Chapter Eight: McGee

The next day was also a day off. And it was Christmas Eve.

Gibbs didn't even try to distract himself with woodwork or housework. He woke, made himself a pot of strong coffee, and went down to the basement. He took Palmer's book down and replaced it carefully with the rest, his fingers tracing the spines of the other books until he came to the only one he hadn't yet read.

Timothy McGee. His Secret Santa. The one who'd apparently come up with the idea of memory books. The young man who'd convinced his team to give him this wonderful insight into the people they'd all been, and the things that had turned them into the people they were today. Even Tony, who he would have said wouldn't be caught dead doing something like this. Even Ziva, who guarded herself fiercely and didn't celebrate Christmas.

He pulled the book free, tracing the name on the cover. Timothy McGee. The young agent he'd pilfered from the Norfolk office. Shy, uncertain, techie...one of the last anyone would have expected to fit into his group of active 'boots on the ground', athletically inclined agents. And yet, an invaluable addition. And a surprisingly good fit. He'd grown in his years with the team, emerging confident and fit and strong. And surprisingly versatile in his talents, with hidden depths and skills.

He took the book upstairs, refilled his coffee and settled on the couch. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, to settle his mind, then lifted the book into his lap and opened the first page.

Like all the others, it opened to a letter.

Hi Boss. Err...Gibbs. I guess Gibbs is better suited for this. Anyway, you probably know by now, but I drew your name for the gift exchange this year. And, I have to admit, I was really flustered about it. That's what Tony and I were actually talking about, that one day. I mean, you've never really seemed to want or need anything. Not anything I could give you. I mean, I know you do woodwork and all, and you mentioned once that you shop at Sears and Target and stuff like that, and I know you have your gear and all...but I really just wanted to do something special. I mean, you've done so much for me over the years. And you saved my life earlier this year.

Yes, I know you said I didn't need to keep on thanking you for that, or apologizing. But still, I wanted to do something to show you how much I appreciated everything you've done for me.

And then I remembered that night I visited your house, right after you got hurt. That night I came over to apologize for getting you hurt and thank you for saving me from getting hit by a car. And I remembered the stuff we talked about. About your family, and how you thought of the team as your family now. And I realized.

You're our boss, but you're also our family too. You take care of us. You helped me with Sarah, you went to bat for me over that one shooting. You've been there for me through a lot of things. You never harassed me for writing that book. I guess, what I'm trying to say is...you've really had my back. Not just as one of your agents, or on the job, but whenever I need you.

If it weren't for you, I'd probably still be sitting in some dinky office in Norfolk, writing stuff I wasn't happy with, eating too much fast food and wishing I were in better shape. Or in some computer center, hacking and writing code, never really getting out and experiencing life. But you took me on, and that's made so much of a difference.

Anyway, I remembered what we talked about. And I thought about all the things we've learned about you over the years. About your life before NCIS, your dad, Shannon and Kelley...and I wanted to reciprocate. I felt like...if we're family, you should know about us too. Who we are, where we come from, our lives before they intersected with yours...all that stuff.

To be honest, I was really surprised that the others went for this. I mean, not Abby and Ducky. But Tony and Ziva...I was kind of shocked. I thought Tony would just mock me and Ziva would refuse. But they came through.

So...this is my contribution. Everything I want you to know about me. Because I really do want you to know. Even if you or Tony or Ziva tease me about it. Because...you are family. You're my Boss and you will be for a long time, and you'll always be my mentor, but you're more than that. And I want to be more than just Timothy McGee, Probie and Agent, to you.

So...here goes. I hope...I hope you like this Gibbs. Boss.

The letter was so like McGee. Straightforward and uncertain. Gibbs smiled. Then he turned the page.

The first picture was of an infant, not even old enough to be a toddler. The child had a bright smile and curious eyes. He was dressed in a Christmas outfit. Gibbs read the note opposite.

So...this is me, when I was about 3 months old. My mom took this picture for my first Christmas. I hadn't quite mastered sitting up yet, but...well, she really wanted this picture, so my dad made it work. Aside from sonograms and the hospital pictures, I think this the first image ever taken of Timothy Farragut McGee.

