Title: When It's Your Time

Rating: T

Classification: Angst/Tragedy

Spoilers: Grace Period

Disclaimers: If I owned them, Paula wouldn't be dead. Chris and Jana are mine, but that's it. The quotation belongs to Robert Frost. The book I refer to is real, and very good if you can find a copy. My library just got rid of it and I'm sorry to say that I was not the lucky person who snapped it up in the book sale!

Summary: He can't get past the fact that that was supposed to be his team taking the call.

There were no objections when Gibbs told the team they'd be taking the next weekend on the tip line. Actually, there wasn't much of anything, other than three pale faces nodding back at him.

For his part, McGee felt a small degree of relief. The rest of him just didn't feel. The fact was, it didn't matter how many times the team took the shift on the tip line ― they hadn't taken it on the day it mattered the most.

The irony was all he could think about. Paula had given her life protecting them and they hadn't even been able to take a stupid shift for her. And what had been so important that weekend? A stupid sale at the public library. Spending four hours down in a basement, paging through nonfiction titles to add to his already insanely large book collection. He'd bought over 30 books, including one called Protecting The President by Dennis McCarthy, for a total of $7.50. One more thing to mock him, a book about a protection detail.

He hadn't touched the books since.

A line from a poem he'd studied in school kept running through his mind and wouldn't leave. "I took the road less traveled by, and it's made all the difference."

It had made all the difference, all right. That was the problem. It made the difference between his friend going home to his new bride, between Paula being able to attend the upcoming seminar on interrogation techniques they'd talked about, and between McGee being pushed into Ducky's autopsy drawer.

It made too much of a difference.

0

Saturday dawned in a pink and yellow haze that weekend. McGee stumbled into the Pentagon corridor, nearly colliding with Tony in the process. He mumbled an apology.

"You stay up too late writing last night?"

McGee mustered a smile. "Stayed up too late with writer's block."

It wasn't a lie. He'd sat in front of his typewriter until 6:30, desperately crafting a scene about a young agent named Polly. He had her life hanging by a thread and couldn't figure out how to save her. It was the same scene he'd been working on all week.

He could see Gibbs' eyes, staring at him from across the corridor, like he knew what was going on. McGee quickly made some inane comment about the last game of Counterstrike he'd played. Which was actually over a week ago, since he couldn't stand to pretend to rescue people, but would still guarantee a comment out of Tony. And that would be normal.

Except, Tony didn't comment. And McGee realized that life was never going to be normal again.

Maybe that was the point. How could life be normal, when you were really supposed to be dead?

They started walking towards the NCIS Team room, and Gibbs fell into step beside him. "Writer's block, huh?"

His voice said it all. McGee swallowed. "Agent Tibbs can't figure out why someone would kill three Naval Corpsmen."

He couldn't believe it. He'd just lied to Gibbs. And he could tell by his eyes that Gibbs knew he was lying. McGee wasn't sure what the consequence of lying to Gibbs was exactly, since up till now, nobody had ever been stupid enough to try. For the first time in his life, the thought of what Gibbs would say didn't frighten him.

Gibbs didn't say anything, just shrugged. "What about family or friends of the victims? Maybe they know something about what happened before the Corpsmen died."

The comment caught McGee off guard and he scrambled for a response. "Uh, he's already talked to them. They didn't know."

"Maybe it's not that they don't know something." Gibbs' voice was grave. "Maybe they're just afraid to talk about what they do know." He glanced quickly at McGee. "Just an idea."

He walked briskly ahead.

0

McGee sat leaning his back against the wall, his eyes focused on some space of air in front of the top of the wall.

They'd been in the team briefing area for almost an hour, each of them sitting at one of the tables provided for the agents to work at. Everyone had brought files of paperwork to work on during the dry period, but nobody was actually working. Ziva came the closest, copying notes in neat, precise, handwriting, her focus more on the perfection of the letters she was writing than on what she was actually writing about. Tony appeared to be taking notes as well, but McGee had caught sight of his notepad. It was full of geometric shapes, the mindbender type you'd find in puzzle books that trace one image over and over, interconnecting with the other images on the page. Tony had the design down to an art form.

