Chapter Nine: Gifts Given, Gifts Received
He sat for a long time after he finished the book McGee had given him, feeling the weight of it resting against his palms.
Six books. Six priceless gifts. The lives of his team, his people. His family. The family he had built around him without even really thinking about it. Before he knew it, he'd somehow found an older brother figure, and five kids. Five wonderful, brilliant individuals who, for some reason, looked up to him. Loved him. Considered him a father figure. Wanted him to be there for all their milestones to come, whether it was promotions or marriage or children. Or even just another Christmas or Thanksgiving.
They had given him something that was beyond any gift he had ever imagined. Memories. Family. Their pasts, their lives, their values. Even some of their fears and secret loves and hidden concerns.
And a place in their lives that was more than just being their Team Leader. Their boss.
After losing Shannon and Kelly, he'd been broken. After three failed marriages, he'd realized that the wounds left by his first relationship, by his lost love and his daughter, were never going to fade. They were the ghosts by his side, and no one could replace them or heal their loss. He'd resigned himself to never again sharing his life with another in that way. Resigned himself to being alone. To knowing that someday, he would die. And while some might mourn a good agent or a hard worker or maybe even a good man, there would be no one to mourn him as family. No one for whom he would be an irreplaceable piece of their lives.
A few lovers might mourn him more deeply, but after his third marriage, he'd never given any of them promises. They would move on, had already. He'd been estranged from his father for years, the relationship only recently on the mend. And even so, they rarely spoke. Jackson hadn't come for any of his near-death experiences, not even when he'd lost 15 years of memories to an explosion. He wasn't sure how the old man viewed him, whether he'd ever come to see him as anything other than the rebellious and angry kid who'd left home and joined the Marines just out of high school.
But now...now he was holding proof that there were six people in the world who loved him like family. For whom he was irreplaceable. Like the tapes that he had made with Shannon and Kelly, they had given him something to hold their childhoods and their most important memories. A record of all that made them who they were.
A priceless treasure. Something he could never give back.
His throat was tight, his eyes stinging. His hands were aching from remaining in one position for so long, holding Timothy McGee's scrapbook. He set it on the table, unwilling to drop it, and fell back against the couch.
It was still light outside. He'd only been reading for a little while, but it felt like years had passed. He closed his eyes, seeing again the pictures of the boy and the man he'd become.
The fantasy his mind had conjured earlier returned to him. Tim and Jimmy, sitting with little boys in his basement, learning how to carve and shape wood. Abby, doing a Christmas thing, handing out presents in front of a fire. His fire. She'd want marshmallows roasting over the coals while she passed out presents, and hot chocolate made in his old, battered kettle.
He could picture sitting with Ziva, in church or in a synagogue, or even on his back porch, watching the dawn and drinking in the silence. He'd have coffee and a small project that he worked idly with his hands. She'd have something in her hands, even if it was just a mug, leaned back with her feet crossed in front of her and playing idly with whatever she happened to pick up.
He could imagine Ducky, taking up the role of story-teller while the rest of them sat around a campfire. He and Tony would make dinner because he'd taught Tony how to properly grill a steak over an open flame. McGee would be fidgeting with something technical, probably for the comfort of the team. Ziva would be sitting, listening to Ducky with one ear and the sounds of the night with the other, while Jimmy and Abby awkwardly fidgeted with random things and tried not to interrupt. A loose circle of tents around the fire, all equidistant from the warmth and each other.
He could picture the restaurant he was planning on taking Abby to for her next birthday, and where he might take the others if he started celebrating their birthdays the same way. Ducky would like something quaint, like a small hole-in-the-wall pub. Ziva he could take to get Indian food, or Greek. Tony was easy, steak and potatoes or barbecue or maybe a specialty pizza place. Jimmy and Tim...Tim would like just about anything, he thought, and Palmer...he'd have to put more thought into it. But Palmer seemed to be the adventurous type, given some of the things he'd seen the young man try, so maybe a random bistro, where neither of them knew quite what to expect.
Maybe he could introduce them to his favorite coffee shop, where he got his morning cup every day. They had good food there too. He could imagine it, all of them crammed around two of the booths, or sprawled along the main counter on the bar-stools, making various comments about the food and their choices. Tony would tease Ziva about avoiding the bacon, and Tim would try to decide if he wanted a healthy option, or pancakes slathered with maple syrup, or just eggs and toast and bacon.
