Worthless
Dr. Donald "Ducky" Mallard reached past Jethro Gibbs to twist the knob and throw open the front door to Jethro's home with a flourish. He stepped back and urged, "Careful, there now and mind the threshold."
The NCIS Team Leader scowled his response but Ducky chose to ignore it, having weathered years of experience and quasi- abuse dealing with his difficult friend. He placed a guiding hand on Jethro's elbow and instructed, "Head straight to the sofa. The faster we elevate that knee, the better."
"I know that!" Gibbs muttered ungraciously, shrugging off Ducky's hand and limping independently to the sofa. He sank down onto the cushion and engaged both calloused hands to lift his leg onto the coffee table in front of him.
Despite his act of bravado, it had cost him. A sheen of perspiration covered his lip with the exertion and a stabbing cacophony of pain from his knee washed over him.
Ducky studied him sympathetically before striding into the kitchen to retrieve a glass of cool water. When he returned he handed it to Gibbs along with a bottle of painkillers produced from the depths of his jacket pocket. "Two now," he ordered, watching critically for signs of non-compliance. Jethro had proven notorious in the past about following instructions which concerned his health.
As a testament to his current level of pain, though, Gibbs swallowed the pills with several gulps of water. "Done," he announced, raspy voiced.
"The next dose should follow at supper time, so I'm going to set these by the coffee pot. That's the one place in this house I know you'll see because I am positive you'll be swilling coffee all afternoon."
Gibbs rolled his eyes but Ducky didn't take offense. The two men had been both Agency work colleagues and personal friends for too long to have not learned to tolerate each other's personality quirks or to fail to recognize each other's non verbal cues.
Ducky waved his goodbye but hesitated at the door. "Jethro, you've taught your team well. They'll survive without your supervision for one afternoon. Try to keep your mind away from the office for a change, and from wondering how they will manage."
Gibbs glowered a response then leaned his head back against the sofa. Truthfully, he could concentrate on nothing other than his searing pain at the moment. With the soft latching of his front door he mulled Ducky's last comment. Yes, his team would survive- after all, he had trained them- but with Jethro unavailable to direct, manage, steer, and reprimand them, would they actually buckle down to their current case?
Jethro needed both hands to anchor his knee as he scooted further back on the sofa's cushions. The effort cost him. He would get up momentarily to activate the coffee maker but until then, he would will the bitter throbbing in his knee to stop and mentally dissect the cause of his agony.
Working a meth lab case where evidence had stacked itself against a Marine aligned with some local D.C. drug dealers, his team had descended upon an abandoned barn earlier that morning, relying on Jethro's hunch that the barn housed the actual meth lab.
Evidently he had been right.
As Tony Dinozzo, Tim McGee, and Kate Todd spread out to form a peripheral line Jethro kicked open the barn door. Taken by surprise, the two men inside leapt through a small opening built into the side of the barn, inadvertently kicking over the combustible mix as they did so. In a split second of clarity Jethro scrambled backwards out the door and simultaneously yelled at his team to take cover before racing to safety himself. The team leader had gained an impressive head start before tripping over an exposed root and wrenching his knee. The collision knocked him on his back and he tried to swivel into a position he could use to gain his footing. Unfortunately, he failed. While attempting to climb from all fours to a standing position the barn blew, spraying wood, nails, and drug debris over the landscape.
Once the dust settled Gibbs discovered his team had corralled both suspects and had them handcuffed and ready to transport to NCIS Headquarters. Other than the thick coating of dirt and debris which covered them, Tony, Tim, and Kate had escaped injury. So his young agents made a big (and unwelcome) to do over Jethro's injury.
He hated attention heaped upon himself, no matter how well meaning.
Back at NCIS Ducky examined Jethro's team and pronounced them relatively unscathed but suggested they rest the remainder of the day.
Abby Scuito, the last member of the NCIS team and an exceptional forensic scientist, practically lit up with delight when apprised of the amount of evidence procured from the scene.
Tony and Kate begged to stay on duty, highly annoyed that one of the two suspects had hurled abuse at them throughout the journey to NCIS, calling them good for nothings and government idiots. Tim added his voice in the appeal to Ducky by insisting that the blatant disrespect targeted the very pride of their team.
