Chapter 2
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The spring afternoon sunbeams made a bright, rather fierce, backdrop to the NCIS Director at his desk in his powerful office. "You want to do what, McGee?" Vance raised his eyebrows at the young man who stood before him.
"There's a program I'd like to enroll in at FLETC, Director. I'd only be away for a few weeks. It's this one." Tim handed over the computer print-outs he'd made, and bit his lip before he could add, I'd even give up my vacation time to take it. That would be a sign of weakness and over-eagerness. Job training should come out of job time, not personal time.
Vance only glanced at the papers. "And you've come to me about it, rather than going through your supervisor? Why?"
Tim was prepared for that. "Well, sir, to be truthful, I wasn't sure how Agent Gibbs would take the suggestion. It's not a typical course for an agent working out of a field office…"
"The High Risk Operations Training Program isn't meant for field office personnel. It's for the people we send into danger zones, like Afghanistan. Most of the people who train in it are stationed in the Contingency Response Field Office in Georgia. With a limited number of slots available, why should I send you there, Agent McGee? Are you going to volunteer for deployment?"
"No, sir. I think it would be a unique opportunity to show how skills learned in the courses can benefit the MCRT team .We deal with the possibility of a counter-terrorism situation daily, sir, and we can't be expected to wait until the CRFO sends a team up to help us. From what I've read of the program, I'm convinced it can help us make an immediate response to terrorist threats."
"And you're assuming that Agents Gibbs would not sign off on a recommendation, and that would doom your chances right there."
"Well…more or less, yes."
Vance pulled up a computer program. "Well, your timing is good, McGee. As a matter of fact, an agent from the CRFO who was scheduled for the next class, which starts in four weeks, notified me yesterday that she has to drop out because she's become pregnant and will have to put off going to Iraq. Let me give your request some thought. I'll also have to go back through the roster of people who requested, or who should have requested the class. I can't send you if there's someone else who needs the training sooner. But even if I can't send you now, I can keep you in mind for a later date."
"Thank you, sir." Tim smiled a stronger smile than he actually felt. The HROTP class was only offered a few times a year. Tim didn't know how he'd get through the next several months if he had to wait. And what would he do if Vance decided not to send him at all?
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Why do you want to go, Tim? his reflection in his bathroom mirror asked him.
Because I want to prove something, he answered in his mind.
What do you want to prove?
That I'm strong…that I learn…that I'm…not a child, in need of being rescued.
Is that why you phone your father? Because you're not a child?
That's not the same thing!
Isn't it?
I don't need to prove anything to Dad. It's Gibbs who doesn't understand. Gibbs is the one who treats me like someone in need of protection. Dad trusts me to know what I'm doing.
If you say so.
Angrily, Tim rubbed both hands through his hair and scowled at his reflection. He knew he had a good, responsible reason for putting in for the training…even if it wasn't exactly why he felt he needed to go.
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Nearly four weeks later…
"You're going where? When? Why?" Tony demanded, sputtering.
"You sound like a reporter, Tony," Tim smiled as he started filing papers that had accumulated on his desk. The okay from Vance had just come in—as a class candidate had backed out at the last minute. Tim had crowed on seeing Vance's email to him, and the others had gathered around his desk. The class would start at FLETC in three days.
"That sounds like…an inspired career move, McGee," Ziva said, slowly, still digesting Tim's announcement. "You will bring back a unique perspective from the HROTP. All that weaponry, and advanced defensive driving…"
"There's always something to learn, and I like learning! It's only a four-week course. I'm still not going to learn as much as you know, Ziva."
Tony's smile was tight. "You'd better not, McGee, because I'm not sure there's room on this team for two assassins."
Gibbs hadn't said anything, but from the corner of his eye Tim could see that the boss was studying him as intently as he would study someone he was interrogating.
"It may work out, it may not," Tim said. "I may come back feeling overwhelmed. But I'll never know unless I try."
"Our little Probie's growing up! Five years ago, you would be wilting under any doubts we sent your way. Now you're confident and ready to go."
"Almost ready," Tim laughed. "Tomorrow I have to do errands and laundry. Day after tomorrow is my travel day."
"I'm not sure about this, McGee. Don't get hurt while you're there," said Gibbs. "I need you healthy."
Tim kept his smile from faltering with some effort. "Understood." Was this friendly concern from Gibbs, or just more parental overreaching? He was not going to try to think about that now. Positive outlook.
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Five weeks after that…
"McFLETC should be coming back right about three…two…one…"
"Hi, everyone!" Tim breezed in, his long legs making great strides, and his backpack seemingly weightless on one shoulder. He sat down in his chair with a satisfied plop!, his coffee cup moving gracefully with him.
"Welcome back, McGee. It is good to see you again." Ziva said warmly.
Tony even got up from his seat. "You look tanned and fit…I guess hazardous training and aggressive driving agrees with you."
Tim smiled back, aware that they could see the bruise on one side of his face. After four days it was still colorful. "I think it did. I learned a lot."
"What did you learn?"
"Not to be almost late to work, I hope," Gibbs said, coming in with his coffee. "Grab your gear. We're wanted back at Quantico." He eyed Tim with a sly smile. "McGee…you want to drive?"
"Will we get there in one piece?" Tony wondered, eyes rolling, snatching the keys from Tim.
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Thus began a calm period at NCIS for Gibbs' team. Tim spoke about his training, but only in generalities. Advanced defensive driving. As usual, Tim was not once given the chance to drive the MCRT truck, so they took his word for it. Hostile Environment Weaponry. Would he ever have a chance to use a grenade launcher, or the bigger guns, or some of the other stuff he'd trained on? Maybe not. But knowing he could, now…that made all the difference. He seemed to have increased confidence in his abilities. At the same time, though, if you looked carefully, you could see a certain wariness about him, as if he felt he was being watched and judged, and perhaps found lacking.
Every time that Ziva and Tony asked him about FLETC, Tim would just laugh their questions off, saying it was nothing specific, unless he was ready to suit up for a war zone. Secretly Ziva and Tony felt he might have another reason for having taken the course, but if he did, he wasn't saying.
And if Gibbs was the least bit impressed by Tim's training class (or the certificate that came for Tim, sent through Gibbs, his supervisor, for "outstanding achievement" for finishing in the top 10% of his class, Gibbs didn't show it. Days slogged on, and the initial euphoria Tim had felt upon his return started trickling down into despair. Gibbs probably thinks it was a glorified vacation for me, at the agency's expense, Tim thought, bitterly. NCIS' version of Disneyland. Four grueling weeks, and what has it done for me?
Abby's cheer-you-up hugs resumed, and while Tim didn't mind them, they were also a reminder of how low his feelings had fallen. I thought I had the solution. I thought that he would see, once I'd taken the courses…but no. I'm still a helpless child to him.
Tim kept stealing glances Gibbs' way while at his desk in the squad room, looking for a sign…anything…but Gibbs seemed mostly oblivious. In the one or two times when their eyes actually met, Tim hurriedly returned his own to his computer and hastily typed. He didn't even pause long enough to wonder what Gibbs was thinking.
He thinks I'm nuts, he told himself later. Nuts. Life is like a bowl of nuts, and Tim McGee is among them.
By now, Tim knew all the words to the cherries song. (It was still on Abby's Top 5 list.)
People are queer, they're always crowing, scrambling and rushing about;
Why don't they stop someday, address themselves this way?
Why are we here? Where are we going? It's time that we found out.
We're not here to stay; we're on a short holiday.
Yes, why am I here? Tim wondered. If I can't pull my own weight, why am I needed?
When has Gibbs ever needed anyone?
Never. And he never will.