his shoulder about the Navy and the number of years since he served, he's probably not the most reliable source for anything other than complaints that he didn't retire at a higher rank. If I were you, I'd start wondering if it was worth the time and effort to talk to this guy. Think about it. We both know how Gibbs feels about dead ends and wasting time."
Bishop shook her head confidently and replied easily as she felt they were again on common ground: Gibbs' fickle temper.
"He's been fairly tame about the delays so far," she said then stopped as McGee's expression became cold once again.
"I see," McGee nodded slowly. "Good to know."
He then walked toward his desk. Bishop looked down at her own and kicked herself for the probie mistake. She had not realized until it was too late that McGee was subtly interrogating her undercover of being surprised and offended. He had extracted confirmation of details he had apparently guessed at in her absence but that he now had confirmed. She thought about trying to come clean a bit and explain when McGee's phone rang and captured his attention. The call was brief and seemed to catch his attention swiftly. It was a short conversation that had him up and out of his chair instantly.
"McGee, I…," Bishop began as he passed by her desk.
"The director wants to see me," he said dismissing her as he turned his back and headed for the stairs.
"But, just let me explain," she request.
"No," McGee snapped as he took the stairs in a determined fashion. "We're done here."
Bishop sat at her desk feeling miserable and frustrated. She was the one giving Tony lectures about treating McGee like a teammate again and not letting him feel alienated, but in the course of two minutes she had just done more damage than three months of Tony's aloof behavior had. She hung her head and buried her face in her hands, which is precisely the pose in which Gibbs found her a few minutes later.
"Where are we on verifying the Hanson's wife's whereabouts on Monday morning?" Gibbs asked as he returned from his check in with the autopsy crew.
Bishop blinked and looked up at him with confused eyes. She then shook her head as she was reminded of the case at hand.
"Uh, I haven't started that yet," she said. "I'll get right on it."
Gibbs noted her detached and deflated demeanor. He cocked an eyebrow as he looked at her critically.
"Did I miss something?" he asked.
She turned guilty eyes toward him as she lowered her voice.
"McGee was just here," she said.
"Where is he now?" Gibbs wondered as he spied the empty desk.
"The director called him upstairs," she said. "He hasn't come back yet. Gibbs, he knows that we're doing an investigation that we're keeping from him. I tried to throw him off by pretending it was nothing, but he knows that's not true. He knows I lied to him."
"How?" Gibbs asked.
She pondered the question briefly. The possible answers were many: by ignoring him they missed that he was watching them; he wasn't stupid by any stretch of the imagination; he was a trained investigator despite his current down-graded assignment. There was something else, something more than just coldness and normal anger in his eyes, but she did not know what that might be. That left her with the reason that was giving her the most guilt.
"I underestimated him," Bishop confessed. "He's better at coaxing information out of someone than I realized."
Gibbs' initial reaction was a snort and a half shrug.
"He has his moments," he agreed finally.
If there was one thing he did not do, it was underestimate his agents. He knew full well what McGee's capabilities were when it came to finding answers. There were times when Gibbs was certain he knew McGee's skills and competence better than McGee knew himself, which was why he was not buckling the younger agent's charade that he was ready to return to his former post. It wasn't easy boxing the kid out, forcing him into a spot that made him uncomfortable and like he had no other options; however, it was necessary. If McGee, easily the most logical and rational agent he ever trained, couldn't see the obvious truth in the mirror, then it was going to take a special kind of pressure (the cold and unyielding kind that Gibbs learned from his own father) to make him figure it out.
"Gibbs," she said hesitantly thinking of all the days they overlooked McGee and acted as if doing so was normal. "I don't thinks he's okay. I mean, he just seemed… more than hurt by all of this. I've never seen McGee mad before and…"
"And what?" Gibbs asked curiously.
"Have you ever watched a pot of water boil over?" she asked. "At first, it bubbles a little over the side and sears when it hits the heating element, but then all of a sudden it just kind… explodes. This seemed like the first stage. I got the feeling that there was more coming when he walked away."
Gibbs grunted, taking the information in and feeling that pang in his gut—the one that had been gnawing at him for weeks—return with a vengeance as he looked at his agent's empty desk. Bishop shook her head as she looked toward the stairs leading to Vance's office.
"I really should apologize to him when he comes back," she said. "I'm not sure saying sorry is enough to make up for lying to him, but I should try."
"Apologize for what?" Gibbs asked. "Doing your job? That investigation is close-hold."
"But I didn't say that as the reason why I didn't tell him the whole story," she argued. "Instead, I lied to him, and he knows it. How is he ever going to trust me—or any of us—again?"