Yeah. I know. My middle name is...it was my dad's favorite ship. I've always kinda hated it, but I guess it's not so bad. I mean, there are worse out there. Just...please don't tell Tony? He'd never stop with the 'gut' jokes if he knew.

You know, I grew up in California, but I was actually born not far from here. In Bethesda hospital, in Maryland. I went by there, after I moved here from Norfolk. It's kind of a strange coincidence, isn't it? All those years on the other side of the country, and I still wound up right here, back where I started. It's like I knew, somehow, that this was always home.

A chuckle broke free before he could stop it. "You're right about that. DiNozzo never would stop teasing you if he knew." Though, given that the name would be in official records, he wouldn't be surprised if Tony did know it already, and decided to leave it alone.

He traced the last sentence again. "This is home, huh? Glad you feel that way."

Home for him had once been a small town in Pennsylvania. Then it had been wherever he could reunite with Shannon and Kelley. Eventually, it had come to mean the house he lived in, with its memories and its history.

For a short time, he'd thought home would be in Mexico, with Mike. Then he'd returned, and home had become the house again. But not because of the memories. Because it was where he could be with his team. The place he could work with them, and safe haven he could bring them to if needed. A refuge, whether from terrorists and rogue government officials and bad guys, or simply from the pressures of everyday life.

He flipped the page before he could get too lost in his memories. The next page held a full page photo, professionally done if he was any judge, depicting a family of three. The father wore a navy uniform. The little boy looked as if he'd only recently learned to walk.

He turned his attention to the note opposite.

So...this one was taken just after my father got promoted and we moved to California. Actually, this was just after the formal presentation of his rank. Admiral. Admiral John McGee. My Dad.

I guess you know already that he and I...we didn't have the closest relationship. Not much of a relationship at all, really. He was busy a lot of the time, with his career. In some ways, I really wish he'd been more of a father to me. Well, to me and Sarah. Spent more time with us. But, in other ways, I guess it turned out all right. Somehow, it makes the memories I do have, the good ones anyway, seem more important.

Like when he took me to the ocean and taught me to swim. I guess he was disappointed when he found out I get sick on boats, but still...he taught me to swim. Or the day we went and saw the Rocket Man. That was cool. Or when he enrolled me in Scouts. He never really got to go with me on the camp-outs or anything, but...I guess it was one of the few times I was really sure he was proud of me. When I made a new rank or completed a Merit Badge, he congratulated me.

And then there was my mom. Jennifer McGee, formerly Jennifer Langston. She was great. The best mother I could ever have had. She encouraged me to follow my dreams. I know the Admiral always kind of hoped I'd get over being seasick and go into the Navy. It was my mom who encouraged me to find other things I liked. Like computers. She wasn't the biggest fan of computer games, especially not when all the online ones started coming out, but she let me explore them. As long as I had my homework done. She was always encouraging us to try new things.

She was the one who bought me my typewriter, did you know that? Never even made a fuss about how I already had a computer. She understood. Different tools for different jobs. She was beside me every step of the way when I applied for Biomedical in college. Attended my graduation ceremonies from high school, John Hopkins and MIT.

I guess I'm kind of getting ahead of myself. But...anyway. I just wanted to say, even if I didn't always have the easiest relationship with my parents, I still have a lot of good memories.

Gibbs traced the faces before him. He knew what it was like to have a demanding father. But he was glad that McGee, like himself, also had good memories. Jackson had taught him how to shoot, how to hunt, rather than how to swim, but he suspected the principle was the same.

He turned the page.

The photo he found there was another professional shot, but this time with four figures instead of three. Next to it was another picture of two children, one an infant, the other a sturdy boy of about eight. Below them was another note.

