Chapter 7: Pain

It wasn't hard to find him.

Gibbs simply guessed that McGee would do the exact same thing he would do in the same situation.
Following his instincts and after a very careful reading of McGee's file, it wasn't difficult to find him in that small cemetery in the outskirts of Norfolk. There weren't many low income cemeteries specialized in infants and after a brisk phone call to the local maternity he was instructed in how to get there.

He rolled the facts in his mind during the three hour drive to Norfolk, measuring the words that needed to be said, before finally parking the car and, after a brief talk with the caretaker, braved the snow covered lanes towards the lone man standing by a white washed stone slab.

Gibbs had no idea what to say, so after a few failed attempts, he shut up and stood silently beside McGee, who was absolutely pale and distraught under the faint light escaping through the cloudy skies.

They've stayed like that, silently in vigil, for almost fifteen minutes; only the wind rustled the bare branches of the trees which marked the end wall of the cemetery.

"You know… my dad told me it was for the best." McGee muttered, his gaze lost somewhere in the past.

Gibbs turned to him, his eyebrows going up but unwilling to stop the confession time, he wisely kept silent. Seeing the curious look, McGee continued.

"He said I wasn't cut to be a father." At that, the first crack in McGee's stony face appeared, as a tear escaped his iron grip in his emotions. "That I … had been stupid and that I was paying the price for my stupidity."

"McGee -"

"I was terrified. I wasn't prepared for… the responsibility … or the late night feedings or the diaper changing… but I loved him." At that, McGee sobbed, raising a hand to angrily wipe his face. "I loved him. He was my son. My flesh and blood and…"

"Tim, it's okay to love him. And it's perfectly fine to miss him."

"I should have done something. I should have checked on him earlier or moved him or…"

"There was nothing you could. Cribs deaths happen and you're not to blame. It's nobody's fault."

"That's not what Chris told you, right?" Gibbs' face became harder, so McGee pressed on. "Oh, I've heard it all before. How I was irresponsible to get her pregnant when we were fourteen; how I could barely keep a job to support her and our kid; how her father hated me; how my father cursed at me; how they all were so relieved when my… my son… my baby boy died merely six months after being born so everybody could go back to their own perfect lives with their own perfect plans!" by then, McGee was shouting at Gibbs' face, but he was too far gone in his pain to realize he was shouting at his boss.

"My father actually cheered when I came back home with my tail between my legs. He told me 'It's for the best, son. Now go back to your room and books and get your ass in line. No more dating and sleeping around cheerleaders not meant to you.' I had just buried my kid and he asked me about my SAT scores. As if I could think about them!"

"But you did anyway."

"What?"

"Your SAT scores. You've studied for it. Came back to school, went to MIT then John Hopkins. Made a life for yourself."

"I… had nothing else to do. And I was already interested in computers, so I hid myself in them. As long as I was programming, I wasn't thinking. If I wasn't thinking, I wasn't missing him." McGee lowered his head and gazed back to the white stone. "Chris graduated a year later. She had … a bad bout of depression and had to take meds and have therapy. By the time she came back to school I was already graduating. She went to California, as far as possible from me and the baby. She never looked at my face again." He sniffed loudly, a hand going up to clear up the snot and tears gathered on his face. "And… maybe… it's for the best. She had never wanted the child anyway."