Gibbs sighed as he scrubbed his hand down his face then shook his head. The question for him wasn't whether he could forgive them; the question was whether he would be the McGee they knew again, because Gibbs felt fairly certain that was not who was coming into work each day. He was nearly McGee, but something (as Gibbs had contended since July) was off. He had aired that worry to both Vance and Cranston already. Whatever was going on in Vance's office was likely going to confirm that.
"He'll do it the same way he does with everyone else who lets him down or doesn't live up to his expectations," he replied without any evidence concern.
Bishop scoffed and shook her head as she explained that Gibbs did not see the look on McGee's face as he walked away from her or the cold brush off she got when he left the squad room.
"Drop it," Gibbs ordered. "Leave him be for the rest of the day. When this is done, and we've got the answers we need, he'll understand and get over it."
"I don't know," she said with wide-eyed worry. "He's angry and pretty upset."
Gibbs sighed as he looked at her over the top of his glasses.
"McGee can do something most people can't manage," he said.
"What?" she asked.
"Forgive, and mean it," Gibbs replied. "It's one of his secret weapons."
Bishop's face twisted sourly as she tried to make sense of the approach Gibbs was taking. It did not sit right with her, but if she had learned anything during this investigation it was to trust Gibbs—even if what he claimed seemed wrong. Still, there was a part of it she knew would never make sense to her.
"Forgiveness shouldn't be a weapon," she muttered as she focused again on the latest case rather than Renner.
oOoOoOo
Vance's Office
McGee sat opposite the director's desk and heard nothing but a buzzing sound in his ears after the man stopped talking. He had been summoned to speak with the man in-charge about his reinstatement. He had foolishly thought he was there to receive it.
Now, having heard what Vance had to say, McGee regretted picking up the phone when the man's assistant called him to the meeting. McGee found he had no solid thoughts in his mind and no words he could speak for several moments. He made no sound and did not move a muscle as he let the words sink into his mind and process. Vance regarded him carefully, waiting for a reaction but receiving none.
"I know this is not what you wanted to hear," the director began. "I'm not pleased with it either."
"I don't understand," McGee said eventually. "How can I be passed over for reinstatement? I scored well above the minimum requirement for firearms qualification—it was my third highest score in my career in fact. As for the medical assessment, my doctors removed all restrictions and pronounced me fit for duty. You have that report."
Vance grunted at the truncated list of requirements.
"They can rule on your physical fitness for duty only," the director reminded him. "You had evaluation with Dr. Wolf."
"I passed that," McGee insisted heatedly. "I sat with him. I answered all of his questions—more than once. I'm not a danger to myself or others. I'm not afraid to do my job. I'm not going to suddenly snap in the middle of working a case. Why am I not being reinstated?"
Vance raised his eyebrows at the badgering tone he received. McGee was not the first, nor would he be the last, ego to enter this room and believe he knew better than whatever order he was given; however, hearing that attitude from this particular agent was unexpected. Vance had only received that level of surliness from McGee once before, when he felt slighted at learning Gibbs and Tony were working on an old terrorism case without him for prolonged period. Trust was a hot commodity, and while McGee was no stingy with his, it was apt to take a tantrum like approach when it was broken.
"Because there is more to reinstatement than paperwork," Vance informed him. "A psych eval is not a pass/fail assessment. You want points because you didn't flinch when you went back to the shooting range? You got 'em. We're all impressed with the way you came back to DC eager to jump right back into the job, but it takes more than just a desire to carry a badge to do this job. You, of all people, should know that. So, regardless of what this says or doesn't say, the fact of the matter is that you're not going to be reinstated until you get management concurrence. Currently, you don't have that."
McGee clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes in anger. He had done all that was asked of him. He had submitted to their tests. He had followed their desk restrictions, all for one reason: to get his job back. He hadn't committed a crime. He hadn't betrayed the agency. He hadn't even made a mistake if what others told him about Afghanistan was true. It made no sense that he should be punished for that.
"So you think I'm not capable of being a field agent?" McGee asked. "I've worked for you for nearly eight years, sir. You know I can do the job, and you don't have no reason to refuse my reinstatement."
Vance huffed as he sat forward in his chair and squared his shoulders. He did not like the agent's tone, but he fully understood it. He did not think he could be much calmer in the man's place, and it was making him second guess his decision to hold him back from field work.
"It's not about the skills you possess," Vance said.
"No, it's about the unfounded theory of a psychiatrist who doesn't know anything about being a Federal agent," McGee sniped. "If he thinks a few irrelevant spots in my memory will hinder my ability to do my job, then I really thinks someone should be questioning his competency to do his job rather than letting him do that to me."
"I read the report, McGee," Vance interjected sternly. "No cognitive defects. Those holes in your memory are limited to things in the past that I don't give a damn about. What concerns me is your ability to do your job when the situation gets dicey."
