Chapter 49
Thursday evening…
Tony was bored. The very pleasant female doctor taking care of him had refused, in the face of massive flirtation no less, to release him until Friday night. So, he was stuck in this hospital bed…all alone. It really wasn't fair. Ziva had been released after a single night and Tim hadn't even been admitted. The guy who'd been in the most dire straits for the last month was the one who had not been hospitalized. It just wasn't fair.
"Hey, Tony! How's it going?"
Tony drew himself out of his bout of self-pity and saw Tim standing in the doorway, looking…well, awkward. He found himself automatically evaluating Tim's state of mind by how he was standing. He looked uncertain, as though he were afraid of intruding. That was normal. He also looked tired. It was the end of a work day, but it was more than that. Tony wasn't sure what it was. His eyes were still shadowed, but not as much as they had been. As Tony examined him, Tim's face scrunched up in concern.
"Are your…fingers…okay?"
Tony looked at Tim in confusion. "What? What are you talking about?"
"You seemed to be a little out of it. I thought maybe…" Tim trailed off and stopped.
Tony laughed in embarrassment. "No heavy duty painkillers at the moment, McGee. Although I may starve to death before they let me out."
Tim got a sly look on his face. "What would you do for a square meal, Tony?"
"Well, I think that I'd probably…" he stopped. "What's in the bag, Probie?"
Tim's eyes got wide. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"McGee…you wouldn't leave me to eke out a poor pitiful existence on hospital food would you?" Tony made a "poor me" face and stuck out his bottom lip.
Tim just stood, holding a bag that Tony was now positive contained real food, his smile getting more and more evil.
"Come on, McGee! I'm dying here!"
Tim raised an eyebrow. "I highly doubt it. Been there. Done that. You don't qualify."
Tony didn't know what to say to that. Tim's smile became slightly fixed in the awkward pause, but it was still genuine.
"My therapist told me I needed to have more fun, Tony," Tim added, his expression still one of evil enjoyment.
Tony swallowed the worry that had surged up at the reminder of Tim's recent past. How could Tim recover if everyone treated him like an invalid?
"Not at my expense, I'm sure!"
"She didn't specify." Then, Tim looked out of the room and down the hall. He waved with his free hand and in moments, he'd been forced all the way into the room by Abby and Ziva. Abby ran to the bed and hugged Tony tightly as if she hadn't seen him in ages…rather than just that morning.
"Tony! You're looking great!" she said.
"Abby, you just saw me a few hours ago," Tony said from beneath her.
"Yes, but that was then," she answered.
"Well, if Probie doesn't share whatever it is that he has, I'll soon be wasting away into nothing."
Tim grinned.
"I told him that he had to be sure to wait for us," Ziva said, grabbing the bag from Tim's hand. "If he did not, you would surely eat everything before Abby and I arrived."
Tony looked over at Tim who grinned evilly again.
"You could have mentioned that part, McGee."
"Where's the fun in that, Tony?" Tim asked. He wasn't being completely "normal" but it was nice to see him joking around a bit again.
Tony rolled his eyes, but promptly focused on Ziva as she began to bring out various Chinese food containers. They had fun fighting over the rice and the spring rolls. Ziva poked fun at Tony's inability to eat effectively with chopsticks, provoking a small food fight. They compared their battle wounds: Tim's grazed temple vs. Ziva's concussion vs. Tony's shoulder. Tim declared his the best because it was most visible. Abby hugged each and every one of them more than once. In spite of the fun and the jokes, they all noticed how tired Tim seemed to be. However, he never suggested leaving. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself. He was just tired. After an hour or so, Tony's doctor came in and kicked them all out. She gave Tony his medication and the other three decided to leave before Tony's fingers started finging again.
When they reached the parking lot, the three separated and headed to their cars. Tim
reached his and sighed. He leaned against the door before searching for his keys. This day had been way too long.
"Is something the matter, McGee?"
Tim closed his eyes. "Not particularly, Ziva. I'm just tired."
"Why?"
Tim laughed a little. "Various and sundry issues."
"Like what?"
"It's just been a long day."
"You were fine this morning. We did not do much work at NCIS. What has made you tired?"
Tim didn't answer. He was only meeting Ziva's eyes in the reflection in his window. She was making no effort to move away.
"It's fighting, Ziva. That makes me tired," he admitted.
"Fighting what?"