He could picture it all so clearly. Movie nights, because Tony would want them. Games, like they'd shared at Ziva's housewarming. Card games, where he had the best poker face, but he knew for a fact that Ziva was a devilish player and Abby looked innocent until she cleaned everyone out.
None of it was the sort of interaction that was suggested or encouraged among teams at NCIS. It wasn't discouraged, the way intimate relationships were, but neither was it considered wise. Not when you could lose people at any time, to transfers or accidents or murder or retirement.
And yet, he could picture all of it, like the photographs in the scrapbooks.
He wanted it. Wanted it with an ache that felt like knives, like being crushed and rescued all at once. He wanted it. All of it. All the memories that could be. All the dreams and the moments to be added to the scrapbooks. He wanted cases where he could take pictures of the team when they weren't looking, where he could record the little inconsequential seeming interactions that formed the bonds woven between them.
He wanted a snow-day, where he could pass off a snowball fight as tactical training, like laser tag or paintball...and those would be good too. He wanted to practice in the batting cages and on the field for the inter-agency team games, baseball and whatever else the directors decided were good 'cooperation-building' events.
He wanted to spar in the gym, teaching Abby more self-defense and Tim more basic combat and Palmer a little bit more coordination, and maybe how to get out of a tight spot so that he'd never be in the position Gerald had once been in.
He hadn't really thought about it before. Before, things like that had happened, and sometimes he would extend or accept an invitation. Aside from things like Abby's birthday, it was usually a spontaneous thing. Even things that happened every year, like Ducky's Thanksgiving dinners or Tony's showing of 'A Wonderful Life' were hit or miss. He attended if he felt like it, or missed it if he didn't. He'd never considered having a social calendar, never thought he'd want one.
He looked for companionship when he wanted it. Built boats and worked on various projects the rest of the time, and more often than not. He had a few friends he connected with, every now and then, when schedules permitted, but not often. Most of the time, what social interaction he managed came from work, or was more coincidental than anything else. He didn't go out of his way to avoid it, but neither did he particularly work to cultivate it. Like his infrequent meetings with Tobias, it was something that...happened.
What he had with the team was good. They were a team, they worked well together. Adding a more personal dynamic, doing it with intention rather than the slow, almost accidental progression they'd had thus far might hinder that. In trying to get closer, they might find themselves drifting apart instead.
But...he could open himself up to the idea of progression. Perhaps not force it, but find ways to subtly encourage or nourish the opportunities as they came. Accept a few more invitations, maybe. It would have to be subtle, because his team still needed him to be their leader and their boss, needed to be willing and able to follow his orders in the field. He couldn't become too much their friend.
On the other hand, the bond they'd already formed was so close. Close enough that they'd given him these books. They knew his secrets, and he knew theirs. There was camaraderie, closeness. Kinship. Now that it had been made clear, put into words in the scrapbooks, it was his choice to nurture and support it, or turn away and distance himself.
Maintaining it...well, that way lay pain, eventually. There would be loss, as there had been before. He and his team would be – could be – hurt. But it was a risk they'd all accepted, a feeling they'd all had to deal with at different times. They all had scars of lost friends and, sometimes, family.
And with the risk – came this. These memories. These feelings. Everything that had made him return after he had 'retired' after the explosion. Everything that made him keep going, working the MCRT when most agents his age were either promoted out of the field or retired like Mike Franks.
He leaned forward and ran his fingers over the cover of the book again, tracing the words. NCIS. Team Gibbs. Timothy McGee. He knew what his decision would be, no matter how much turmoil his mind was in, or how much logic or common sense suggested a different course of action.
After a moment, he stood, leaving his coffee mug on the table in favor of picking up the book. He needed to put the books in a special place, somewhere safe. But before that, he had work to do.
***BoM***
Timothy McGee smiled to himself as he strode from the elevator into the bullpen. Christmas with his family had been good. Not always the easiest thing, but still, it had been good to be home, talk to Sarah, trade presents. He'd enjoyed the break too. Sure, getting Christmas off meant the team had to work New Year's Eve and New Year's Day, but he could live with that. Tony might mourn the lack of opportunities to visit the midnight parties, but Abby would probably make them eggnog and something to celebrate anyway.