So...these were the pictures that were taken right after Sarah was born. The first one is my entire family, and the second one is Sarah and me. I guess you already know that, but…

You know, I was so nervous about being a big brother. She was my first sibling, and she was kind of unexpected, and I was just...excited? Terrified? Both at once? It seemed like such a big responsibility, and I had no idea how to handle it. Honestly, I'm not sure I really know how to handle it now. But back then…

I remember holding her, just after she was born. She was just this little, red-faced bundle in white and pink blankets. So tiny. I remember thinking that I'd always heard babies were cute, and I wasn't sure cute was the word I'd use to describe her, but then she blinked at me and made this...this noise, I can't really describe it. Not crying, just this...this sound that babies make, I guess. And that was it, Gibbs. I just...I knew, in that moment, that I'd do anything for her. Anything she needed that I was capable of doing.

I didn't think of it until I met you, but...that's the way people say they feel about their kids, right? I don't have any...any kids, I mean. But watching you, the way you are with people, with us...you would have been a good brother, if you had siblings. I can only hope I do half as well for Sarah as you do for all of us.

He traced the words with a hand, staring at the youthful faces before him. He hadn't had a chance to have siblings. Cancer had gotten to his mother before she and Jackson had been ready for more children, and she'd never recovered. He liked to think he'd have made a good brother though, as wild as he'd been, he suspected he would have been a bad influence.

Or would having a sibling have steadied him some, in his youth? If he'd had someone to watch out for, to teach things to, would he still have been a hot-tempered brawler? Would he have known what to do with a sister? Or with a brother who was shy and quiet, like McGee?

He'd never know. He'd never really had an opportunity to form a relationship like that with anyone. Unless one counted Ducky, perhaps, but in that case it was Ducky who was the elder.

He hadn't had a chance to give Kelley siblings either. Too often on tour, away from his family. And he hadn't wanted to burden Shannon with raising two children alone. They'd been planning on trying, when he came home from Desert Storm, but then Shannon and Kelly had both been killed, and that had ended any dreams of that sort.

Kelly...Kelly would have been a good sibling. A good sister. Her relationship with Maddie had been proof of that. He almost wished she'd had the chance to be someone's sister, in blood as well as heart. But then, losing two members of his family had all but destroyed him. He wasn't sure he could have survived three or more.

Then again, another child might have survived. A younger child, one who might not have been in the car with Shannon that day, or might have been in the added protection of a car seat. But would he have been a good father to such a child, grieving and half-mad with pain as he had been?

There was no telling. He forced his mind away from 'what-if' scenarios, swallowing against the sting of tears and the ache in his throat. He blinked a moment, willing his tears to fade, and took a drink of coffee. It was barely lukewarm, but he drank it anyway. Once he was sure his emotions had steadied, he turned the page.

The next page held multiple pictures of a young Tim with various older individuals. In one, an elder couple stood to either side of him, all dressed in their Sunday best. The boy looked a little nervous, but cheerful. In the other two, Timothy stood with another individual. One was a man with silvering hair and a jaw that Tim had clearly inherited. Jaw and eyes. The other was a woman, cheerful and lively looking even in the photo, eyes sparkling at the camera while the youngster she hugged looked up at her with adoration. Gibbs grinned, recognizing the woman even before he read the note on the opposite page.

So...these are my grandparents. You probably recognize my grandmother, Penelope Langston. She was my mom's mom. But you already know that. And the guy in the other picture is my grandfather, Arthur Langston. He passed away shortly after this picture was taken.

The other picture is my dad's parents. Grandpa McGee was in the military, like dad. Navy, but he never made Admiral. He got injured during one of his tours and retired. He passed when I was in middle school. He was sick, I think, but I don't remember what he had. And the lady with him is his wife. Her name was Annie, but I always called her Grandma. Oh, and Grandpa's name was Henry. She passed on a couple years before he did.

I didn't get to see any of them all that often, except for Penelope. She would come and help mom out when dad was away. So I didn't know them all that well. But I know that Arthur was a writer. Penelope gave me his pipe when she found out I wanted to write. For inspiration and luck. He mostly wrote technical stuff, or scholarly papers, not fiction. Still, I feel kind of proud that I can carry on the tradition. And I really do think that he's with me, in some way. It's just this feeling I get. It's one of the reasons I decided to use a typewriter rather than a computer. I wanted to be closer to him.