"The crap in my head. Some days, it's really hard to keep myself from listening to it all…because I know it's not true, but my head doesn't care."
"McGee, could I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"Would you turn around first?"
Tim smiled and turned around. Ziva reached up and put her hand on his cheek. He stiffened for a moment in surprise, but then brought his own hand up and covered hers.
"Is this what you want?"
"What do you mean?"
"This life you have now. It is…chaotic…different…and yet, you still have the same things you did before. You could give them up, get a different job, choose a different life. Do you want this?"
For a long time, the two of them stood, staring at each other. Finally, Tim smiled at her, not without a tinge of sadness.
"All I've been going through would have been pretty worthless otherwise."
"That is not an answer, McGee."
"I wouldn't fight for something I didn't want, Ziva. I want this life. That's why I'm trying so hard."
"You are not alone in the fight, McGee."
"I know. That's the only reason I haven't lost yet." He curled his fingers around hers and pulled her hand down. It was much smaller than his.
"Is there anything I can do?"
Tim looked up. "You're doing it already."
"What is that?"
"You're here. You're concerned…and most importantly, you're not telling me that I'm being stupid."
"You are not."
"It's nice to hear it sometimes."
"Do you need company tonight, McGee?"
"Uh…"
Ziva grinned. "I was not being suggestive, McGee…unless that is what you had in mind."
Tim blushed and ducked his head. "No. Not at all."
Ziva laughed, but then looked him in the eyes and repeated, "Do you need company?"
Tim hesitated and then said, "Could we…just talk for awhile…watch a movie…something untaxing?"
"Sure, McGee…but at my apartment. If we go to your place, you will feel awkward because the only place to sit will be on your bed."
Tim blushed again but didn't deny her statement.
"I will see you there."
"Okay."
"Do not stand me up, McGee," Ziva said as she walked away.
"I won't."
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"You look…ready to drop," Ziva commented when she opened the door. "Are you sure you would not like to just go to sleep?"
Tim shook his head. "I just need some time to…unwind first."
"Well, come in and unwind," Ziva offered, gesturing for Tim to come inside.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Two hours later, Ziva was sitting on her couch, watching Tim sleep. They had talked for a while and then started watching television…or at least, Ziva had watched television. As soon as the lights went down, he was out. She debated whether to wake him and let him go home or just let him sleep on her couch. It was almost heartbreaking to see him sleep. At first, she couldn't decide why. Then, she realized…Tim's eyes were closed; even when he wasn't actively afraid or nervous, Tim's eyes showed an anxiety that he had yet to purge from them. It was getting better. She knew that and she told herself that over and over again to keep herself from worrying, but sleep smoothed out all the lines on Tim's face and brought the old Tim back…if only for awhile, the Tim who hadn't been attacked, manipulated and suicidal. The irony was that she had never thought she'd miss it so much.
Tim stirred and his head slid down the arm of the couch. Ziva smiled and leaned over, carefully shifting his body so that he wouldn't get a crick in his neck. Then, she sighed and sat back, watching him.
"I wish you could let it all go, McGee," she said, softly. After a while, she got up and grabbed a spare blanket. She draped over Tim and watched in quiet amusement as he snuggled down underneath it, never waking up.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"You can't just leave him in there!" Tim shouted at everyone.
"He's dead, Tim," Sam said, sadly. "There's nothing you can do."
"No! There has to be something! We can bring him back!" Tim said and tried to push past the restraining hands, tried to get to the bathtub, overflowing now, blood pouring onto the white floor, red staining white.
"Let him go, McGee," Ziva said, tears running down her cheeks.
"I can't! I have to save him!"
"No, Tim, you can't save him. He's gone. Let him go," Abby begged.
Gibbs and Ducky were holding him back. They wouldn't let him get to the tub. They wouldn't let him pull the body out. Suddenly, Tim broke free. He reached for the hand, but the body sat up in the tub, the blood draining away slowly revealing Tim himself.
"Let me go, Tim," the body said. There were no eyes…only deep black holes.
"I have to save you," Tim whispered, terrified but unable to let go.
"You don't want to save me."
"I have to."
"No, you don't. I'm dead. Let me stay that way."
"Please," Tim begged.
"Let me go…"Then, his body turned into Smith; then, Leavitt, but it was still his voice. "Let me go…"
Tim began to cry, but their hands seemed fused together. He couldn't let go.
