A/N X-Men and some Star Trek references, but if you're a fan of McGee you should be well versed in Sci-Fi pop culture, so no explanation will be given.
Final chapter should be up before the new show tomorrow!
The Scrutiny of Professor X
The rest of the day left Tim feeling like he was the referee of a five-hour staring contest, except the goal seemed to be to covert observation rather any actual eye contact. He resisted the urge to doodle opposing Cyclops or would it be Cyclopsi? Cyclopses? Anyway, two of them (one would have long hair, but still with the X-men uniform, obviously), sitting behind desks, fingers training their laser beams of intense scrutiny directly at each other creating a unified beam with the clashing blast of wills wavering dramatically between them. McGee conceded that this situation could never reach a resolution since Cyclops was his favorite X-man, and he couldn't bear for him (insert 'or her' in this bizarre metaphor), to be dealt a crippling blow, even by another Cyclops.
He regrettably acknowledged that in this scenario, rather than flying the super cool jet with the other X-Men, he'd end up being Professor X, physically ineffective but vigilant, techno-savvy and good for a chat. No doubt accompanied by a very unmanly cup of tea. McGee smiled when he pegged Gibbs as Wolverine – both the silent rugged military type, equipped with knives to spare. The analogy came to an abrupt end with the thought of Abby being Rogue. He nearly became misty-eyed at the possibility of never touching her perfect skin again. He was fleetingly relieved she had a thing for dog collars and not gloves.
Still trying to regain his composure, McGee imagined he was in his own version of Cerebro, focusing his energy on infiltrating DiNozzo's thoughts, which wasn't hard considering that the Asprin and Tylenol were being devoured on a 3 rather than 4-hour rotation.
Nothing said 'I care about your mental stability' like monitoring a partner's drug intake. It tended to be less invasive, more informative and much less painful than having a heart to heart, especially with a guy who may be just delusional enough to truly believe that "probie" was a synonym for "government issued sidekick."
Ziva . . . well, Tim was certain that she had rigged bombs to go off in his mind if he attempted to breach the perimeters of hers. He remembered his resolve to wait for her to approach him, and patience seemed a much more conservative approach when dealing with assassins than attempting mind-melds. He considered letting Tony in on that secret . . . then he remembered that Tony pictured him in tights and decided that he could learn the hard way.
Unaware of the flutter of mental activity from McGee (perhaps because he spent too much time learning Klingon and not enough on Vulcan studies), Ziva kept her own mind busy with attempts to rationalize Tony's change in demeanor. It could have been general resignation resulting from his perceived failure to protect Cade and EJ, or she supposed it could have been something physical, but she could not get a clear read on him and that posed an unsettling challenge. Yet, there was a dead marine to avenge, there were BOLOS to update, there was evidence to process and there were leads to run down, so all she could spare for her partner were frequent squinted assessments of his expressions and the continued monitoring of his actions and of course, analgesics.
The monotony was broken when Tony and Gibbs went to apprehend a suspect. Ziva had not intended to bring up her revelation to anyone quite yet, but she found herself fuelled with curiosity and sitting at the corner of McGee's desk, fingering a pen as though it were a razor sharp throwing knife. Tim was typing half-heartedly waiting for her to begin.
They really were both so predictable.
"Is everything okay with Tony?" She made no eye contact and attempted to sound casual, but Ziva's just can't pull off casual when she's after intel.
Taking a flat tone while half smiling Tim replied, "Whatever do you mean, Ziva?"
"Well, do not tell me that you did not notice that he has been on a 3 hour schedule," she began exaggerated hand flailing, "and we both know that that regiment is normally reserved for post-concussion weeks. Do you know if something is wrong? Is he hiding an injury?"
Tim stopped typing, leaned back in his chair and really looked at her. He shrugged, "Seriously, Ziva, you guys should just talk to each other. I'm sure he is preoccupied, but then again so are you today. Care to share?" He wondered again why the dysfunctional duo consistently made things so much more complicated for themselves, but at least this way he got to be the main supporting actor. Well, the one with the most lines anyway since Gibbs seems to have mastered, "Grab your gear," and little else.
The youngest agent had faced the fact that his own cards were on the table, well, more specifically on Abby's lab table, and on display 24/7. Pathetic or not, considering all the years she's had possession of them and done nothing but shuffle them to the point they were nearly as malleable as fabric, at least he was open and consistent. Timothy McGee had never been alluring in that lethally dramatic way, but he was steadfast and hopeful that in the end that will count for something, especially to a woman who bowls with nuns.
The drama that surrounded him daily was embodied in the petite frame that precariously sat on the corner of his desk. He forgot with how physically effective she was in the field that she remained quite small. He only carried her once, in Somalia, and he assumed that she had been that light because of malnourishment, but she had not seemed to gain much weight since. He had no idea why that concerned him at that moment, probably for the same reason that he audited Tony's meds. He really cared about these insanely destructive people he worked with and someone had to notice these things. So while part of him would love to grab the proverbial popcorn and enjoy the mutual torment, his conscience, which oddly enough sounded decidedly feminine and addressed the rest of his mind as 'Timmy', persuaded him to give them an assist. Ziva was lost in thought and not responding so is was McGee to the rescue, again.
"Ziva, it's obvious that you came in seeming . . . different today and Tony has no doubt jumped to the conclusion that you're planning to elope with Ray this weekend and will leave town, never looking back. So his tension headaches have increased, which has him upping meds and acting up so now, and correct me if I'm wrong, you're worried he has a brain tumor or something along those lines. Does that seem about the size of things?"
Her jaw fell uncharacteristically slack, while taking in my assessment. "Oh, so then he is okay?" And she would have ended it there but Timmy, feeling personally invested in this predicament decided enough is enough.
"I didn't say that, Ziva. Until you talk to him his head is going to pound and he is going to worry. Personally, if you have news that you want to share, I would love to hear it. I would miss you terribly if you left, and I am selfishly hoping that you are not leaving me to deal with Gibbs and Tony on my own, but if it were for a good reason, I'd forgive you . . . in time." As he spoke she smiled mildly.
"Timothy McGee, you are not losing me. I would never intentionally subject you to such working conditions. Something has changed, but not what everyone apparently is assuming. I had a moment of clarity last night. I am not ready to hash out all that is on my mind, but I have decided to break things off with Ray and I find that I am strangely at peace about the situation." A deep exhale escaped from McGee as Ziva squeezed his hand and reveled in the childlike smile she received from her friend. He would have missed her, but she would have missed him more. There were not many conventionally sane people in her social circle and she needed him as a tether.
"Ziva, thanks for telling me, and as much as I would love to hear news that you're going to get your happily ever after, I'm glad it's not going to happen." At this Ziva's expression twisted as though she was hoping that she had not understood his words correctly. Tim backpedaled, "Oh, I mean, I want it to happen for you - to live happily ever after that is, just with the person who is right for you, and I hope you won't move far away or anything when it happens. And . . . I'm sure it will." Tim found himself flustered. So much for a best supporting actor award. Oh well, rom-coms never merit critical acclaim anyway.
Ziva raised a penetrating eyebrow at his vocal fumbling and sauntered back to her desk.
Trying to change the subject he added, "My money's on Advil next."
Tim felt like he needed a stiff drink but settled for a Nutter Butter and a trip down to Abby in the hope it would finally be the day that she would decided to do more than shuffle his cards. He knew it would result in nothing more than glancing touches of her (mercifully) bare hands over her keyboard, but he was thankful for the predictability of his situation, and for dog collars.