"How does anyone know how I will react?" he asked aggressively. "I've been held hostage in a prison and helped solve a murder—two in fact. I've been in the building when it blew up, but I came back to work and helped track down the man responsible. I was captured by an Islamic terrorist and use as a punching bag, and still managed to help free my teammates before help arrived. No one ever questioned how I would react after those incidents. Now, because I got a few stitches everyone…"
"It's more than a few stitches, and we take post-traumatic stress seriously in this office, McGee," Vance said severely as McGee clenched his jaw and glared daggers back at him. "I strongly suggest you do the same. I'm not saying your career is done. I'm saying until you convince a psychiatric expert and me that you're ready to pick up your shield again, you're on desk duty."
McGee scoffed as he shook his head in disbelief.
"How do I convince you when the truth wasn't enough the first time?" he asked angrily as he kicked the front of Vance's desk. "Director, I didn't lie. I didn't hold anything back. I answered the questions—all of them—fully and honestly. What the hell do you all want from me?"
Vance kept his seat to not escalate the electrified atmosphere. He had hoped not to see this reaction (and not merely because it meant the agency had paid a shrink a lot of money to tell them what Gibbs had figured out for free in a matter of minutes a couple months ago). The director paused and let McGee settle once again.
"The first thing I want is for you to get a hold of yourself and remember where you are and who you're talking to," the director replied in a cool but firmly voice.
In truth, what Vance wanted wasn't possible. He wanted to put his agent back in the field, whole and unscathed once again. He wanted to restore his top team to solid working order with all its members. He wanted to roll back to clock and never send McGee to Afghanistan in the first place in order to avoid the questions and the reports and the paperwork that was making this little head-to-head necessary.
"No one's saying you're crazy or too damaged to recover," he continued strategically. "They're saying you're not ready. There's a difference between those things, and the quicker you accept that, the sooner you can start working on getting ready. I know you want to return to your team in your usual capacity. I want that, too, but I'm not putting you back in the field until my experts tell me you've got a handle on whatever is going on with you. Before you tell me you're fine, let me point something out you don't seem to have noticed: You've just spend the last five minutes shouting most of your responses at me in my office and you nearly put your foot through the front panel of my desk, McGee. Can you tell me that's something you would have ever done before last spring? Is that how you react to not getting your way? I've got a teenage son with more impulse control than you've got right now."
McGee looked down sullenly. He was certain plenty of people had shouted in this office previously without being ruled as unstable. He was not a threat to others, and he certainly wasn't a threat to himself. As for this tone, he was mad, but he didn't think he should be punished for feeling that way. As for the shouting and the kicking of the desk… He hadn't fully realized he had done that. It wasn't how he normally reacted. He was just frustrated and tired. Abby had been sleeping at her own apartment for the previous two nights and he found that made him restless and brought on the recurring dream of his father. Lack of sleep did not always bring out the best in him.
"I'm just frustrated, sir," he replied trying (and failing) not to sound petulant.
"There's no rule that says you need to get your badge back the first day you're eligible to apply for it," Vance said in a milder tone. "Historically, most agents take an average of six months."
"Not Gibbs," McGee offered.
"He never went through what you did," Vance said waving a copy of the report that started this discussion. "And if you think comparing yourself to Agent Gibbs is going to help your case, you've got a bigger issue than what's stated in this report. I don't need anyone competing with that man for hardest head in the agency. You're here physically, but you're not all back yet, McGee. You need to give yourself some time. We need you, but we need you at your best not limping along and trying to fake that everything is fine."
"But I am fine," McGee insisted.
Vance tossed the folder in his hand across the desk. McGee watched it skid to a halt but did not move toward it.
"Read how fine you are," Vance said and began quoting the findings. "What? Don't want to look? Let me give you a few highlights: Subject reports recurrent dreams although denies they are nightmares; displays increased startle response; demonstrates an irritable or anxious mood; reports difficulty with concentration; and shows a marked aversion to addressing these behaviors. :
McGee shook his head. He had stated things of that nature to Dr. Wolf, but he felt they were being taken out of context in this report. He tried explaining that to Vance but got nowhere.
"Subject appears emotionally numb to the events that resulted in his prolonged hospitalization," Vance continued in his recitation. "Discussions with coworkers indicate he is detached from friends and shows little interest in previously normal activities. Would you agree that those are red flags, Agent McGee?"
McGee scoffed. He had plenty of normal activities that occupied his time. While his private life was open for scrutiny due to the nature of his job, those questions and inquiries were usually the purview of the individuals charged with doing his periodic background investigations.