"Let go."
"I can't!"
"You can."
"No!"
"Just open your fingers."
"It's…"
"You can do it. Let me go."
Tim strove to open his hand, to unclench his fist…and then, his hand was open; the body was gone; everyone was gone. Tim was standing alone in the dark. A single light shone from his palm. He looked down at it…it was a turtle.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Friday morning…
Tim opened his eyes. This wasn't his apartment. Where am I? What's going on?
"Oh, good. You are awake. I was afraid I'd have to wake you myself, McGee," Ziva said from somewhere out of his view.
Tim's eyes widened in surprise. He had fallen asleep at Ziva's apartment! And even more embarrassing…he had drooled on Ziva's couch. He supposed that it was better than drooling on Ziva herself, but still…
"What time is it?" he asked, sitting up, hurriedly wiping his mouth.
"Six. I was hoping that you would wake up soon enough to have time to get ready at your apartment…since you did not see fit to bring anything with you. You should really plan your sleepovers better, McGee."
Tim blushed and then looked at his hand. If he closed his eyes, he could still see that silly turtle sitting in his hand. Why had he dreamed of that? Why had that brought him so close to happiness?
"McGee?"
Tim looked up from his hand.
"Are you all right?"
Tim thought about it. "I slept through the night for the first time in…I don't know how long. That's got to be better than I've had."
Ziva sat next to him and carefully touched the skin around his stitches. "I am glad you were there…and I am glad you chose to stay."
Tim touched the stitches gingerly. "I almost think I am, too."
Ziva smiled. "You had better go. Otherwise, we will be thought to be flaunting rule twelve."
Tim stood quickly and left. Ziva stared at the door after he was gone for a long time. There had been something different about Tim this morning. How could he have changed so much just from one night?
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Tim's last day of probation turned out to be a slow one: no new cases, nothing but tying up some loose ends. Jenny watched him from the balcony and smiled when she saw him pick up the turtle and stare at it in the palm of his hand for a few seconds before returning it to its place. There was a moment, about halfway through the day, when Tim had been walking through the bullpen on his way back to his desk and he had suddenly stopped. He had taken two shuddering breaths before continuing on his way. When he had seated himself, he had picked up the turtle again and held it tightly in his fist for a few seconds before continuing with his work. Jenny wondered what had happened there, but unless he offered the information, she knew she wouldn't ask. Then, other tasks had called for her attention and she had gone about her day, actually looking forward to the meeting that night.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"Boss?"
It was the end of the day. Ziva had already left, and Gibbs knew that Tim was on his way to his therapy session with Dr. Lyons. He looked up and saw that Tim already had his coat on. This wasn't to be a long conversation then.
"Yes, McGee?"
"I've been thinking."
"Am I supposed to be surprised by that?" Gibbs asked, raising his eyebrows.
Tim smiled a little. "No, I guess not, but I was thinking about what Smith did."
"Again, should I be surprised?"
Tim shrugged. "Do you think he ever regretted it?"
"What?" Gibbs asked, now confused.
"He told me…in the bathroom…before…before he tried to kill me. He told me that he wanted the hit man to fail, that he felt it was his duty to kill his wife, just like he felt it was his duty to kill me. Do you think that he regretted trying to kill me?"
"Why are you asking?"
"Because I want to know."
"But why, McGee?"
"He tried to destroy me, Boss. He didn't just try to kill me and leave it at that. He left nothing to chance. If he killed me, fine, but he also set things up so that he could continue to torture me after he died, first with Leavitt and then with all those…things he left in my
apartment. He really, really hated me. I just wonder if there was any regret."
Gibbs looked at Tim, wondering if he should be honest or if he should lie. He dismissed the lie. Lying had not done Tim any good and lying to him wouldn't help matters either.
"No, McGee. I don't think he did. I think he was so rooted in his anger and his sense of betrayal that he didn't have room for any other emotion."
"He said that he had made horror and mortal terror his friends and that they were my enemies. I think he was right. I think that's the difference."
"What do you mean?"
"I never used horror and mortal terror. I could have. It wouldn't have been hard to make that jump from depression to rage. I was hovering over the line often enough as it was. He made that jump…and he made it a long time before he met me. That's why we're different. That's why I'm not him."
