Chapter 6

xoxoxoxoxo

Tim's father flew in to see him. Tim's mother was stuck halfway across the world at a conference that had ended just as the local airline pilots went on strike. "She wanted me to tell you to keep fighting," Kale McGee said, placid as always.

"Mom always was the warrior of the family," Tim laughed, and then he sobered. "I'm glad you came, Dad. I feel like I can talk with you about things that I can't say to the others."

"You can tell me anything, Tim."

"That course I took at FLETC…I thought it would make things better. But it didn't."

"Why do you feel that way?"

"I thought I'd get some respect from Gibbs. It was a hard course, Dad. A lot of physical stuff, not just in the driving. The studying of the advanced weaponry...bigger, deadlier stuff that what we see every day, but which we really should be aware of. And I did a lot of researching in my down time, which is where I picked up a lot more stuff that may come in handy some day."

"What did Gibbs say about it?"

"Nothing. He didn't even comment on my being gone for almost five weeks."

Kale smiled, and then remembered that Tim couldn't see the smile. "You know him a lot better than I do, but I do know that sometimes a leader, after something like that, will wait to see how a subordinate applies the knowledge. Getting a certificate that says you were in a class doesn't mean much to the job if you can't show you know how to use it."

"And how am I going to do that now?" Tim grumbled.

Kale lightly touched Tim's arm, and laughed. "I'd say you've already done it."

xoxoxoxoxo

His father could only stay for a few days, but it was enough to boost Tim's confidence, and get him thinking. Four days later, the swelling around Tim's eyes eased, and over the period of a week, his sight returned. Tony took this as a sign that Tim was up for videos, and brought in DVDs to entertain him. Tim's airways took a little longer to recover, but after another week, the breathing tube was removed. He managed to escape infection (after a few scares) so his blisters shrank over time and his immune system returned to almost normal levels.

Twenty-seven days after the mustard gas encounter, Tim went home. Ziva and Abby were his proud escorts.

He still didn't feel 100%, and had been told that he wouldn't, for awhile. There might always be some lung damage—Tony said, with a great rolling of eyes, that finally he and Tim had something in common—and there was the sobering comment from his doctor that the exposure might increase his chance of developing cancer later in life, but that was only a possibility. NCIS told Tim to take as much time as he needed before returning to work.

Abby and Tony stopped by his place one night, bringing dinner. They stayed late and talked, and when Tim brought out a mid-evening dessert, he grinned at Abby. "Cherry pie," he said. "Do you remember, Abby, weeks ago when you were singing Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries in your lab?"

Tony pulled at his collar. "She's still singing it. When you come back, you'll feel like you're in a time warp, Probie."

"I like that song," Abby said in mock protest. "I know you like cherries, Tim."

"I do. Although after first hearing your song, I was a little depressed, and thought of it as Life is Just a Bowl of Pineapples. You know, the hand grenade type."

"You always were the cheerful one on our team," said Tony.

"Do you still feel that way, Tim?"

"Sometimes. I'm not sure."

"Hand grenades, ready to explode? But you can deal with that now, with your super-duper FLETC training, can't you? You looked so self-assured when you came back from Georgia, Tim. I expected you could get through anything."

"Almost anything," Tim said, and thought of the conversation he still had not had with Gibbs.

xoxoxoxoxo

After three weeks of home convalescence, Tim went back to work. His own skin had nicely grown back by itself to replace the blister-damaged areas. Only in a few spots, normally covered by clothing, did some light scars remain. An occasional cough still came out, but overall, he was fit.

On the first day back, Gibbs sent Tony and Ziva out to check on a tip. When they were gone, Gibbs wheeled his chair over to Tim's desk, so they were at eye level. "Got a feeling we should have talked about something," Gibbs grunted.

"Oh?" said Tim, perplexed.

"I owe you." Gibbs extended his hand for a shake.

"For—?"

"You saved my life back there at Annapolis. And the Chief's. It was a damn fool risk you took, but you evidently knew what you were doing, so I can't fault you. Thanks."

The hand was still out. Tim shook it. "But boss, you don't owe me. Back in the parking garage, earlier this year, you—"

His hand now free, Gibbs raised it in a signal to halt. "This isn't about keeping score, McGee. Not in our line of work. I know I said 'I owe you', but that's just an expression. This sort of thing will happen again, and then again. I'm glad you're strong enough, and have the courage and dedication, so that we can count on you."

Tim was flabbergasted. "Thanks," he said, shyly.

"You think I'm angry with you because you cut out for five weeks to take an overrated class."

"It wasn't overrated. It was good," Tim argued mildly, his hands in his lap.

"Why did you want to take it? And why didn't you come to me first for the training approval?...You don't have to answer that last one."

But Tim had more courage now, more than he did back in April. "You would have said 'no', boss. I know you believe in learning by doing, learning on the job. And you're a good teacher. But—"

When Gibbs didn't respond, Tim plowed on. "But you don't know everything, boss. There's always advancements in technology; useful stuff. And even if I never hold another grenade launcher, like I did in training, I'll know how to use one, if the opportunity arises. And…I learned many other things. Like weapons other than guns and knives. FLETC has outstanding teachers."

In the long silence that followed, Tim became afraid that he'd gone too far. Then Gibbs said, "My job is to not only get you guys to get the work done, but also to keep you safe. Sometimes, it's…hard to not act like a…"

"That's okay, boss. Tony's fond of saying that he's 'on your six'. I think I understand now." It's not just Gibbs looking out for me, or for us. We all look out for each other.

"We have to act quickly, partly on instinct, partly on training that's been so drilled into us that it's like instinct. You reacted, in that storage hall, based on your training. You didn't stop to think about saving me and the Chief, or owing me. You did the right thing automatically, because you had been trained to recognize the danger. And your help saved the lives of hundreds of midshipmen and officers."

Tim was at a loss for words. It sounded so simple, coming from Gibbs. And of course, he was right.

Gibbs smiled. "Ya think I should send Tony and Ziva to that course, too?"

"Well, uh—"

A laugh, and a pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry; I'd rather see you bask in being special for awhile. I'm sure you'll have lots to show us."

He does understand! "Thanks, boss."

"No, Tim. Thank you."

-END-