In the desk next to McGee, Gibbs was also leaning against the wall, reading the contents of a file. Or to be precise, reading the contents of a page in the file over and over again. Every seven minutes or so he'd slowly turn the page over and start a new one.

The silence in the room was broken by an incessant cell phone ring. Instantly, all four agents sat up alert in their seats. Ziva's pen hit the ground while Tony's slid down the page, drawing a dividing line across the middle of the design. Gibbs pushed the file away and reached for his cell phone. "Yeah. Gibbs."

Suddenly an overwhelming nausea hit the edges of McGee's throat. He swallowed, trying to drive it down as an icy heat drew across his back. His gums began to tingle in an eerily familiar manner, reminiscent of the time he'd come across his first decomposed corpse and...

McGee leaped from his seat and scrambled to the door, fumbling with the knob for a second before managing to land himself in the hall. He shot a panicked glance down both ends of the corridor, then spotted the washroom sign and bolted, one hand over his mouth. Within seconds he was inside a cubicle, the door latched securely behind him, and on his knees leaning over a toilet bowl.

Minutes passed as he continued to lean, the nausea there in full force, but nothing else. No abdominal spasms, nothing but the nauseated sensation in his throat and gums. He took a deep breath, sure that would trigger something. Instead the nausea seemed to lessen slightly. Slowly he sat back, leaning against the brick wall to his left.

"McGee!" There was a slap against the door as Gibbs' voice came over the partition. "Tim, are you all right?"

"Fine, Boss," McGee managed. "Just...ate something that disagreed with me." He took another breath, trying to slow the heart beat that was only agitating the sick feeling in his throat. "Call out?"

"It was Abby, wanting to see how we were holding up." Gibbs' voice still sounded concerned. "Tim, are you sure you're all right?"

The nausea evaporated, leaving only a trace of the tingling he'd felt in his gums moments earlier. McGee closed his eyes as tears streamed down his cheeks. No, he wasn't all right. The Federal Agent had just panicked.

0

Special Agent Chris Scott stood in front of the elevator doors, waiting for it to arrive on the third floor. Finally, they opened, revealing Tim McGee, apparently on his way back from some place. His eyes lit up.

"Chris! Hey, I was on my way to see you."

"Hey, McGee. How was your weekend?" He stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the first sub-level.

The other agent shrugged. "Don't ask. Listen, I need a favor. Your team has the hotline shift this weekend, right?" Chris nodded. "Any chance you'd be willing to swap weekends with me?"

Chris stared at him in surprise. "What's up?"

McGee shrugged apologetically. "Our team's next shift is scheduled the same week as a writing conference I wanted to attend. Just found out and I wanted to find someone to swap with now, so I didn't get stuck at the last minute."

Chris raised his eyebrows. "On one condition." His face broke into a grin. "You name a character in your next book after me."

McGee forced a chuckle. "Deal."

"Okay." The elevator door opened and Chris stepped out into the hall. "And hey, no making me the killer, either!"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

0

"Gibbs?"

McGee looked up and froze. Jana Heiden, Chris' supervisor, was standing in front of Gibbs' desk. "Do you have a minute?"

"Sure." Gibbs put down the pen he'd been writing with. Jana shook her head.

"Not here."

Tony and Ziva had gone to talk to a witness, so there was only one person in the squadroom who could overhear them. McGee pretended to stare at his computer screen as the two agents headed for the elevator. When they were gone he slowly exhaled, before burying his face in his hands.

0

Gibbs waited until the doors were closed before flipping the switch and turning to the agent at his side. "What's going on?"

"When's your team's next turn on the hotline?" Jana asked. Gibbs raised his eyebrows.

