Gibbs frowned as he watched Tim finish firing at the target. It was obvious the younger agent was off his game. While never the best shot on the team, Tim had always been able to hold his own. Gibbs couldn't remember seeing him perform so poorly, not even during his first year. He was lucky this was just target practice and his poor showing wouldn't affect his special agent status.
"Want to talk about that?" he asked when they were on the road once again, driving back to NCIS.
Tim had been silently sulking since they'd left, ashamed not only because he'd done so poorly, but because Gibbs had been there to witness it. No one liked falling flat on their face in front of their boss.
"Talk about what?"
"Back there," Gibbs said. "Not your best on the firing range."
Tim shrugged. He didn't want to talk about it.
Gibbs wasn't one to give up so easily, though. "What was on your mind?"
"Nothing."
"You're not a good liar, McGee."
He sighed and slunk down further in his seat. "It's just…" He paused; it was kind of embarrassing.
"Just what?"
"I'm so tired of Tony showing me up," Tim finished, the words clumsily tumbling out of his mouth. "Every time we go out to the firing range, he beats me! And it wouldn't be that bad if it were you or Ziva, but you know how Tony can get."
Gibbs nodded, a faint smile on his face. He was all too aware of his senior agent's tendency to gloat when he felt he'd just bested someone; it was one of the reasons he so often made it a point to bring Tony back down a peg.
"All I could think was that if Tony had been there, he'd have been faster and more accurate than me. Even on my best day, he's better." Tim leaned his head against the window, lazily watching the scenery zip past. "I'm just grateful he wasn't here today. I'd never hear the end of it."
"McGee, sit up," Gibbs ordered. After Tim had complied, Gibbs smacked him on the back of the head.
"What was that for?" asked an obviously stunned Tim.
"For letting DiNozzo affect your performance. I know you've always had this self-conscious thing going on, McGee, but if you're suddenly going to let it get in the way of working in the field I can't afford to have you on my team."
"I'm sorry, boss," Tim said, forgetting Gibbs' disdain for apologies, "it's just that every time I'm aiming, all I can hear is Tony telling me how much I suck."
"You want me to say you're just as good a shot as he is, McGee? Because I'm not going to. You're good, but not on his level, at least not yet. Then again, I can't say he's on Ziva's level. But you know what really makes them different than you?"
"They always hit their target?" Tim guessed glumly.
"They don't let the things going on around them to stop them from getting the best shot in that they can. When they're poised to shoot, they're not thinking about who's better than who; they're thinking about their shot."
"I'm not good at blocking it out."
"You are," Gibbs assured him, "just not in every situation. When I tell you to hack something, you've got the most intense concentration I've ever seen. You think DiNozzo could do the things you do with computers? Your fingers move ten times faster than his."
At the compliment, Tim straightened up a bit, his mouth twitching upward into a small smile. "Yeah, that's true." He shook his head, ever shred of sudden confidence gone. "But that's different! I mean, it's computer stuff! No one's life is in danger and if I fail the worst that will happen is you'll yell at me." Granted, Gibbs' scolding could sometimes make its recipients wish they'd just been hurt instead, but Tim didn't see it necessary to mention that.
"It doesn't matter, McGee. Until you're able to have the same concentration when shooting that you've got when hacking, you're not going to be on the same level as Tony."
"I don't think I'll ever be on his level. He'll always be faster and more accurate than me."
"Maybe so. But who cares? As long as you're both reliable in the field, it makes no difference to me."
"But he'll never stop reminding me that he's better, no matter how good I am." Tim knew he sounded petty and petulant, but Tony had a knack for bringing out those traits in him, even when he wasn't there.
"Well, you've got to ask yourself what's more important, McGee: being good and getting the job done or harping on being the absolute best?" He looked to Tim. "Your choice."
Three weeks later
Tony had just finished his turn. He gave Tim a smug grin. "Want to make this interesting, Probie? Best shooter buys lunch for a week?"
Tim didn't respond; he blocked the words from his mind. With gun in hand, he stepped up and aimed. A whirlwind of snide words, barbs and taunts swirled through his mind, but he pushed them out.
It was just him, his gun, and the target.
And he took his shot.
AN: Just to let you guys know, I'll be uploading quite a few one-shots from the Haiti Relief Auctions in which I took part.