Even before the others passed away, I think Penelope was my favorite grandparent. She really encouraged me. I used to be really...insecure, you know? I was never sure I was good enough for my dad. I mean, I'm not super athletic, and the seasickness and all. But she never stopped believing in me, and she never stopped telling me that I was going to do great things. Amazing things.

When I started working for your team, I realized she was right. I just needed the right place. And you...you and the team...you were it boss. You helped me find my potential.

Plus, you probably already know this, but you guys were the inspiration for my success as a writer too. Deep Six aside, the things I learned from you really gave my writing the extra depth it needed. Investigative techniques, observation, the way you approach each case...I don't think I'll ever stop learning from you, Boss. And...I really hope I don't.

Gibbs laughed, the sound soft and low. "Pretty sure you'd have done great wherever you ended up. But I'm glad you feel like we helped you. Cause you helped us too."

And he had. McGee brought the technical edge to his team that they'd needed. Tony could manage, but he couldn't get into the guts of a technical problem like McGee could. Ziva was a whiz with languages and weapons, but computers were somewhat hit or miss in her skill set.

Gibbs knew his team considered him almost technologically illiterate. He liked that just fine. He preferred old school methods sometimes, and it didn't hurt to have the know-how to do things if technology was in short supply. He did know how to use phones and computers and the like – had to if he wanted to keep his position – but he wouldn't lie. They weren't his field of expertise. And in a world where cybernetics were playing a larger and larger part in criminal activity and solving crimes, having someone like McGee on his team was invaluable.

But it was more than that. McGee had a way of looking at things that the rest of them didn't. A more cerebral way of looking at things, born of what Tony called his 'nerd' lifestyle. And sometimes, it was exactly what they needed. He could still remember the first time he'd put McGee on lead, with the young woman who claimed she'd seen a sailor murdered. Everyone else on the team would have dismissed the girl's story. Heck, they almost had. Even he'd been mostly humoring his youngest agent when they'd rolled up. But McGee had been right. He'd judged the girl, and the situation, correctly, in spite of the flimsy evidence at the start.

He studied the pictures a moment longer, his gaze lingering on the photo of Arthur Langston. McGee's grandfather, who'd passed on a love of writing and, from McGee's note, scholarship. He'd wondered, given what he knew of McGee's father.

He flipped the page.

The next picture was a collage of McGee at varying ages. In every picture he was wearing a uniform. In the younger photos, the uniform was blue, then it became brown. Over the shoulder was a sash that Gibbs recognized from Palmer's book. A Scout sash. Some of the pictures looked like they'd been taken at award ceremonies, with Timothy standing in front of an older gentleman. Others looked like candid shots, taken during various events. There was one that he recognized as Palmer's 'Pinewood Derby'. Others featured campsites, with McGee performing various tasks. Including, he noted, fire-starting and tying knots.

One, stuck near the edge, showed an uncertain looking McGee with a life vest, standing in front of a canoe. He grinned, imagining how that must have gone, then turned to the accompanying writing.

So...these are pictures from when I was in the Scouts. Since I didn't get to spend a lot of time with my Dad, we thought it would be a good idea for me to have something else I could do. Something where I could have a good male role model, as my mom would say.

I tried a lot of things back then. Music lessons, which I kind of sucked at. Okay, really sucked at. You'd think as much typing as I do that I'd be okay with at least a piano, but...I just don't have the skills for that. And dancing...well, it has it's uses, but it's really kind of for girls. Don't get me wrong, it's handy knowing how and all, but…

Anyway, Scouts just sort of clicked for me. I really loved it. Especially the camp-outs, and working on my merit badges. I'll admit, I was kind of clumsy – okay, really, really, clumsy, especially when I was a teenager – but still, there was just something satisfying about it. The outdoors, the wind in my hair, the smell of trees and grass and dust. Cooking my own meals. Learning new skills.

The first merit badge I ever earned was my Orienteering merit badge. It was amazing, learning how to find my way no matter where I am, or what time of day it is, with just a compass and the things around me. After that, I picked up Tracking and Wildlife merit badges, and my Astronomy merit badge. I still go over some of the exercises sometimes, to keep my skills sharp. I try to go on some sort of hiking or camping trip once a month, just to make sure I remember all the important stuff. I know Tony likes to tease me about being out of shape and all, but I'm pretty sure I'm a lot stronger than he knows. And I bet that I have better stamina than he does, at least on stuff like that.