"It hasn't been scheduled yet. We were there last weekend." The other agent sighed.

"That's what I thought." She looked directly into Gibbs' eyes. "Chris asked permission to trade tip line shifts with McGee. He said McGee had told him there was a scheduling conflict with your next weekend."

Gibbs winced. "Did you approve the request?"

Jana's eyes showed concern, but all she said was, "Not yet."

Gibbs sighed before nodding and releasing the elevator. "Go ahead and sign off on your end, then bring it by my desk." What he'd do with it then he wasn't exactly sure.

Jana nodded. The doors opened and she started to step out, then caught it with her hand and looked back. "Gibbs..."

"Don't, Jana." He reached forward and put a restraining hand on her arm, pushing her back with his voice if not actually with his hands. In a strained voice, he repeated, "Just don't."

Jana took a deep breath before pulling her hand away and stepping back off the elevator. Gibbs pressed the button for another floor, then once it was in motion again hit the emergency switch, plunging the enclosure into near-darkness.

He stood there for a moment in silence, before slamming his palm against the door with all his strength. It stung and he started to pull back, but instead leaned forward, locking his elbow and resting his hand against the cool metal. His eyes drifted down to the faint crack of light he could make out at the floor.

"You want to worry about something, worry about tomorrow. In this job, yesterdays...they don't count."

Gibbs shook his head. This yesterday was counting way too much, and it had him very worried about tomorrow.

0

"Where's the Bossman?"

The voice behind him nearly pitched McGee over his desk like a high jump. He sprang to his feet and spun around to see Abby, leaning on the railing of the stairs behind him.

"Abby, what the Sam Hill is the matter with you?!" he screamed.

The young lab tech took a step backward, her eyes looking hurt. For once she had no spunky retort to respond with. McGee winced and brought a hand up to his forehead.

"Abby, I am so sorry. I just...I didn't...You startled me."

"Startled, Tim?"

"Okay, you scared the living crap out of me and my fingernails are still imbedded in the ceiling." That got a tentative smile out of her. McGee tried to smile back. "He's in his conference room."

Abby raised her eyebrows and she glanced in the direction of the elevator. "Ooh, what's that about?"

McGee sighed. "Don't ask." He slumped back into his seat, then looked up at his former girlfriend. "Hey, Abbs? Is it true you slept in the morgue once?"

Abby stared at him, unsure whether to smile or not. "I wasn't with anyone, if that's what you're asking." McGee quickly shook his head.

"No, no, I know that. It's just..." He took a deep breath. "What was it like?" he asked softly.

She studied him for a long moment. "Comforting," she said honestly. "I felt free."

McGee snorted. "Maybe I should try."

"Try what, McGee?"

McGee managed to avoid reacting quite as strongly this time as he turned around. "Uh, nothing, Boss."

"I was just talking to him about some herbal therapies that can improve one's concentration, focus, and energy level," Abby said pertly. "And he was humoring me."

Gibbs leveled his eyes on the two of them, not saying a word. Abby continued to smile sweetly while McGee made his best attempt at a guilty, "I know, never humor Abby" look. Slowly, Gibbs nodded.

"Okay. What's up, Abbs?"

"I got a fingerprint match off the doorframe at your murder victim's house," she informed him. "The same fingerprint was also on the outside of the door and the outside windowsill."

Gibbs looked up in interest. "Who was it?"

Abby grinned apologetically as she passed him a piece of paper. "Elijah Cooper. He's a fifth-grader at Southview Community School who was fingerprinted as a part of their 'Ident-a-kit' initiative two years ago. But I figure, if he was looking in the window..."

"He may have seen something. Thanks, Abbs." Gibbs looked at McGee. "Come on, you're with me."

0

By the time they reached the Cooper house, McGee's nerves were all but threads. The silence in the car had been brittle, with McGee spending the first half of the drive afraid Gibbs was going to confront him and the second half hoping that he would. But the only thing he said was "Here we are," as they pulled up to the curb.