"I'm not sitting in my apartment start at the walls and sucking my thumb," McGee said. "I'm not plotting revenge for what happened to me. Frankly, it's really no one's business, but I'm involved with someone right now. I spend a lot of my time away from NCIS with her. That's a lot more normal than my life was before I got shot. I think that shows that the claim I'm detached is simply unfounded. What it tells me is that Wolf talked to Tony DiNozzo. It's not my problem that Tony needs a new doormat to walk all over simply because I'm done letting him treat me that way. As for being numb to what happened to me, I'm not. Why is it so hard for people to believe that I'm coping with what happened just fine? I don't dwell on it—isn't that the healthy response? I suppose it doesn't hurt that I also don't remember it happening. I've behaved in a perfectly healthy and acceptable way since returning. I went to all of my doctor's appointments. I did all of my required physical therapy. I continued to have a life outside the office. I didn't run out and arm myself like some dooms day survivalist planning to attack anyone who comes near me. I just focused on doing what needed to be done to do my job again and to get my old life back. That isn't evidence I'm numb to the seriousness of a gunshot or that I've fallen apart and can't be trusted. It's evidence that I'm a rational and responsible adult worthy of the trust this job requires."
Vance raised his eyebrows at that counter argument. Wolf predicted most of what McGee had said—his hyper rational thought processes apparently made evaluating him difficult as he often anticipated the point of the question and provided rich and detailed responses that made diagnosing them a clinical psychiatrist's job a nightmare. Vance was almost willing to buy off on most of what McGee said, but it did not alleviate all the concerns in the report nor Vance's observations that day.
"Wolf's report didn't make up my mind, McGee," he said. "You did that for me. The way you reacted in here to today is all the prompting I needed. Your request for reinstatement at this time is denied. Take some time, get whatever is going on with you under control and then we'll discuss your options. Got that?"
McGee's express crumbled from coiled as if ready for an attack to decimated and destroyed in the blink of an eye. All fight bled out of him as he slouched in a defeated way in the chair. He merely nodded although it seemed more of a remote action than an agreement to Vance's order. The director sighed because he felt for the man having stood on a similar precipice before himself.
"I'm not gambling on this one; the risk isn't worth it," Vance said. "Tim, you're too valuable of an asset to this agency and to the people who care about you for me to let you return to duty until I'm certain you're ready. This report isn't the end of your career. It states that you're not presenting a classic case of PTSD. You're also not showing signs of depression; there's no evidence of self-medication."
"That's because I have none of that," he said in a sullen fashion. "So maybe Dr. Wolf is wrong and I can handle returning."
"I don't think so," Vance said in a compassionate voice. "His report states you might be experiencing Stress Response Syndrome."
"Adjustment Disorder," McGee translated the old term from memory, having seen it in court transcripts from defense cases over the years. "Can't it be something else? That isn't something you can have if you are going to be a Federal agent."
"We don't get to change the report to make it easier to accept," Vance said. "Now, you're not being placed on administrative leave. I'm reassigning you to the cyber unit for now to work on what you pulled from that laptop back in July. The techs in the subbasement are unlocking the different bundles, but they can't make sense of the evidence. I want you looking at it and providing me with reports. I know this isn't what you want to do, but it's all you're going to be allowed to do for now."
"For how long?" McGee asked in a dejected manner.
"Look, the only way you're getting your spot on Gibbs' team back is for you to sit with a doctor so you can heal whatever is still ailing in your mind," Vance said. "How long it takes to fix this is up to you and you alone."
oOoOoOo
MTAC
As late afternoon approached, Gibbs walked into the darkened and hushed atmosphere of the secure room. Two techs busied themselves on the side computers as Vance watched footage from a satellite feed. What the images projected precisely, Gibbs did not know. As it did not involve his team directly at the moment, he would keep his curiosity to himself.
"Your team have anything new on Hanson?" Vance asked as Gibbs sat beside him.
"No, Tony is canvasing the area around the bar where he and his wife were the night before he was killed," he replied. "No one saw or heard anything. Bishop is on the phone with the cold case guy, Renner, arranging to speak to him in person."
"What about McGee?" Vance asked. "Where's he?"
"Apparently, he headed to the cyber unit a while ago," Gibbs reported.
"My assistant heard Susan Grady crossed paths with him after he left my office," Vance said sourly. "She heard McGee nearly tore her head off after she asked when he might be scheduled for his polygraph."
Gibbs grunted. He heard something about it as well but the witness who spoke to him indicated Grady might be overstating the altercation as most found it hard to believe that McGee would act brusquely to any woman (or pretty much anyone that wasn't Tony). Many in the building still believed that Grady's crying fit was more the result of the feelings she still harbored in McGee so when he became short with her she burst into tears needlessly. Gibbs suspected there was more to the story.