Surely Dr. Mallard understood the verbal slap in the face inflicted upon them?
Ducky relented with the younger group, but adamantly refused to reverse his stance with Gibbs. No, Jethro must go home and take care of his knee immediately. If Ducky saw no improvement by the next day he would personally drive Jethro to Bethesda for more extensive measures.
Annoyed with Dr. Mallard but deciding one day off would be more desirable than more than one, Jethro grudgingly agreed.
He allowed Ducky to win.
So, a smug and satisfied Medical Examiner drove NCIS Team Leader Jethro Gibbs home for the day.
Recalling the morning's events had given Jethro a headache, or maybe the painkillers had done that. He rubbed his temples and pinched the bridge of his nose, then closed his eyes in an attempt to alleviate his misery.
The early morning sun streamed through the bedroom hesitantly, unsure whether to flood the room with brightness or to just allow the occupant a couple of more minutes before he needed to hurry downstairs.
Jethro indulged in a last look around his bedroom before pivoting toward the doorway, just missing a collision with his ten year old, Tim.
"Son, you scared me!" he snapped, then instantly regretted the tone of voice. A sensitive boy, Tim took too much to heart, and Jethro generally tried to moderate his tone of voice around the child. "But I'm all right, Son." He smiled reassuringly. "Did you need me?"
Jethro reached down to smooth the cowlick at the back of Tim's blond head.
Satisfied that he had not really upset his father Tim nodded soberly. "Could I ask something important, Daddy?"
"Of course," his father assured him, willing himself not to glance at the watch on his wrist. Tim had a habit of taking too long to simply get to the point of an observation or story.
Troubled green eyes met his father's probing blue ones and Tim licked his lips nervously. "Daddy, do you think I'm good for nothing?"
The question startled Gibbs and for a moment he couldn't process it. Why in the world would his little boy pose such a question?
Jethro grasped the child's thin shoulders with both of his hands. "Why would you ask me such a question, Tim? I have never thought- nor would I ever think- that you are good for nothing. The very opposite is true. You exist as an important part of my life and I love everything you bring to it." Jethro tilted up Tim's chin and smiled reassuringly. "You know that, right? Without a doubt?"
The little fellow nodded slowly, seemingly satisfied.
"Now tell me why you asked me your good for nothing question," Gibbs prodded, determined to pinpoint his son's motivation.
"Well, because I heard it," Tim explained. "Yesterday I heard it at school when I went to the nurse's office. Remember I told you I had to take my allergy medicine yesterday 'cause of all the pollen?"
Gibbs nodded in confirmation and resisted the urge to tell the boy to simply answer the question.
Tim shifted from one foot to another and continued, "The school put the nurse's office in the regular office and there was this dad walking out with his son. He called him Marcus. The kid's name, I mean- the kid is called Marcus. That daddy got really mad at that kid and he kept telling him he was good for nothing and always in trouble."
Jethro flinched at the account. Some parents had cruelty locked down to a vicious art. "Honestly, I feel sorry for the son, Tim."
"I do, too," Tim agreed. "And that made me think about that. Maybe Marcus believes he really is good for nothing because his dad told him that. So I had an idea…."
Nine year old Abby's voice interrupted as she called dramatically from the downstairs. "Daddy! Daddy, I need you! You forgot to sign the note from my teacher and I have to give it to her today! Please, Daddy!"
Sidelined by Abby's disruption Gibbs patted Tim reassuringly on the back. "I definitely want to hear what you have in mind but let me deal with your sister first. Let's head downstairs because you four need to leave for the bus soon."
Tim jogged obediently beside his father as they descended the steps.
Abby met Jethro at the landing with a mischievous grin. Twirling one of her brunette pigtails she shoved a printed school permission form at him and ordered, "Sign, Daddy."
Gibbs glanced down. "Bring me a pen if you want me to sign the thing." As she dashed toward the kitchen's pencil holder he added in a firmer tone, "And you know better than to hand me something at the last minute, young lady. You know the rule."
