Jan 25
For the herd of men multiplied many times will never come up to the value of one friend. – Henry David Thoreau, Journal: Winter
It started in the elevator early one morning. McGee raced to catch the doors before they closed, and was surprised that someone held them for him.
He was waiting patiently for it to arrive at the squad room when he realized that everyone was watching him. He cast his mind back; what had he done recently that could make them scrutinize him?
He was fairly sure that no one had walked in on him and Abby at an inopportune moment, although he was dreading the day when someone did. He hadn't screwed anything up recently, not that he was aware of. He hadn't even run into Tony yet, so he doubted that there was another note stuck on his back.
"Congratulations, McGee," one of them finally spoke up. Tim strained to remember who he was. Jenkins… from Legal. What had he done to deserve praise from a semi-stranger?
His confusion must have shown on this face, as Jenkins tried to jog his memory. "Yesterday? The kid? You pulled a young girl from a lake?"
"Oh, yeah, that?" Had it really made the rounds of NCIS already? "Thanks."
"What happened?" someone else hissed.
"He jumped into a freezing lake, fully clothed, and rescued a child from drowning," came the whispered reply.
Honestly, Tim thought nothing much of it. Okay, so he did feel like a hero, but he didn't need this obviously fake praise. These people hadn't been there, didn't know what had occurred, didn't really care.
Shortly after booting his computer up while sat at his desk, someone else came over.
"Peter Watkins," the man announced, sticking a podgy hand out. "Finance. Heard what happened yesterday. Well done."
Tim nodded softly. He had never even seen the man before and didn't need his praise. He'd just been doing his job, after all.
Slowly but surely, the rest of the team arrived, and Gibbs' glare kept most of the well-wishers away. Tim was secretly glad; he had a hard computer trace to pull off and ideally needed Abby around. Unfortunately, the Goth had chosen that particular day to disappear to a forensics conference.
When he left the squad room to collect some much-needed coffee, he found himself accosted by a very burly man. "Anderson. Just transferred from Maine. Great job yesterday."
Tim had practically run away this time. Couldn't people tell he wanted to be left alone? Stranger's opinions didn't matter to him. He had just been doing his job, and was sure that anyone else in the same position would have done exactly the same.
At last, the team began to wind down for the day. Tim was surprised to see Tony walk over to him. "Just wanted to say, Probie, that girl owes you her life."
With that, he was gone, running towards the elevator and yelling for Ziva to hold it. But Tim didn't notice. Tony, his friend, had praised him. Admittedly it was in his own way, but it didn't matter. One friend made him feel better than all the strangers put together.