It was Leon, that looked up and stared at Gibbs for a moment. "How big is your hot water system?" He suddenly pondered out loud, realising that Tim had been in the bathroom for an inordinate amount of time.
Gibbs instantly reacted, running down the hallway, two strides at a time. Knocking harshly on the guest bathroom door. "Tim?" He started with, hearing no response. "McGee!" He tried again. No answer. Trying the door handle, Gibbs cursed when he found it locked. When he woke up that morning, he never thought that he would be breaking into his own guest bathroom.
Gibbs turned to go retrieve his lock picks from his work bag, only to find Leon offering him, his own set from his pants. A mutter from behind them in a feminine voice, "I'm not even going to ask ..." Sarah uttered in surprise, and her utterance had Leon and Gibbs exchanging smirks. Both men had worked for McCallister and Franks in their early days, of course they owned lock picks. Just as Tim, Tony and Ziva owned them too.
"Agent McGee?" Leon tried, unsuccessfully, as Gibbs worked on the lock. "Tim?" Leon wondered what would have driven the normally shy, reserved green eyed agent to not answer them. Normally, one word he could always associate with McGee was respectful. Respectful enough to answer his superiors. Respectful enough to answer a basic question. Respectful enough to say something. Anything.
The sound of the lock popping open, reverberated throughout the occupied hallway and into the small guest bathroom. Gibbs gave Leon and Sarah Porter a look, one that clearly said to back up and give him some room. "Tim? It's Gibbs. You're not answering, I need to come in. I need to know that you're ok."
Gibbs gently eased his way in the bathroom. He was careful to just slip inside and close the door behind him, wanting to preserve a semblance of privacy for him, knowing what was lying ahead in the hours to come. He felt his heart pang at the sight of his youngest agent, laying down on the floor. The bathmat looked microscopic in comparison to the broad, six-foot two frame belonging to Timothy McGee. Dressed in nothing but a flimsy pair of cotton shorts that looked like they had seen better days.
Tim's eyes locked on Gibbs'. Gibbs tried to pry the complicated, highly technological cell phone from his agent's hand. "Ch.. Chan... Channel four." Tim began stammering and Gibbs caught enough to know that the news had broken prematurely. Ethan Gawn had kept his word, but another reporter, from a different network had broken the news story.
Gibbs took a seat on the cold, square tiles on the bathroom floor, by Tim's head. "Unfortunately, we expected this to happen." Gibbs advised him softly, his tone conveying how sorry he was. Tim lifted his head to sit up, but Gibbs urged him to stay put and slipped his leg under Tim's head, for Tim to use as a pillow. Gibbs' hands landed in Tim's soft tawny hair. Rubbing his large hand over Tim's head in a soothing, relaxing manner. Much like a parent would comfort a small, upset child. "Shh, just relax a minute. It's OK, Tim. Remember, we talked about this. It's a shit show, but it is what it is. Just breathe."
"It's not yet, 1800." He whispered at the unspoken implication. Nathan may not have made it to speak with his father in time. The story had broken ahead of schedule. It was too late.
Tim was trying to contact him, but the call was going to voicemail. It was going straight to voicemail. Tim knew Nathan never turned his phone off for anything or anyone. Even when it was just the two of them, in their secluded little hideaway. Even when they were high on dopamine and endorphins after a blissful weekend alone, making love and being the centre of each other's world, Nathan's phone, like Tim's was never switched off.
"Just keep breathing, Tim." Gibbs murmured holding his youngest agent close. "Let's get you dressed into something nice and warm. Get you something to drink. Maybe we can ask Ducky to come over too, how's that sound?"
"Senator!" Bob O'Hara greeted him, with nothing less than the disdain that dripped from his condescending smarmy, unctuous tone of voice. "Always causing a ruckus, hey? You can six minutes with him, then I must really insist that you leave. He has three conference calls set up after this and the president needs to focus on those." He reminded Nathan. Bob O'Hara had been his father's closest and most trusted political advisor since he had his father had become the president. Bob O'Hara had been a fresh eyed kid of twenty-five years old, back when they first met, and Nathan had been a fifteen-year-old kid with a petulant, fractious, moody attitude.