Gibbs laughed. "I bet you do. And I bet DiNozzo knows that." He hadn't missed how often his Senior Agent liked to push Timothy into carrying all the packs when they had a bit of a hike to a crime scene. Tony might tease Tim and pretend it was all part of schlepping as a Probie, but he wouldn't have done it if he didn't think Tim could handle the weight. And, despite his complaints, Tim had always managed.

Incidentally, I do have my First Aid merit badge as well. And a few other useful ones. And I know you're probably wondering why I ran into poison ivy if I spent all this time camping, but there's just not that much of it in the places we went to. I don't know if it was something the park rangers cleared out, or what, but I never really encountered it.

You've probably noticed the one with the canoe. Yeah. My troop did a few canoe trips, for older scouts. I was hoping I wouldn't be as seasick in a canoe, and on a river, so I went. Plus, it was part of a merit badge. It...didn't turn out so well. We capsized. Twice. And I was seasick for the first part of it. And the rapids...rapids were bad.

On the other hand, we went to Philmont one year...and that was great. Philmont is one of the extreme high adventure activities you can go on in Scouts. You have to reserve your spot, do all sorts of training for it, but...it was absolutely amazing. That's the picture of me with the camping gear and the walking stick, at the foot of the trail. They took that picture after we made it to the end of the trail. It was high altitude, kind of hard to breathe, and there was a lot of climbing involved but...it was so worth it. The view was awesome, and the night sky was so clear...it was unforgettable. You could see for miles when we reached the high points in the trail. It's the kind of place I think you'd really love, Boss.

Gibbs turned back to the collage. The picture Tim had mentioned was in the lower half, near the middle of the page. A number of Scouts stood, wearing shorts and short-sleeved shirts and hiking boots. After a moment of searching, he found McGee. The young man was shorter, evidently not having had his final growth spurt. A wide-brimmed hat protected his head, but didn't stop his face, arms and legs from being slightly sunburned, though the redness was clearly fading to tan. All of the boys looked tired, and proud, McGee included.

He wasn't sure what Philmont was, but it was clear that going had meant something to McGee, and to the rest of the boys in the photo. Something important. He'd have to ask the younger agent for more details, if he ever had an opportunity.

He paused, then amended the thought. At some point, he'd make an opportunity. If this trip was something like a rite of passage, he wanted to know. And he wanted to know what it had been like for McGee. He wanted to hear the stories his young agent could tell.

He went back to the note.

I also did Pinewood Derby as a Cub Scout. I wasn't very good at wood-carving. Plus, I only did it the one year, because it's really kind of a father-son thing. The car I made wasn't that great. Kind of rough, just barely within the weight limits. And it wasn't very streamlined. I bet you could make a better one. Maybe you can give me some pointers someday. If I ever get married and have a son who's interested in Scouts, I mean.

Gibbs laughed again. "You and Palmer both."

For a moment he sat still, imagining it. Timothy and Jimmy perched in his basement, little boys on their knees as they worked with the wood. One boy would have Timothy's blond hair and stout body, a dimple in his chin. One with Palmer's darker curls and gangly frame. He'd show them how to use and hold the tools, how to shape the wood. The boys would drink sodas, while the rest of them drank water or beer. He imagined Ducky would sit there, not working, but sharing stories and answering questions, chatting with two bright-eyed youngsters while their fathers tried not to fumble with the tools.

He shook his head, dispelling the image. It was a nice dream, but a long way from happening, if it ever did. If so, he'd look forward to teaching the boys. If not...well, it was a nice dream for winter nights, and he was glad to have been granted it. He went back to reading.