"I haven't seen him," Gibbs replied. "He didn't tell me where he was going or why."
"You sound surprised," Vance noted then spied the flat expression on Gibbs' face that was an answer in itself. "You expected him to check in with you before he left?"
"Yeah," Gibbs nodded. "He usually follows protocol. I need to know where my agents are."
"Well, your agent is a little pissed off right now," Vance huffed. "Following protocol wasn't part of his operating instructions today."
"McGee doesn't get pissed off," Gibbs corrected. "He grumbles and he sulks, then he gets over it and gets back to work."
Gibbs was certain of that assessment. A man needed a bigger ego than McGee had to get pissed off. He surely had a robust appreciation for his intelligence and school, but there was very little ego behind that. It might crop up occasionally when he felt he was being overlooked, but even then it was more like a few minutes of a jaw clenching pout that melted away when he got his fingers on a keyboard and started digging for some clue that he felt would validate his sense of self and worth—and it usually worked. Pissed off just never really made it on the table as an emotion for the guy.
Vance, however, disagreed. There was no other description for what he observed in his office earlier.
"Well then he learned some new skills apparently," Vance revealed. "I had the talk with him like we discussed. It wasn't precisely an 'if looks could kill' moment, but if turning me to stone was possible, he would have tried it. He might have considered taking a swing too, but apparently he decided kicking my desk was enough. After that, he tangled with Grady. Do we need someone to watch him?"
Gibbs raised his eyebrows in surprise then sighed with disappointment that wasn't precisely unexpected. McGee was not his hothead. Ziva had been the one into strong-arm tactics with a few impulse control issues. Tony was his smart alec with an aggressive need to strut and preen. McGee was his quiet one, his shadow lurker who could take you off guard by not seeming threatening. Vance's report let the supervisory agent know that his suspicions about his junior agent were unfortunately on the mark. The conversation between the director and McGee had been purposeful and strategic—a discussion planned by Vance and Gibbs a day earlier to either prove or disprove aspects of the psychological evaluation.
"Our discussion unfolded pretty much like you said it would," Vance said. "Now, I'm second guessing this plan of yours. I know we agreed there are two ways to get the genie out of the bottle. Rub it or…"
"Pop the cork," Gibbs. "It was your choice for which you chose to go for."
Vance gave him a firm look that left no doubt the session had not been an ego-stroking sympathy fest.
"You leave anything out when you talked to him?" Gibbs asked, finding it odd his agent did not confront him afterward.
Vance grunted his displeasure with being questioned. How he conducted his personnel decision and actions was his business.
"I told him what needed to be said," the director replied. "The final decision on whether he gets his field status back rests with me alone. I told him I wasn't convinced he was ready. I figured you could use the company on his hate list. He already knows you don't think he should have come back so soon."
Gibbs chuckled. The thought of McGee hating anyone was laughable. He might not like everyone or respect certain types of people, but he was too gentle of a personality to ever let hate take root in him and fester. He was certainly angry at the moment, but the agent's conscience and character were too big to get wrapped up in the small pettiness of hate.
"He got tagged twice today," Gibbs said. "He stumbled onto one of the players in the cold case so he knows we're not telling him everything we're doing. Then you gave him a reality check by telling him he's still benched."
"So he's doubly offended because thinks we're calling him weak," Vance nodded his understanding. "I know he didn't take what I did say very well. He thinks Wolf's report is wrong. I listened to his argument about that. Dr. Wolf was right when predicted how he would try to reason his way out of it. On the surface, he makes a strong case for appeal."
Gibbs offered him a frank expression that asked a question.
"No, I didn't buy it," Vance answered. "The fuse is burning. I see it now. Who spoke to Wolf? Some of his findings are based on statements from unidentified colleagues."
Gibbs had spoken with the doctor briefly, but only after McGee had his meeting with the man. The discussion with Gibbs was short and to the point. He restated the same concerns he cited for Cranston.
"Bishop and DiNozzo talked to him," Gibbs replied.
"Are they in a position lately to say how McGee has been acting?" the director wondered. "You cut them off from talking to him most of the summer. Is there any chance what they think is detachment is just McGee being mad about that so he's not talking to them in retaliation?"
Gibbs offered him a blistering look that stated firmly he did not like having his judgment about his team questioned.
"You just said you saw for yourself he's not back yet—not all the way," the agent aid. "I said he wasn't ready to come back months ago, but DHS got him to help out when he was barely on his feet again. Wolf's your expert. His report says McGee's still not ready."
Vance heard the unspoken 'I told you so' in the man's words but let it pass. This was not the day or the time to get into a pissing contest with the former gunnery sergeant.