Nathan's friends had wanted to play pranks on Bob and Nathan had always forbid it, despite the fact that Bob O'Hara had deserved them, after the way he constantly spoke down to them. "Thank-you." Nathan replied, biting back the scathing remark, that had been on the tip of his tongue. Quite often Nathan and Bob would engage in verbal sparring matches when Nathan was a teen, but not since he graduated high school had Nathan found that unacceptable. When Bob had been promoted to his father's Chief of Staff, Nathan had congratulated him genuinely, and he had told Nathan to "go fuck yourself!" After that, Nathan always went out of his way to be extra nice to Bob, but Bob was always snarky in return.
He thought of Tim and realised that the reason that he had to keep playing nice was to protect Tim. As much as he and Kyle didn't trust Ethan Gawn, they didn't trust O'Hara more.
His mother, the political strategist, genius was May Taylor, nee Lopez. She had been a firecracker in political circles and along with his father, had been a political power couple. 'A match made in political heaven.' Was the headline that the Washington Post had printed the morning after their highly publicised wedding. Her father had been a president before, she had been the first daughter and had studied politics at Georgetown University. She had learnt the game of politics before she could buckle her own shoes. Her father had been one of the greatest presidents in the history of the USA. These days she was the First lady of the United States, spending her days speaking with young women and empowering the next generation of future female politicians, as well as her immense charity work.
"Senator!" His father beamed happy to see his son, as soon as he stepped inside the oval office. His father's voice had been more enthusiastic than his Chief of Staff's. The President of the United States was a tall man at six foot six, the same height as his son. Both men had dark curly hair on top of their head, but Andrew's hair was littered with stray silver hairs that gave him a more distinguished look than his son. "How the hell are you, my boy? O'Hara tells me you need some time that it is personal. Something about ... "
"Dad!" Nathan interrupted his father. Nathan has only ever interrupted his father a couple of times since his father had taken up residence in this office, a mere three years ago. "I have to speak with you, so for one moment don't be the president and just be my father."
A persistent knock at the door, before Bob O'Hara hurriedly rushed into the room. "Forgive the intrusion, Sir." He hurried out and Nathan swore. "I just wanted to remind you that you only have six minutes. You have three important conference calls you need to prepare for."
"I am aware of that." Andrew huffed out. O'Hara personally may be controlling and somewhat manipulative. Especially when it came time for Andrew to enjoy the company of his wife, his son or his daughter. It seemed that whilst O'Hara was good at his job, excellent in fact, he lacked the whole familial experience to remember to carve out time for family. He was all business-like. Family didn't matter to Bob O'Hara. "Please leave us Bob, I need to speak with my son in private."
"Of course." His slick and greasy reply came. With the resounding click of the door closing over, the duo occupying the oval office let out a collective sigh of relief.
"Where were we?" Andrew murmured, eyeing his son up and down. He felt like he hadn't seen his son this stressed, since the week of his final exams at MIT. "What's going on?"
When his son had called his Chief of Staff and requested a private audience with him, father to son, his heart was worried. It was something that his son had rarely done. He never wanted to be seen in the west wing or oval office, unless he was there in an official capacity. He didn't want to be perceived with nepotism for sitting down with his father and talking, father to son, on the job. Most of their face-to-face communications of a private nature took place behind closed doors at the residence, or at Nathan's apartment on Dupont Circle. The one he kept just for show. Not the one that he liked to sleep in, the one that had the comfort feeling of Tim's presence in. The one he shared with Tim.
"I..." His son began, as soon as the door closed. "So..." Nathan clammed up tight. He was struggling to find the words. It was like he was twenty years old again. Standing in front of Tim, soaking wet, in the pouring rain. "It's like this ..."