Gibbs couldn't believe what he was seeing. Tim was standing in front of his desk, talking about what made him different from Smith…and he was calm. Yes, he was shaking a little, and he'd no doubt have to take some time to collect himself once he was out of Gibbs' sight, but he was still standing right there…he would not have thought it possible.
"You're right, McGee. You're a lot stronger than Smith ever was."
Tim nodded and left the bullpen.
"Well?" Jenny asked, but with none of the worry that had colored Monday's meeting.
"I have no qualms," Ducky said. "We will still have to take it slowly, but Timothy is rising to meet the challenge."
"Jethro?"
"He's going to be all right," Gibbs said and he knew his relief had come out in his voice when Jenny stared at him. "As bad as it could have been, I think the encounter with Dalton was about the best thing that could have happened to him."
Jenny nodded. It was such a relief to be able to talk about Tim in this way as opposed to the qualifying statements they had been making up to this point.
"Wonderful. I will tell him on Monday." She shook her head. This had lasted so much longer than any of them had thought it would. "I hope we can start to put it behind us…and I really hope that McGee can do the same."
"I think he can," Gibbs said. "He's already starting to do it."
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"Tim, I do think you are doing better. What happened?" Phoebe asked at the end of the session.
Tim hitched his shoulders. "I'm not sure exactly. Part of it was what happened on Wednesday. I was terrified. I was so scared that I threw up after it was over, but…I didn't mess it up."
"You didn't think you could do that, did you."
Tim shook his head. "No. I'd nearly decided that I'd never be able to…and with that dream…"
"The blood in the bathtub?"
"Yeah. I'm no expert on deciding what dreams mean, but I sure couldn't let go…and then, last night…"
"What?" Phoebe asked when Tim stopped.
"The dream was different. It ended differently. I let go, and everyone disappeared…and I was alone in the dark. I don't think that this magically means I'm cured." Tim gave a rare happy smile. "But…I've been thinking that…if my subconscious can let go, I should be able to do it while I'm awake."
Phoebe chuckled. "You've had everyone telling you the same thing for the last two months and it takes a dream of a bloody talking corpse to finally get you to accept it?"
Tim flushed.
"I'm just teasing, Tim. I'm glad that you are finally understanding it, no matter what it took."
"I don't think I could have…gotten even this far without everyone telling me," Tim admitted.
"That's nothing to be ashamed of, Tim. You've gone through a lot. I defy anyone to come out of such an attack unscathed."
"Well, I didn't."
"No, you didn't." Phoebe looked at her watch. She couldn't do that with some of her patients. They took it as a dismissal. Tim didn't. "Marie will probably be waiting. Thank you for switching times with her."
"No problem."
"I think we should continue meeting for at least the next month or two. We can hammer out the details next week."
Tim nodded and stood. "I think I need it."
"And that is something admirable, Tim."
"What is?"
"Knowing you need help…and asking for it." She held out her hand. Tim shook it firmly and she followed him to the door.
Marie was sitting in the waiting room. She gave Tim a furtive smile, but skirted around him. Just before she stepped into the office, Tim turned around.
"Marie?"
She turned back as well. "What?"
"It does start to go away."
Her smile widened. "Thanks."
Tim smiled back and left.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"McGregor, do you want to die?" Tibbs shouted. McGregor's hand slipped out of Tibbs grip a little more. It was almost too late.
Finally, he looked up at Tibbs, tears running down his cheeks. He seemed unable to speak.
"Answer me! Do you want to die?"
"NO!" McGregor screamed. He lifted his other arm and grabbed Tibbs' outstretched hand. In moments, the two of them were laying prostrate on the ground, gasping for air. All the while the water roared and heaved over the edge into the river below. McGregor began to sob, lying weakly on the bridge, even after Tibbs had pulled himself to his knees. He crawled over to McGregor.
"Get up, McGregor."
"It's all my fault, Tibbs. It's all my fault. I should have told you. I should have stopped them sooner. It's all my fault," McGregor wept. He seemed to have lost all power of independent movement.
"It's not your fault."
"They were after me. They were punishing me. It wasn't Tommy. It wasn't Lisa. It wasn't Amy. It was me. How can I make up for that? And I killed him, Tibbs! I killed him! It wasn't what I wanted. I know there's nothing else, but there's so much blood on my hands."
"They are the guilty ones, McGregor. You are the victim. Tommy, Lisa and Amy are the victims. You are not at fault."