"Why didn't you direct Wolf to Miss Scuito?" Vance asked. "Seems to me, she's the one who has the most interaction with Agent McGee lately, and I know there's no way you didn't already know that."
Gibbs raised his eyebrows in question. Vance offered him a knowing look in return.
"I don't make it a habit to know who is bunking with whom around here, but that doesn't mean I don't know all the same," the director said. "I thought you had a rule against intra-office dating for your team."
"I do," Gibbs replied flatly.
"So like the rest of your rules, it exists simply because it can be broken?" Vance snorted. "And I thought raising teenagers was hard. For now, McGee's back to cyber to work on what he pulled from that laptop back in July. Frankly, Keating needs his help so even if he was ready for a return to duty, I'd be sending him to work on that data anyway. From what I'm hearing now, keeping him in a controlled and quiet spot sounds like what he needs."
"I think keeping him benched is the right decision, Leon," Gibbs said.
"Letting him simmer like this without intervention doesn't feel wise," Vance shook his head.
Gibbs sighed. He agreed. Not forcing McGee to talk to someone about whatever was eating at him was not the same as leaving him alone to navigate this alone. However, he needed to come to the realization on his own; forcing him to sit with someone would only make it harder for him, Gibbs knew.
"McGee is not as fine as he wants us to believe, but he's not going to do anything stupid," Gibbs said. "He doesn't even realize it himself what's going on with him. I don't know what it is, lost memories, trauma flashbacks, some fear he's hiding. Whatever. When he's ready to face it, then he'll be ready, but he's got to decide for himself."
Vance nodded. His gut was not finely tuned the way Gibbs' was, but his mind was incisive and decisive. It was telling him some of the same things. A little reluctance or trepidation upon returning after his injury was expected, but McGee was showing none of that. That bothered Vance. No one should be so calm and collected upon returning to the job that nearly killed him. It wasn't normal, and it certainly wasn't McGee any more than the harsh reaction Vance witnessed from the man in his office that day. That afternoon's conversation had stripped away McGee's veneer of control.
oOoOoOo
Abby's Lab
Gibbs hurried to the lab after receiving a message that Abby needed to speak to him regarding the Hanson case. He entered the lab to hear music filling the air but thankfully it was not at ear-splitting decibels. Abby stood over her keyboard as she turned her head at his approach.
"What do you got, Abs?" he asked as he intensely surveyed her screens.
"Some icky but helpful answers," she offered pulled up data on her monitor showing a chart with a variety of lines across it. "I've identified two DNA strands from the samples Ducky sent me. The first is from the bite marks and saliva on Petty Officer Hanson's neck—we'll call those love bites. Those belong to Jenna Hanson, the petty officer's slightly toothy wife."
The figuring out why Hanson, a clerk with the Fairfax JAG office, was found dead and discarded behind a dumpster had been the week's focus. When located, Hanson's body showed signs of sexual assault and manual strangulation. The brute force used upon swiftly disqualified his wife as a suspect, although in keeping with Tony's normal practice, she remained a person of interest until other evidence was able to rule her out.
"Well, that matches her story," Gibbs recalled. The woman told investigators she and her husband had a wild night to celebrate his 25th birthday. Finding him in an alley behind their hotel the next morning, however, was not part of their plans. "What's the other sample?"
"Semen Ducky found during autopsy," Abby said with a sympathetic grimace. "Hanson was violated by this individual." Her fingers danced over the keys and pulled up a mugshot and rap sheet. "Daryl Tolliver. He would have been a three strikes candidate except he was found not guilty by reason of insanity for his last demonstration of not playing well with others—aka aggravated sexual battery. He was supposed to be in a locked psychiatric facility in Greensboro, North Carolina; however, 14 months ago they had a fire and not everyone who evacuated St. Loony Bin came back inside again. He somehow slipped away during that evening and has been missing ever since. Looks like we nearly found him."
"You mean he found Petty Officer Hanson," Gibbs sighed. "That's good work, Abs. Send that to DiNozzo so he can issue a BOLO."
"Uh, I already did," she said.
Gibbs looked at her questioningly.
"Then why did you call me down here?" he asked. "Something else going on?"
"Well, I wanted to talk to you," Abby asked hesitantly. "Are Tony and McGee talking at all? Ellie was down here the other day, and she's worried about them, too. I tried calling McGee earlier and texting him and emailing him. I'm getting no responses. I know you don't want to hear anything about out of the office stuff, and this isn't that at all. This is me, Office Abby, who is worried about… office stuff."