The house itself was average-sized but pretty, a dark brown and white gingerbread style. Their victim's home had also had a gingerbread motif, but it was a four-level split, unlike the straight rectangle they were ringing the doorbell of now.

An auburn-haired boy opened the inside door, his eyes bright but cautious. McGee was willing to bet that the screen door in front of him was not only shut, but locked as well.

"Can I help you?"

"Hi, there," Gibbs said with a smile. "My name is Gibbs; I'm an agent with the Navy." He flipped his badge open for the boy to see and McGee followed suit, pulling the black wallet-like folder out of his left breast pocket. The boy stared at them, wide-eyed, but didn't say anything.

"Is your Mom or Dad home?" Gibbs asked.

"What is it, Elijah?" A woman had appeared from behind him, her hair nearly the same color as her son's.

"They said they're with the Navy, Mom," Elijah told her. His mother stepped forward.

"Is this about what happened down the street the other day?"

"Yes, we actually have a couple of questions for your son if that's all right, ma'am," Gibbs replied.

The woman seemed startled, then quickly set her jaw and moved so that her son was behind her. "I don't know what you're thinking, but I can assure you, he had nothing to do with what happened." Gibbs quickly shook his head, smiling.

"Don't worry, ma'am, he's not in trouble," he assured her. "Elijah's fingerprints were just found on the door and we were hoping he might have seen something helpful."

"Oh." She still seemed hesitant, but finally nodded. "All right, come in."

0

"The only time I've talked to her is when I see her in her yard."

McGee glanced over at Gibbs. It was the third time the ten-year-old had made that same insistence, despite the fact that his fingerprints showed the contrary. The other agent merely nodded.

"What about going in her yard, maybe to retrieve a football or something?"

Elijah shook his head emphatically. "Mom's rules: No trespassing in the neighbor's yards or going into their home unless she's with me. If a ball goes in their yard, I get her and we go together and ask permission to get it."

Gibbs looked up at Mrs. Cooper. "And you haven't taken him over recently?" The woman shook her head.

"Not for a month, at least."

Gibbs nodded thoughtfully, then turned his attention back to Elijah, smiling slightly. "My Mom had that rule too," he said. "I wasn't supposed to go in the neighbor's yards. Then one day, some kids at school started telling me some stories about the older lady who'd just moved in next door."

"What kind of stories?" Elijah asked. Gibbs chuckled.

"The usual scary stuff older kids scare each other with. That she was hiding kids in the basement." Elijah started to laugh.

"And you believed that one?"

Gibbs nodded seriously. "Oh, yeah. One of the girls in my class had been absent for two days because she was sick. They told me that my neighbor had taken her. So, I went over to see for myself." Took my flashlight and shone it in all the basement windows."

"There weren't any kids were there?" Elijah said. Gibbs grinned.

"Nope. But the neighbor lady was in her storage room, putting canned goods on the shelf and she saw me. She was really nice about it, didn't get mad or anything." Gibbs shrugged. "But she did tell my parents."

Elijah winced. "Ouch."

"Yeah." Gibbs nodded in agreement. "Ouch."

His voice turned serious. "Elijah, I'm not trying to get you in trouble with your mother. But your neighbor getting hurt isn't just a story some kids told to scare people. There's a real bad guy out there who I need to find and make sure he's put in jail." The boy nodded, dropping his gaze to the carpet. "Now are you sure that you haven't been in your neighbor's yard at all?"

The boy bit his lip. His mother reached over and put a gentle hand on his knee.

"Remember how I told you once that if you did something wrong, I always wanted to know the truth, no matter what you did?"

Elijah nodded, then looked up at Gibbs. "Brooke and I ― Brooke lives next door ― we found out that Mrs. Murray worked for Navy Intelligence ― like a spy, only she was on our side, one of the good guys. One evening when Mom was working, we started talking and wondering about how just how good of a spy she really was. So we decided we'd test her."