Twenty-year-old, Nathan had taken his dorm mate, the newly twenty-year-old, Tim out for a night of pizza, beer and ten pin bowling. They'd been meandering their way back to their dorm after their night of celebrations that neither of them had any study to do and would be free to party it up all weekend long. Of course, they were, as always closely followed by Nathan's secret service detail; Phil and Mark. The two secret service agents had always taken great pride in their work and the care they took of the Speaker's son. They had always been quick off the mark when it came to girls and their charge. Always ready with NDA'S and confiscating any recording devices, including phones.
Nathan and Tim had been holding one another upright, as they walked. Staggered, however, would have been a more appropriate word. Arms slung around the other one, hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder. They were walking through Johnstone Park, taking a short cut that every college kid knew and would cut almost thirty minutes off their return trip to the dorms.
Phil and Mark knew this shortcut too, this was their third year at MIT with Nathan, now. They had no objections to the route; they've taken this route before and were happy to keep the status quo. They both liked their charge, he was kind to them, spoke respectfully and he always followed their safety advice. They liked Tim, his roommate too. He was a good companion for their charge. More importantly, the two men had been able to feel the unresolved sexual tension between the two of them and privately pondered if there was a more than just friends scenario once or twice. Before dismissing their thoughts as a passing folly, deeming that if it was happening, they would know about it.
As the four of them stumbled through the park, two intoxicated underage college kids and two secret service agents, the sky opened up out of nowhere. It was bucketing down rain. Almost instantly the four of them were soaked. With nowhere to take refuge, the younger two of the four looked at one another intensely. To this day, Mark and Phil will never know who moved first, suddenly the two of them were locked in a passionate battle of dominance, kissing one another like their lives depended on it.
"Whatever it is son, just tell me." Andrew smiled at him, comfortingly. He was sure it could not have been as bad as the time that, when Nathan was eleven and he had rigged a yogurt bomb to explode upon opening the locker door. The school had suspended him for a week for that stunt.
"I'm seeing someone." Nathan admitted, changing tacks. "Have been seeing someone and it is serious." Nathan took his time, breathing in and out, evenly. The next two points were the harder of the three. They were going to leave a sting between them, he just hoped he could recover from it.
"That's great, Nate." His father beamed at him, proudly. He was beginning to worry that his son would never find someone. He had never known his son to show an interest in another person before. There had been no girls in high school or college and no reports of one from his secret service agents in his adolescence years. Of course, when his son had turned eighteen, he had stopped asking, as he was legally an adult. "When can we meet her?"
"She ... is not ... a she." Nathan breathed out. He breathed like Tim's therapist had taught Tim to breathe, as a way to starve off a panic attack. He truly felt like he was an inch away from a panic attack, himself. "It's a ... he, Dad. I am gay. Always have been, really."
"Gay ... ok." His father responded, stunned. He had met other gay people, but he had no idea that his son had been gay. There had been no signs. "That's ok." Andrew smiled at son and hugged him tight. He was really ok, with that.
Pulling back from his embrace with his son, Andrew smiled widely at the look on his son's face. Pure elation. Happiness. "This part is going to be painful ... we've been together for ten years, Dad."
"Ten years?!" His father exclaimed, surprised. If he was stunned at his son being gay, he was shocked at this latest revelation. "Ok, ten years together." Andrew breathed out loud, calmingly.
"The timing of coming out is lousy, but ..." Nathan began, the sound of the door bursting open stopped him.
"Excuse me." Bob said, bursting into the room, unannounced looking frantic and stressed. "But you need to see this ... " Bob held a remote in his hand that belonged to the little TV that had been hidden away in the corner. Within a minute, Richard Wyatt, an extremely conservative reporter for Channel 4 appeared on the small screen.
"This just in, folks. It appears that Senator Nathan Taylor, the son of our very own President Andrew Taylor, has been conducting a clandestine affair. With a man. He is gay! His mystery man, and he wax poetic at one another, through emails that seemed to have been leaked from his own phone. There is no word on who the mystery man is, but is this really the man we want in our senate? Do we really want a man, who has a gay son, as our president? Wake up, People! It's time to vote the abominable Taylor's out of office!"
Andrew reached for the remote and switched the editorial piece off the small screen. "Everything is going to be ok, son."