"If I had only…"
"You can't go back now, McGregor. You can't go back to the falls. You can't go back to the past. You can either end your life here, or you can go on and accept what you have left…and there's a lot left."
"I don't know if I can."
"I do."
"Tibbs…"
Tibbs reached out and pulled McGregor to his feet. McGregor stood listlessly, looking back at the water, wishing for the power to end it all.
"That's not your future, McGregor."
"There's no future."
"Yes, there is."
"What? What do I have? I gave up my job. I lost my friends. I lost everything, just for revenge."
"You haven't lost your job. Your friends will make it." Tibbs put his arm around McGregor's shoulders. "Come on, McGregor. There's a lot left of life."
McGregor surrendered to Tibbs' urging. When they left the bridge, he looked back again.
"Let it go, McGregor."
McGregor turned his back on the falls and let Tibbs lead him away.
Tim sat back and looked at what he'd typed. It was a little rough, but he could work on that more later. McGregor had left the falls. That was the important thing. He stood up, stretching, thinking about what else he had left to do in Rock Hollow before it would be over. He grabbed a pop from the fridge and was heading back to his typewriter when there was a sudden pounding on the door. He jumped and dropped the can, causing it to explode and send Diet Coke all over the floor.
"Great," he muttered and headed to the door. "Tony, if this is you, I'm going to kill you, injured shoulder or not." He pulled open the door and was knocked back a few steps by Abby grabbing him and hugging him tightly. "Abby! What's wrong?" He tried to pull back, but she wouldn't let him go.
"You didn't call me!" she said.
"What?"
"You said that you were going to call me and…and you didn't!"
Tim blinked. "Oh, Abby. I'm sorry. I had to talk to Dr. Lyons tonight and then I started writing. I just…it completely slipped my mind."
Abby pulled away from him and looked annoyed…and a little anxious.
"Abby, I really am sorry."
"Tim…I was afraid that…"
Tim grabbed her shoulders and shook her just a little. "You can't assume that I'm going to fall apart every day. Haven't I done it enough already?"
"Tim…"
"Abby, I'm glad that you cared enough to come all the way over here, but…I'm okay."
"You keep saying that, Tim, but you said it before and it wasn't true!"
"What do you mean?"
"Before…we talked on the phone and you didn't say anything about being in trouble. Then, the next thing I know, Gibbs is calling me telling me that you're on your way to commit suicide somewhere and the only clue is whether or not I can remember stuff about your book!" She threw her arms around him again. This time, Tim hugged her back.
"Abby…I didn't know. I'm sorry."
"What if that happens again, Tim? I don't think I could do it again."
"It won't happen again."
"How do you know? You wouldn't tell me before."
"Abby, I wasn't lying before. Talking to you made me happy. It was what came after that tore me apart."
"But…"
"I can't promise all good days. Some days will probably be bad, but…Abby, I won't try and do it on my own if I don't think I can."
Abby hugged him more tightly. Then, just as suddenly, she let him go. "What happened to your floor?"
Tim looked over at the spilled pop. He sighed. "You startled me. I dropped the can and it exploded."
"I'm sorry," Abby said. "Do you want me to clean it up?"
Tim shook his head. "No, I'll do it. Just don't step in it." Tim grabbed a towel and began to mop up the mess. When he looked up he saw Abby hovering over his typewriter.
"Can I read what you wrote?" she asked.
"Go ahead. There's not much there at the moment. Just don't tell anyone."
"I wouldn't do that!"
Tim just raised his eyebrows and went on mopping. He got the pop cleaned up and scrubbed at the floor with a wet sponge to get ride of any sticky spots. He stood up and rinsed out the sponge in the sink. He was about to turn around to make another pass at it when he felt Abby's arms around his waist. She rested her head on his.
"What is it, Abby?"
"McGregor left!"
"Yeah. I don't think my publisher would let me kill off a main character. McGregor's more popular than I had thought he'd be."
"Tim, don't leave again."
"I haven't gone anywhere, Abby…except for a brief visit to Luray, Virginia," Tim said, trying to joke.
"No, don't leave us standing on the sidelines again."
Tim dropped the sponge into the sink and turned around. He hugged Abby tightly. "I won't. I promise."