Not bothering to respond, the nine year old selected a pen and then returned to her father with a series of graceful pirouettes. The action caused her dress to flounce like a ballerina's and Gibbs shook his head indulgently. Abby's fondness for her outfits nearly ranked as a hobby. His generally good natured little baby could instantly turn stubborn and mutinous over her clothing. Like his oldest, Tony, Abby considered her attire as the ultimate way to express herself.
Jethro signed hurriedly and motioned her toward the door just as the blast of the school bus horn a block away split the morning's tranquility.
En masse his other progeny sprang from various corners of the house and raced to the front, stopping barely a split second to kiss their father goodbye before bursting out the front door. The bus pulled to the curbside at their neighbor's yard, and Jethro watched from the doorway as his four joined several other kids climbing up the metal bus steps.
Jethro closed the door and conducted a quick assessment of the kitchen and living room before jogging upstairs to check the bedrooms and baths. Other than a closet door still ajar and a lamp lit in the living room the children had left their home relatively tidy. He sighed with relief at the evidence before him. The never ending battle of ordering the kids to pick up their belongings and straighten their rooms was one he thought would possibly never prove victorious. However, along the way he could count on small victories like the house's appearance this morning.
Driving to work he pondered Tim's concern over Marcus and Tim's overhearing the dad refer to his son as good for nothing. As a single parent of four children Gibbs often felt frustrated and inadequate for the task but would never allow his self doubt to create verbal abuse to spill onto his children.
Still, he habitually spent time each day reflecting upon his role in the lives of Tony, Kate, Tim, and Abby, scrutinizing his interactions in minute detail, usually on his drive to and from the Agency or before he fell asleep. His mind would reel with doubts. Had he responded too harshly? Did he punish one unfairly? Were the kids harboring feelings of resentment toward him? Jethro raked a hand through his Marine haircut. For all he knew, his shortcomings could damage his progeny so deeply they would never recover.
Jethro pulled up to a stop light and pinched the bridge of his nose as he contemplated a group of pedestrians watching him warily as they crossed the road in front of him. Perhaps his own children viewed him as untrustworthy. Maybe the kids found him good for nothing as a father or as a provider. Or maybe they judged him as good for nothing as a man. The light changed and Gibbs accelerated as he continued his inner dialogue. No, he genuinely doubted they did that. Victoria Mallard, regal and formidable mother of Ducky, once advised the Gunny that the day he stopped worrying about his parenting would lead to the day he stopped acting as a good parent. She assured him that all parents felt overwhelmed and inadequate at times but those feelings constituted normal responses.
At supper that night, though, he waited until the children had full plates before announcing he wished to discuss something Tim had posed that morning. The incident had nagged at him off and on all that day and Jethro wanted some semblance of resolution. He spent his days outsmarting and outmaneuvering dirtbags and typically encountered the lowest strata of society. Visually he could reassure himself that his contribution to humanity emerged from sidelining good for nothings when he overtook a bad guy, when he stared down a perp in handcuffs, or even when he contemplated a criminal behind bars.
However, the entire good for nothing incident Tim relayed caused his father to experience a non-physical-an unseen and emotional response-contemplating the ramifications of labelling someone good for nothing.
Jethro requested Tim repeat the anecdote about Marcus. While the little boy complied Jethro regarded each of his four children individually and thoughtfully. When Tim's story concluded Jethro frowned and elaborated honestly. "What Tim shared with us about Marcus really bothered me. It made me wonder if any of you have experienced a time when someone tried to make you feel good for nothing, or maybe tried to convince you that you were good for nothing."
Kate paused with a fork laden with slaw frozen midway to her mouth. "Do you mean like with bullying? Is that what you're saying?"
"Yeah, what about bullying?" Tony repeated. "Is that watching someone acting good for nothing?"
"Maybe," Jethro affirmed. "It probably depends on the circumstances."
The occupants of the supper table fell silent until Kate set down her fork and leaned so that her lithe body rested up against the chair back. At eleven, Kate displayed a poise not typical for girls of her age. Bright but a bit demanding, she enjoyed school and often relaxed by drawing.
"Something about good for nothing happened to me last year," she admitted to her family.