Chapter 19 – The Start of Autumn

Rain came down hard, and the wind rattled NCIS' windows slightly. Washington was getting the outer winds and rains from Hurricane Chester, which was a good 150 miles off the coast and headed back out into the Atlantic to die. Hurricane season and the start of autumn. Vance could already feel the year 2010 starting to creak with age, as references to 2011 began to pop up in the news.

At least there was some good news. Ziva and Tim were both out of the hospital and recuperating…in a safe house, over their objections. Without going into details, Vance had only said that investigation into the shooting was still ongoing. He could still hear in his mind the discussion with Ziva as she prepared for his hospital discharge.

"You think that the shooter was not working alone."

"We don't know what to think yet, Agent David."

"But you would not be expending NCIS resources to guard us in a hidden location if you did not believe we were still in danger."

Resources, to be sure. Vance didn't begrudge his agents the protection. He did, however, regret how much time this soaked up in his own mind. Ziva and Tim were just two of over 1,000 NCIS special agents. There was so much more of the job that commanded his attention.

Last week, he had been in Los Angeles for a few days, seeing in person how the Office of Special Project's new equipment functioned. (He had also taken pictures, which he would show Tim when the agent returned to work.) Overall, it had eaten up most of a work week, when the travel time was factored in. Then, he had to face the things that piled up in his absence from Washington. If Vance didn't have a mind that readily understood paperwork and channels, he would have gone stark raving mad long ago.

On this third day of rain, the downpour had lessened to a drizzle, and there were even signs of lighter clouds when Vance headed home. The roadways were still damp. Vance's mind wandered, seeing a few maple trees with random branches already turning colors. Summer was over. Employees' weeklong vacations were over; nearly every able-bodied person was back at work and looking forward no further than Christmas. (Vance had rejected Abby's suggestion to put up the Christmas trees early, as in now.)

He wasn't prepared when his driver braked suddenly. "What is it?" he asked.

"I'm not sure, Director. Car ahead of us swerved and then stopped. So did that other one. Hey!" The car ahead of them suddenly took off, speeding ahead of the stopped car in the other lane. "There's something…someone lying in the road!"

"They may need help. Pull onto the shoulder and let's check it out." Vance felt to reassure himself that his cell phone and SIG were in their places, and then got out as soon as the car stopped rolling.

The driver in the other lane seemed to have the same idea, for he pulled onto the grassy median. He was an older man, who leaned on his cane as he came over to investigate.

"Haam, call 911," Vance commanded his driver. "Then stop traffic until they arrive. This is a crime scene." He knelt beside the body; a bullet wound evident in the man's forehead.

"But, Director—"

"I'll be all right." The body was no threat. The other driver didn't appear to be a threat. "Then call Gibbs. This is our jurisdiction." Indeed. The body wore Marine camouflage.

It was a relief to Vance, and probably more so to poor substitute-traffic-warden Agent Haam, that the local LEOs arrived pretty quickly. Vance flashed his ID. "Sorry, gentlemen, but the body can't be moved until my people have taken photos, measurements, swept for evidence, and so on."

"No disrespect for a serviceman, but this was an inconvenient time and place to go," said one of the LEOs.

Yes, it was: right in the middle of a two-lane road at late rush hour, but still. "I'm sure he would apologize, if he could," Vance said bluntly. "We can get my car onto the median, if you want to let traffic get by on the right shoulder,"

"Okay. That seems to be the only thing to do."

It had been a long, long time, it seemed, since Vance had worked a crime scene. He couldn't even remember how many years. The basic things, though, were not easily forgotten. He checked his watch. With the traffic, it would probably take the MCRT at least another fifteen minutes to get here, and that didn't include swinging around to come up the other direction from the south. Vance could wait for them…or maybe he could get things rolling.

He thought he remembered that gloves were in a small kit kept in the trunk of the car. They were. Ducky would have his hide if he moved the body, so he avoided that. But he could look around and see what else he could find, if anything.

The roadway was unremarkable. The cars' headlamps picked up faint rainbow colors here and there on the pavement: thin oil sheens. No sign of tire marks from sudden braking. Where had the body come from? Had it been thrown out of a car? Ducky would be able to tell.

He waved to Agent Haam to come over. "What do you remember about the car that was ahead of us?"

"I took the liberty of putting out a BOLO on it, sir. Black Toyota something. I remember that the plate number started with G89. North Carolina plate."

"Good. Good."

Flashing blue lights approached from the south; it turned out to be two troopers on motorcycles giving an escort to the MCRT truck and the Autopsy van through the tangle of traffic. In minutes Gibbs and company were at his side. Gibbs swiftly sent his people to do the usual tasks, and then stepped back to talk with his boss. "You sure you needed to call us in, Leon?" he grinned. "I would think you could have handled it all by yourself."

"I could have put the body in the back seat of the car with me," Vance agreed, "but a body bag is one thing I don't carry in my car." He smiled a little. "I don't know," he continued in a low tone. "I wanted to…do something. To be useful. But it's as if…I've forgotten what to do."