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Monday morning…
Tim sat upright in bed, his heart pounding. He looked around…for something. He wasn't sure what it was. He took a deep breath and looked at his clock. To his relief, it was nearly six. He knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. Instead, he got up and went into the bathroom. He looked around at the various parts and then turned on the water. He couldn't suppress an instinctive shiver as the sound filled the room, but he refused to let himself get bogged down by it. He showered and got ready for the day. Before he left the bathroom, he looked at himself in the mirror.
"This is it," he said to himself. "This is who you are. Are you okay with that?" He looked at the lines on his face, the shadow in his eyes. He thought back to Abby's visit on Friday and he smiled. He caught a glimpse of himself. The lines faded and the shadow lifted, just a bit. "Not yet…but I will be."
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
When Tim got to the bullpen, he was surprised to see Cynthia sitting at his desk.
"Cynthia! What brings you down here? Is Gibbs in charge again?"
Cynthia grimaced. "Please, don't even suggest that. Director Shephard would like to see you."
"I feel like I've been in her office more than I've been down here."
"Well, it's a nicer office than you have," Cynthia noted.
"True. Did she say what for?"
"No." Cynthia turned and headed toward the stairs. Tim sighed and then dropped his bag by his desk. He glanced at the turtle, smiled and followed her.
"Do you know what it's for?"
Cynthia grinned. "Yes."
"What?"
"Today is…actually, I probably shouldn't tell you."
"Cynthia, please?"
"Have you hit the punching bag for me yet?"
"Uh…no. I haven't been back down there."
"Well, then, you'll just have to wait and find out."
They walked to the outer office in silence. When they reached Cynthia's desk, she sat down and gestured for him to continue on.
Tim had just reached out for the doorknob when Cynthia looked up from her computer and said, "It might just be about the end of your probation."
Tim turned around, startled, and then swallowed.
"It's not a bad thing, Agent McGee."
Tim nodded and walked into the office.
"Agent McGee, good, come in. Have a seat," Jenny said. She was sitting at her desk with a pile of reports sitting before her.
"Yes, ma'am."
"You have reached the end of your probationary period. I have been having regular meetings with Special Agent Gibbs and Dr. Mallard regarding your progress and your performance. We had our last meeting on Friday and I have come to my decision."
Tim tensed. His performance? During the two months of his probation, he'd managed to nearly kill himself, break down innumerable times, drag the entire team out of work for days at a time…would the work he had actually managed to do be enough to ameliorate that woeful showing?
Perhaps Jenny could tell what he was thinking. She smiled kindly. "I have been thoroughly impressed by your determination and your strength, Agent McGee. There is much that you had to fight against, and in spite of that, you managed to perform at near standards. You are undeniably an asset to NCIS, and I am officially restoring you to full duty, with the single caveat that you not try to do more than you are able. We will work with you to ease you back, but you should not attempt to exceed your own tolerance. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good." She stood and walked around the desk. "Are you doing all right?"
"Much better. Thank you." Tim was about to leave, but he stopped and turned back.
"What is it, Tim?" she asked.
"Why a turtle?"
She grinned. "Why do you think?"
"I have no idea. I hope it's not the association with being old and wrinkled and slow."
Jenny laughed. "No."
"Then, why?"
"I like turtles."
"That's it?"
"Well, I could say that it's because they're patient and do things in their time and that it's a reminder for you to go at your own pace, but really it's because I liked the turtle."
Tim smiled.
"And that's another reason why. You smile when you see it."
"Thank you, Jenny. I don't know how you knew what I needed, but you were right."
"That's because I'm the director. I'm always right." Her smile was ironic this time. "Go on, Tim. You have work to do."
Tim straightened slightly. "Thank you…for everything." He walked to the door and was gone.
Jenny sat at her desk and smiled. Slowly, she reached out and touched the little clover and then went back to her many reports.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Gibbs was on the phone when Tim came back down to his desk, but Tony, his arm still in a sling, and Ziva were both waiting for him.
"Well? What did she say, Probie?"
Tim shrugged.
"What, McGee?" Ziva asked.
"She said that you can't call me Probie anymore, Tony."
Tony let out a whoop and gave Tim a one-armed hug. Ziva hugged him from the other side.
"All right, let's go. There was a break-in at the weapons depot," Gibbs said, hanging up the phone.
Tony looked annoyed at not being able to go out on field duty yet, but he still smiled and mimed a high-five in Tim's direction as he headed to the elevator.
"You ready, McGee?" Gibbs asked.
Tim thought about it. "Yeah, Boss. I think I am."
The elevator doors closed.