Maybe they could get Ducky to convince Gibbs to let them ring in the New Year, if no major cases came in. Which, hopefully, they wouldn't.
He came to his desk, set his bag down, then stopped. There, next to his keyboard, was a package. Small, maybe the size of a pen case, with plain blue wrapping paper and his name written in neat script. He blinked at it, then gingerly picked it up, wondering if it was a gag gift from Tony. It didn't explode or make an obnoxious noise, or anything else. He frowned, then set it back down.
He glanced around. Tony was probably going to be late, given the holidays. Ziva wasn't at her desk, but that didn't mean she hadn't arrived yet. Ziva was an early bird most of the time. Still...he inched toward Tony's desk.
There was a blue-wrapped package, the same size, on Tony's desk. He edged across the bullpen. Ziva had one too.
"Looking for something?" He jumped, startled, as Ziva appeared beside him.
"Uh...not really. Just...this..." He pointed at the package. "I...I saw one on my desk, and I was curious, because it looks like we all got one."
Ziva blinked, her gaze glancing over the desks, probably spotting in seconds what it had taken him longer to see. "Not all." She tilted her head. "There is no package at Gibbs' desk."
"Not in the habit of giving myself gifts, Ziva." Both of them startled a bit as Gibbs came around from the staircase. He'd probably heard them on his way down.
"Oh. It's from you, Boss? It didn't say..." Tim turned back around.
"Wouldn't." Gibbs shook his head as he settled into his chair with a cup of coffee and flicked on his computer screen.
"Okay." He fingered the wrapping paper.
"Open it on your own time, McGee. We've got more reports to file."
"Yes sir." He nodded and set the package to one side. Ziva did the same.
Tony came in a few minutes later. "And a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to everyone...oh, hey. Present. I thought I'd opened all mine." He picked up the box.
"Yeah, and that one's gonna wait. You're late, DiNozzo."
"Right Boss. Got it." Tony pushed the blue box to one side and started his computer.
Timothy eyed the box. He couldn't deny, he was curious. But not just about the packages. Why would Gibbs have given them the packages anonymously, but announced it when he'd asked, but then told them to wait before opening them? It wasn't quite Gibbs' style. He logged onto his email and sent a quick message to Abby and Ducky.
McGee: Did you guys get blue wrapped packages by your desks?
The replies came quickly.
Abby: Yeah, how'd you guess? Haven't opened it yet? No sender…
Mallard: Mr. Palmer and I both received them. I have yet to determine the contents or the sender…
McGee: They're from Gibbs. And he was kind of insistent that we not open them in the office. Lunch meeting?
He received affirmative replies, then copied the messages to Tony and Ziva, double-checking to make sure he didn't send them to Gibbs, before he got started on his own work.
Luck was with them. Luck, coincidence, or Gibbs covertly smoothing things over. He wasn't going to rule anything out. However it happened, all of them reached a stopping point for lunch at about the same time, and Gibbs waved them off with a distracted hand, eyes glued to his screen and a fresh cup of coffee in hand. Tony left first, then Ziva, then Tim, after receiving a text that Abby, Ducky, and Jimmy had also gone to lunch.
They congregated in the bar they'd used to plan Gibbs' Christmas gift. Tony had snagged them a table large enough for all of them. They placed drink orders, and food orders, and then Abby produced her package. "Okay, so is anyone else, like, dying to know what is in these?"
"I confess I have been somewhat curious." Ducky produced his own, followed by the rest of them. "However, since young Timothy's message, a thought has occurred to me." He set his package on the table. "I can only surmise, as all of us have received nearly identical packages, that it is most likely connected to the Christmas gift we all participated in making for Jethro."
"It is a logical thought." Ziva nodded.
"In which case, it seems only fair that Timothy be the one to open his gift first."
"Yeah. Guess so." Abby leaned over on her elbow. "Open it, Tim."
"Uh...okay." The focused attention was making his nerves itch, but he slid his fingers under the tape and pulled. The paper ripped, revealing a small box. He ripped away a few more folds, then pulled the box free. It looked like a rectangular sort of watch box. He opened it.
Inside was a simple key, like a house key, tied onto a braided leather tie, which connected to a simple wooden carving. A computer, like a tiny wooden laptop, with his name carved on top. 'Timothy McGee'.