McGee fought back a grin as Gibbs asked, "Test her how?"

"Little stupid stuff. We had to sneak into her back yard. Sneak around the house and look in the basement windows. And when she didn't see any of that, Brooke suggested I go up on her patio and look in the window of the living room," Elijah told him.

"What happened then?"

The boy took a deep breath. "I looked in and saw her arguing with a man. They were yelling really loud and it freaked me out, so I ran." He looked over at his mother. "I'm sorry, Mom."

"I forgive you." She chuckled and reached out to run her hand through his hair. "But we're going to talk more about this later." He nodded, ducking his head.

"Elijah, did you see the man she was arguing with?" Gibbs asked.

He nodded. "I've seen him visit her before. When I'm in the yard he stops and says 'Hi' on his way past."

"Could you describe him?"

"Uh, kind of big with gray hair and a big moustache," Elijah replied.

"You've been a big help." Gibbs reached for his wallet and pulled out a card. "I'm going to give you my card. If you remember anything else, you give me a call." The boy nodded seriously. "And, hey. Next week, or sometime when your Mom can bring you, you come by the address on there and I'll give you a tour of where I work. Sound good?"

Elijah nodded, grinning. "Thank you." He looked down at the card, then back up at Gibbs. "That guy ― he gave me his card too."

Gibbs looked startled. "He did?"

"Yeah, he said he worked with Mrs. Murray at the Pentagon."

Gibbs exchanged glances with McGee. "Do you still have it?"

0

"Boss?" McGee asked hesitantly. "Did kids really tell you your neighbor was kidnapping people?"

"Nahhh." Gibbs pulled the vehicle to a stop. "They told me she was poisoning them and that she'd buried the bodies in the root cellar." McGee's eyes widened.

Gibbs pushed open his door. "Well, this is the address Abby gave us. Let's see if Mr. Eross is home."

They walked up the driveway and up to the door, where Gibbs pressed the bell. "Mr. Eross?" he called. "Federal agents, we'd like to talk to you."

There was no response. Gibbs leaned over, trying to see in the windows.

"Lights are on," McGee remarked.

"Yeah." A second later, a gunshot exploded through the garage window behind them. Both men whirled, pulling their weapons and returning fire. Finally, there was a crash from inside the garage and everything went silent.

Gibbs carefully flattened himself against the wall and slid next to the window, then cautiously looked around the edge. A man fitting their suspect's description lay sprawled on the garage floor. From the number of bloodstains on his chest, it was obvious he wouldn't be getting up. Gibbs lowered his weapon and slowly exhaled. "Got him, McGee."

There was no response. Gibbs whipped his head around to look in front of the door where they'd been standing.

McGee was slumped back against the door.

"McGee!" Gibbs rushed forward and knelt by the younger agent's side. His eyes were closed and he wasn't moving. A small hole was torn in the fabric of the upper left part of his jacket. "Oh, no, Tim." The words were barely audible as Gibbs reached forward, pushing the jacket aside to better see the wound.

McGee stirred slightly just then and moaned. Gibbs quickly put a hand on his shoulder. "Lie still, Tim. You've been hit."

"How bad?" he gasped out. Gibbs was still trying to ascertain that information. Suddenly he stilled.

"Boss?"

Gibbs reached forward and pulled something from McGee's upper left jacket pocket. He stared at the object for a moment, not saying anything, then wordlessly held it up for McGee to see.

It was McGee's NCIS badge. A small bullet was lodged just below the center. McGee's face went white. "How?"

The other agent simply handed him the badge, then helped him into a sitting position. McGee's eyes remained riveted to the object in his palm. Slowly he shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Tim." McGee looked up as Gibbs put a hand on his shoulder. "When it's not your time. It's not your time."

THE END