Title: Unexpected Friends

Rating: T for the theme. No language. No pairings.

Disclaimer: I created none of these characters. No infringement intended.

Summary: Tim finds unexpected advice from an unexpected friend.

Author's note: One week post-Probie. Maybe a oneshot but after "Catharsis" I can't guarantee that I won't end up adding to it. However, if I don't, it's complete as is and self-contained.

Tim McGee sat at his desk, deep in thought. He looked up, startled, as Tony walked past and slammed his palm on the desktop, with his typical goofy, fun-loving DiNozzo grin.

"Probie! I'm gonna go grab a beer. You coming?"

McGee looked at him, looking a bit unsure of what Tony had just said. "No. I mean, yeah, maybe. Hell, why not. But I'll meet you there. I shouldn't be long."

Tony nodded in understanding. He couldn't wait to get his friend and colleague back to his normal self. McGee just hadn't been the same, in the week since he'd shot that undercover Metro cop. He felt bad for the man he'd come to think of as his little brother, but Tony knew that this was something that nobody could deal with for him. And Tony also knew, from personal experience, that it was just a matter of time before their McGee got his groove back. He knew the younger man was badly shaken, and it would take some time to get back to feeling like the competent agent everyone else knew he was.

"Meet you there, then," Tony smiled warmly. McGee smiled slightly, more for Tony's benefit than out of real emotion. Tony granted him a little wave as he turned and headed towards the elevator.

McGee didn't have much chance to lose himself in thought again, for very long. In opening the elevator doors to let himself out, Tony had let Jimmy Palmer in.

Palmer had assisted Ducky in many autopsies since he'd begun working at NCIS. He remembered all too well, the look on McGee's face when he'd walked in on the autopsy they'd been in the midst of last week, the day after the Benedict, the Metro cop, had been shot and killed. Jimmy would be the first to admit that he and Tim McGee had had their moments, but they'd long since gotten past that, and he remembered the gut-punch feeling of regret, and the expression on his face, when McGee had entered Autopsy at the worst possible moment.

"Hey, Tim," Palmer said. He had recently started calling Tony by his first name, and decided he might as well try his hand at referring to McGee that way, as well. McGee didn't seem to mind, so Palmer continued.

"I've got these preliminary reports for Agent Gibbs," he said to the distracted agent. Palmer paused a moment, wondering if McGee had even heard a word he'd just said. He dropped the folder on Gibbs' desk, and strolled over to where McGee was sitting. He raised his hand to his head, running it through his already tousled loose dark curls, and raised an eyebrow, as he said, in a matter-of-fact tone, "Abby wanted you to know that she and I will be leaving for Vegas tonight. I'm pregnant, so we have to get married. We think it's a boy. We're naming him Camille." McGee looked up, as if just noticing Palmer's presence. Jimmy grinned at him. "Still a bit pre-occupied, I guess?"

McGee sighed. "Yeah. I can't stop thinking about it. Jimmy… Do you ever wonder what the hell you're doing here? At NCIS, I mean."

Palmer shrugged. "Speaking for those who can't speak for themselves. Helping to solve crimes, maybe point towards the bad guys. Maybe even making a difference."

McGee nodded, then glanced off into the distance. "I still wonder what the hell I'm doing here."

Palmer leaned on the desk casually. "You're solving crimes. Catching the bad guys. Making a difference."

"Tell that to the family of the cop I killed."

"Tim," Palmer said, carefully, "You know there's a very good chance that you didn't fire the kill shot."

"There's a 50-50 chance, Jimmy. That's not "a very good chance." It's not even a good chance."

"It's better than what you had before Ziva and Tony found that fourth slug. You know what you had up until that point?"

McGee levelled a look at the young man. "What's that, Palmer?"

Palmer shrugged slightly. "You had a 100 certainty. You had absolutely no doubt that you were the one who killed him. And now, there are three shots from your weapon, and four slugs. Two are confirmed yours, by Abby's ballistics. And out of the other two… only one is yours."

"And I still don't know if I killed a man or not," McGee sighed. "A mere 50-50 chance that I did is not good enough odds for me."

Palmer laughed softly, but without humour. "There's also a 50-50 chance that you didn't. That non-fatal round that hit the shoulder could very well be yours. In fact," he pointed out, sounding a bit more like Ducky than he'd ever admit, "if I were to venture an educated guess, based on logic, I'd say that the other shot, the one from the SUV, is more likely to be the kill shot. It was fired at close range. Less likely to miss."

"And my three were from 25 metres away. Hard enough to be accurate with a handgun at that distance when you're not under pressure. I get it, Jimmy." McGee smiled at him. "Thanks for the reassurances. But as long as there's that chance…"

Palmer nodded. "I know." He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Tim, you and I are men of science. You believe in science, just like I do… and just like Abby does. It really wasn't that long ago when the best means of identification was fingerprints. DNA profiling was unheard of. Science makes extraordinary leaps, every day. Maybe 5 years from now, new ballistics testing methods will have been developed. New ways to match a bullet to the weapon that fired it. Ways we can't even dream of now."

"So, you think that someday maybe I'll know for sure?"

Jimmy nodded confidently. "Yeah, I do. If it still matters to you that much... But by then hopefully you will have moved on."

McGee sat back slightly and crossed his arms, gazing up at the morgue assistant with an intense expression. "You know what Gibbs told me? He said that I saw a flash and heard a shot, and I reacted the same way that he would have."

"Agent Gibbs is experienced. If I were you, I would take that fact to heart. As far as procedure, you didn't do anything wrong, Tim. If everyone else can believe that, why can't you?"

"Because… it isn't anyone else who may have killed a good man, that's why."

"No, but everyone else has killed someone at some point. It's part of your job. You either deal with it and carry on, or you give up on something that you were meant to be. I know I'm doing what I was meant to do. I have no doubts about that, even on the bad days when I feel like I can't do anything right."

"What are you doing here, anyway?" McGee suddenly asked, as if just now realizing that he was having a heart-to-heart talk with Jimmy Palmer, of all people.

"I'm dropping off reports for Gibbs," he grinned, green eyes sparkling behind his glasses. "And, we have a mutual friend who is very worried about you," he finally admitted.

McGee sighed slightly. "Abby." Palmer nodded affirmatively.

The young agent scrutinized Palmer for a moment before speaking again. "I'm meeting Tony for a beer. Wanna join us?"

Palmer thought a moment, then shrugged. "Sure, why not. I need to head back downstairs to change. I'll meet you back here in 5."

McGee watched the green-scrubbed back of Ducky's assistant, and his unexpected friend and colleague, as he departed to tie up his loose ends for the day. He wondered, considering that he and Palmer were the same age, if they would have been friends, growing up. He was startled to realize that they were both science nerds. In all likelihood, they just might very well have been.

And if everyone, including Ducky's assistant, was telling him that he was being too hard on himself, that he needed to quit doubting himself and move forward, then… perhaps, it was time to quit agonizing over something that maybe, just maybe, he hadn't done wrong, after all.