"Oh my." Ducky's breath was almost reverent.
"Wow. That is really cool. I didn't know Gibbs could do work like that."
"Jethro rarely engages in such fine detail work, it is true. However, he most certainly has the skill. He simply prefers larger projects." Ducky's voice was soft.
"Hey, is that..." Tony was frowning at the key.
"I suspect it is a key to Jethro's house. Most likely the back door and the garage, since he so rarely locks his front door." Ducky paused. "I wonder..." He fingered his own package.
"Go on. Open it, Ducky."
Ducky made quick work of the wrapping paper and the box, to reveal an identical key and cord. The only difference was the carving. This one was a duck, carved with his nickname.
One by one they opened their packages. Abby had a little bat, with a test tube on one wing. Jimmy had a square with a Scout symbol over a scalpel. Tony had a wooden DVD case. Ziva had a music note, embossed with a Hebrew symbol that made her smile sadly. Every carving was attached by a braided leather cord to a house key. And each one had the name of its recipient carved somewhere on it.
"These are..."
"Fantastic." Abby turned her bat over. "He even stained the wood dark on mine."
"Yeah. There's kind of this fine etching on mine, looks like a movie background." Tony was squinting at his.
"They are symbols for us. From our books, or things that we love." Ziva was tracing the Hebrew symbol on hers.
"So he read them." Jimmy blinked.
"Indeed. And I suspect these keys are Jethro's answer. An invitation, if you will." Ducky set his key down with careful movements.
"An...invitation?"
"Into his life, as it were. Something taking so much work, so much time, and so personal as these carvings...it is Jethro's way of reciprocating. Of telling us that he has accepted our gifts, and is inviting us into his own."
"You aren't wrong, Duck." All of them jumped.
Gibbs was standing there. How none of them had seen him coming...they'd been so focused on Ducky, and so busy admiring their gifts, that they hadn't seen or heard him approach.
Tony grinned. "Uh...hey boss. We were just..."
"Getting lunch. I know. You guys are pretty obvious." Gibbs stepped up, and Ducky and Abby made a place for him. He pulled out a chair from another table, just as the waitress returned. The waitress looked a bit confused, but Gibbs only offered her a winning smile and his order.
"You followed us."
"Well, yeah. I wanted to see your reactions. Why I wanted you to wait until you were all in one place." Gibbs eyed them all over the rim of his coffee cup.
"And is Ducky right? About what these are meant to signify?" Ziva met his gaze, her own expression solemn and still. "Is this truly an invitation?"
"If you want. It means whatever the hell you want it to mean, Ziva." Gibbs tilted his head, looking at each of them in turn. "Same goes for all of you."
"Does it mean you'll teach me the secret to your barbecue sauce?" Tony grinned.
"If you like. In the right circumstances." Gibbs smirked right back as the Senior Agent blinked.
Abby darted out of her chair and pounced on him. "Thank you, Gibbs. Thank you so much. I'll treasure this forever."
"Yeah. Same to you, Abs." Gibbs freed a hand to pat her back. "Same for me." His eyes flicked around to all of them. "Same goes for all of you."
Tim found himself locking gazes with his boss. Remembering a conversation not so long ago.
He lifted his cup, signaling a toast. Everyone else followed suit. He swallowed once, nervous and knowing he was doing exactly the right thing. He waited until Abby got back to her seat and Gibbs raised his coffee. "To Christmas, the New Year...and to family."
"To family." The toast echoed around the table, followed by the silence as everyone drank. Then Gibbs drained his coffee and stood.
"Having a barbecue tonight. Ring in the New Year." His smile, the rare, genuine, heartfelt one that so rarely appeared, touched his face for an instant. "I'll see you there."
"See you there." The words echoed around the table. Then Gibbs turned and left. Tim watched him go until the silver-haired agent disappeared out the door.
He'd had tentative plans, barring a call-out, but he already knew he'd be changing them. He suspected everyone else would too. Suddenly, a barbecue at Gibbs' house sounded like the perfect way to start the new year.
He wasn't sure what the coming year would hold for any of them. It didn't matter. It was definitely going to be one for the books.
Author's Note: So...what does everyone think?
I was going to do another chapter to this, but I think this sort of rounded everything out nicely. So this is the end, and I thank everyone for sticking with this story. I hope you enjoyed it.