Abby hadn't wanted to bring up McGee's name with Gibbs as there was some tension between them as well, according to what Bishop reported and the few things McGee would say to Abby outside the office about what was going on upstairs. She tried asking him for more detail, but he would always change the subject. After some unsuccessful prying, she told him she planned to ask Gibbs. The response she received was troubling. He merely scoffed and said 'good luck with that.'
"I'm not a relationship counselor," Gibbs said firmly.
"No, but you're Tony and McGee's boss," Abby insisted. "Maybe you could order them to be friends or smack them back into it—just don't actually smack them because hitting people isn't nice."
Gibbs sighed and shook his head.
"Which one are you actually worried about?" he asked with interest.
"Both of them," she replied honestly. "They need to get their groove back and if they're not playing nicely together then they can't do that. Why? Are you worried about just one of them?"
Gibbs was in an awkward spot. He did not want to hear about her relationship with McGee. He didn't like hearing about any of his agents' private lives. Even when he spent time with Jake, the subject of his wife rarely came up… or it hadn't in the beginning. More recently, the man had asked Gibbs advice about NCIS officers and families. When he thought about it, Gibbs felt more comfortable talking about what was jokingly called the 'McNozzo bromance' in the office than he did discussing whether it seemed reasonable for Jake to talk to his wife about starting a family.
However, Gibbs was worried about one of his agents—he was annoyed by both of them, but there was worry for just one.
"I'm worried people have too much time on their hands if they're worried about whether two of my agents are playing superhero and sidekick in the squad room," he said tersely. "Is there something I should know, Abby? Is something worrying you?"
Asking the question seemed wise and appropriate to him. Abby, however, did not agree—at least with his phrasing.
"You're with them most of the day," she said. "If you're telling me you're not noticing something is off, then I will believe you."
She looked at him with hopeful and expectant eyes. The innocent trust in her gaze jabbed at him. His eyes must have given him away as she pounced on his doubt and pointed a finger at him.
"Aha!" Abby proclaimed. "Things are still hinky upstairs. I knew it. Gibbs, that needs to stop. They're friends. They need each other."
"What's he doing when he's not here?" Gibbs asked abruptly and silently hoped she didn't answer with a flirtatious "me" response. What he got instead was a scrunched brow.
"You mean Tim?" she asked cautiously. "Just typical McGee stuff."
Other than being a little moody whenever she mentioned Tony or anything about work, he seemed mostly normal to her. The only other real difference in him she noticed was the restlessness of his sleep. She questioned him about it, but his response was plausible if not overly detailed. He merely said he was anxious to get his agent status back.
"Is he sleeping?" he asked, directly, knowing he was treading on unsafe ground but his reasons were legitimate.
The quick blink and widening of her eyes was all the answer he needed. The snappishness he noted from McGee lately in the squad room was a telltale sign. McGee had been able to master many of the skills needed to be a topnotch agent, but exhaustion was his Achilles heel. He could not operate at full capacity with just coffee and less than four hours of sleep before his composure and concentration took a hit. Not that he was at that point yet, but Gibbs was seeing the early signs.
"Gibbs, I don't feel comfortable talking about this," Abby hesitated.
"You want a relationship with someone on my team, then there's a price," he said. "I don't ask for details unless I need them."
Abby inhaled slowly as pondered the question as much as her answer. She knew McGee wasn't always sleeping soundly. He stirred some nights and seemed to spend long periods staring at the ceilings. He didn't thrash or scream as if locked in a nightmare before waking, but he did seem to suddenly wake for no apparent reason every few days, usually on the nights when he would grind his teeth a bit. Those she knew from the past were signs of stress. She felt a bit guilty for not probing deeper into what was bothering him, but she sensed he wasn't ready to talk about it yet. She tried pushing for information once and found he changed the subject and wouldn't let it get back to that topic again.
It was an oddly defensive response to sleep interruption, but she knew he was trying so very hard to keep people from worrying about him. She initially thought he was simply overcompensating in that area. She tried assuring him that it was nothing to worry about; she had battled insomnia in the past—her most recent bout occurring that late spring and resulted in her not being able to sleep in her own bed. Devastatingly vivid dreams of her formerly comforting coffin becoming a final resting place for her friends and coworkers no longer made sleeping in it possible. Therefore, sleeping at McGee's had become a wonderful and unexpected reprieve for her. She no longer got twisted into uncomfortable knots from sleeping on her couch, and she found the steady rhythm of his heartbeat to be the best sleep aid she could ask for. That she was not able to bring that level of comfort to McGee so far troubled her but it was on her list of things she was watching carefully and coaxing him to discuss. In the past, she knew she would have demanded answers from him, but the chance it would push him away was too great a risk. Slow and easy was her course currently; it was difficult (some days painfully so).
"Abby?" Gibbs prodded.
"He's restless sometimes," she said simply.