"Naw; I think you're a bit rusty, is all. How many years has it been since you worked in the field?"

"Long enough," Vance shook his head.

"Leon, you can't do everything. You've specialized; risen above the average agent job. No one would expect you to remember all the details."

The clouds were breaking, and a warm wind picked up. Vance raised his face, savoring the feel of the sun on it. "I can't help but feel I should know it all, though," he admitted. "A director should know the full range of the job…and more. I've never worked as an analyst or a cryptographer, but I have a general idea of their jobs."

"I don't think you need to know more than that."

Vance recognized that he was being more candid than usual, but he felt Gibbs could be trusted to keep his mouth shut. "Does it bother you? That, say, McGee is light years ahead of you in terms of technology? Or that David is a sharper hand-to-hand fighter? DiNozzo is more in your mold."

"Yeah, he is. No, it doesn't bother me. Humans haven't changed much in our generation. I have experience and a historical perspective that McGee doesn't. David has a different distribution of body mass than I do, so naturally she'd fight differently…Something else making you melancholy, Leon?"

"No. Just feeling old, I guess."

"You have to give up some things when you move on to a new chapter in your life."

"I suppose."

"But you make up for it with the new things you get. New duties. New challenges. A chance to just stand at the balcony and look down on the squad room all day, if you like."

"Not all day. I'd take time off for lunch and for coffee runs. And pit stops."

Gibbs grinned and glanced over at the crime scene. "Looks like they're finishing up. We should go. You going to go back to NCIS with us and turn in your report?"

"It's meatloaf night at our house. I don't want to miss that. I'll email a report from home."

"Okay. See you tomorrow."

With a wave and a nod to the LEOs, Vance got in his car and had Agent Haam take him home. Whatever insecurities he might have would melt away, he was sure, at that first delicious forkful of meatloaf.

With Jackie joining a girlfriend to take their combined broods to lunch and a movie, Vance found himself bored in the quiet house. Even the family dog was more interested in napping than playing. Vance got his weekend driver/guard, Agent James, to drive him to the safe house in Reston where Ziva and Tim were staying.

Ziva was napping, so Vance let her sleep. Tim, though, was awake and restless. "Director! I didn't expect to see you."

"Stealth is my business," Vance smiled. "How are you doing, Agent McGee? And no, don't you think about getting up."

Tim sighed. "Fine, I guess."

Vance pulled a chair up to the bed. "You've had a tough year."

A sad laugh came from the agent. "Tony says I'm on track to become a saint, because I'm hole-y."

"Third grade humor at its best." Vance paused, letting Tim catch his breath. Tim looked fragile.

"We miss you around NCIS," Vance went on. "You and Agent David. You may think that the MCRT is just a small cog in the organization, but you're not. People are aware of all the hard work that your team does."

A cloud seemed to pass over Tim's face. "It is hard," he said.

"A field agent's job isn't easy. That's why we recruit only the best."

Tim sighed, gently. "I'm not sure I want to…"

"Want to what, McGee?" Vance prompted after a moment.

"To…continue. To…get shot again. I don't…"

Vance leaned forward. "It's scary, isn't it? Scares the hell out of you."

A nod. "You ever get shot, sir?"

"Once. In the side, back in…2003. I was working undercover. It hurt like the devil, and I panicked, not knowing if I would live or die. They had to stitch up my spleen. I was out of work for three months. That wasn't the worst part of it, though."

"Oh?"

"No. While I was weak and sore in the hospital, I thought for sure that my wife would divorce me for all the grief I was subjecting her to. And I couldn't bear it if she left me and took our babies."

"Oh."

"But she didn't. She reminded me of that in sickness and in health clause in our wedding vows, and said she intended to stick by that. She could hate the circumstances that lead to my getting wounded, but still love me and love my dedication to my job. She is a mountain of strength for me."

"That's…really nice. I wish I…had someone like that in my life."

"Oh, I think you do."

"No, I rarely even get a second date," Tim laughed ruefully.

"There are other supports. First, you have yourself. You can be your own pep squad. If you like your job—and I think you do—you can find the positives and the desire to get back to work. The statistics are on your side, McGee. It's incredibly freakish that you would be downed twice in such a short period of time. You probably won't be seriously injured again for a long time, if ever.

"Second, you have your team. Jackie is my support because she and I are family now. Your team is your family. They are concerned for your well-being, even gruff old Gibbs. They both want what's best for you and want you back in their fold. Don't be afraid to lean on them. They want to help."

Tim closed his eyes, looking spent. "What if my well-being is best served by…walking away, and becoming a, a researcher or a software developer?"

"Do you think that's likely? That you'd be happier by feeling safe?"

"…I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not."

"You don't have to make any snap decisions. Just concentrate on getting well."

With another smile, Vance left Tim to get some rest.

Saturday, September 25

Wednesday, September 22

Monday, September 20