"Why?" Gibbs prodded as watched as she shrank back from him. "Abby, I need to know if something's going on with him. It's for his own good."
"I don't know what you mean by going on," she said. "He's not up pacing his apartment at all hours. He's not taking any medication—prescribed or otherwise. He's not falling to pieces or flying into rages. He's a little irritable sometimes when the subject of work comes up, but he's stressed about his status. He wants his life back on track."
"Does he seem normal to you?" Gibbs asked. "I mean outside of this building, is he the same person you knew him to be before Afghanistan?"
The honest answer was no. He wasn't the same, and she didn't expect him to be. He was quieter sometimes and a little more skeptical. He had developed a slightly more pronounced stubbornness, like trying to prove something—to himself and others—that he was not damaged or frail. Neither were completely true, she knew. He was a little broken—how could he not be after everything? If he pushed himself too much too soon, he could break; his doctors had told him as much. Abby considered it part of her job to make sure McGee didn't push himself too hard, that he let up on himself occasionally, and that he take his time getting used to the speed at which his world spun now. She had been open with McGee about that. He simply thanked her for understanding.
"He talks about his father a lot," she revealed. "For someone who previously never mentioned the Admiral before, I hear a lot about wisdom and virtues of the infallible John McGee lately."
At first, Abby thought hearing about McGee's late father was a good sign, an indication that it was some measure of closure for him as he accepted he might not ever recall memories of the man's final days. But the appearance of the Admiral in conversation was not on the decrease nor did the mentions seem like healing recollections. The words were often on the critical side (held out as facts). It was as if the ghost of the man's most tyrannical moments were hounding McGee like a displeased Jiminy Cricket on his shoulder reminding him of his failures but making him cherish the punishment.
Gibbs absorbed that detail and was less surprised than Abby was by the behavior. Gibbs anger flared briefly then snuffed itself. There was no point in being angry with the dead. He was reminded that one of McGee's first waking comments when he was in the hospital was to ask for his father. At his point of greatest suffering, the Admiral was on McGee's mind. That he was experiencing increased stress and churning up memories of the man was probably not a coincidence.
"Gibbs, I think there are a few things bothering McGee, and some of them are about the team… how you're all being around him," she ventured carefully. "When he's not here, he's better than it sounds like he is upstairs with all of you. Whenever I go upstairs to see any of you, I get a bad vibe lately. Maybe some of this has to do with the whole team."
Gibbs scoffed and shook his head.
"The team's fine," he muttered.
"Well, I think you're wrong about that," she said hesitantly and trembled slightly as she found the courage to say it. Saying the next part was just as hard. "If you know something's bothering him, why aren't you talking to him about it instead of me? Can't you reach him either? Where is he?"
Gibbs said nothing. Telling her that he figured McGee would just lie wouldn't go over well and also wouldn't be precisely accurate. If pushed, Gibbs would confess that he suspected post-traumatic issues were bubbling under the surface. McGee was many things, but a master manipulator and talented actor were not among his qualities. He might not be aware of how he was acting or reacting around others. If Abby was correct and away from the office he was mostly fine—it was probably only a matter of time before that changed. McGee's edginess in the office, the occasional long and distant stares along with the zoned out expressions Gibbs caught from him from time-to-time, were definite blips on his radar. Abby's reluctant admission that he was experiencing sleep difficulties and dwelling on less than cordial memories of his father was another warning sign.
"Leave him be for now," Gibbs said. "I mean it. Steer clear for the rest of the day. I need to speak to him. You don't."
Abby hesitated before responding. This was Gibbs. He cared about his team. He was wise about people. He didn't make mistakes, but this didn't seem right.
"What's wrong?" she asked urgently as Gibbs' phone began to ring. "Is it this thing between him and Tony? That was worrying me before, but now you're flat out scaring me."
Gibbs shook his head as he turned his attention to his phone. Bishop's number appeared on the screen.
"Yeah, Gibbs," he said.
"Arlington PD called," Bishop said. "They got a hit on Tony's BOLO from a traffic stop. Tony was still out, but I called him. He's on his way to the police department."
"Yeah," Gibbs nodded. "On my way. Meet me at the car."
He disconnected and turned a stern yet concerned face to Abby. He knew his concern for McGee was rooted in more than just pangs of guilt over a bad decision he made sending his agent overseas. This was worry for an agent who had something invisible yet dangerous eating away at him—Gibbs was virtually certain of it.
"Leave him, Abby," Gibbs commanded as he headed out the door. "I need to talk to him. Just give him some space for tonight. I mean it, Abs."
She watched him walk out and felt a pang in her gut that told her Gibbs' order was ill-conceived and not one she should follow.
oOoOoOo
A/N: More to come…