I wish I could say I was great at everything I tried. Truth is, I did pretty good with things like Tracking, First Aid, Cooking. And okay with things like Knots and stuff. I did okay with some of the art-based badges, but I didn't really find them interesting. I wasn't that great with the more athletic merit badges. I did get my swimming merit badge, but it was rough. I wasn't the best at Marksmanship either. I liked it, but my hand-eye coordination isn't the greatest. But, I guess you knew that, since you've seen my Marksmanship scores for re-certification as a field agent.

You know, Scouts also has a bunch of technical merit badges. Like the Radio merit badge and the Computer Science merit badge. I learned Morse Code, and I..I tested for my Ham Radio license, but I haven't used it in a while, and I only took the first test, for Technician Class anyway. But doing those merit badges, that was what got me interested in computers, and code, and all the technical stuff. Like the stuff I do for the team. So, I guess you could say that Boy Scouts was the reason I went for my Computer Science degree.

I think that was what I really liked most about Scouts, besides the time outdoors. It was the fact that we got to experiment and learn about a lot of different things. This was...this was where I really learned what sort of things I was interested in. I guess you could say that Scouts was where I found myself. Sort of. I mean, there were other things, but...I learned a lot in Scouts.

Gibbs looked back over the pictures. He traced a line with his hand, following the age progression of the boy in the photos. There was one picture he almost expected to see that he didn't. After a moment, he turned the page.

He grinned. The picture was the one he'd been thinking of. Teenage McGee wearing his full uniform, a heavily decorated sash over his shoulder and proud smile on his face. Around him stood three adults; his mother in an elegant dress, his father wearing his dress uniform, and a man with salt-and-pepper hair, cut short, wearing the uniform of a Scout Master. Below the image was another note.

So...this was taken the day I received my Eagle award. I actually finished my requirements a few months earlier, but I wanted to wait for the ceremony until the Admiral came home on leave. So, we did. I got my award the spring before my sixteenth birthday.

Fifteen is...it's kind of young, but I had plans for high school, and I wanted to get my Eagle before I got involved in all the extra credit stuff for school.

My dad was really proud of me. I think that might be part of the reason they gave me the Camero for my birthday. Not sure if you've heard that story, but my parents got me a really cool Camero Z28 the day I turned sixteen. The thing is, I was driving, and I was trying to figure out the windshield wipers and then there was this bus. I didn't even see it. The car got totaled, and I wound up in the hospital. Really put a damper on any athletic ambitions I might have had. After that, I stuck to transit passes. You know, cause they're safer. Although, I did get a new car recently, after I renewed my license. I felt like it was time. You know, with all the driving we do. Plus, honestly, driving on my own can't be that much more dangerous than riding with Ziva.

Please don't tell her I said that. She'll kill me.

Anyway...I got my Eagle when I was fifteen. After the ceremony, we took this picture. You probably recognize my mom and dad, from earlier. The other guy is my Scoutmaster. Roger Taring. He was a great guy. Really supportive. He was there for me, when my dad was gone. He taught me a lot of things, and not just in Scouts. Little stuff, like shaving, and how to use various tools. He was the first one to teach me how to shoot. And how to handle myself after I had a growth spurt. I was really awkward. And he helped me out, helped me regain my confidence when I got bullied in school. He taught me the basics of wrestling, and he helped me regain my muscle tone after my accident. He was a really big help.

I think you would have liked him. He was a bit like Mike Franks, without some of the rough edges. Maybe sort of like the person you'd get if you combined Mike Franks and Ducky? I...I guess it's really hard to describe, because it's been a while since I've talked to him, and most of my memories are from when I was a kid, and kids like to idolize important people in their life. But he was smart, and tough, and kind. He never teased me about being a nerd, and he helped me out with projects when my dad wasn't there to help. Including the logistics for my Eagle Project. I wanted to set up a technical training camp for younger scouts. He helped me file the paperwork, work out the details, the plans for what kind of workshops we would have. He helped me raise the money and buy the necessary equipment, and build the stuff we couldn't buy. I'm not sure I would have succeeded without his help, and I'm really glad I did. The training camp is still running, and they've incorporated parts of it into national events like Jamboree on the Air. I know you probably don't know what that is, but trust me, it's a huge thing.

He'd have to ask Tim about Jamboree. He wasn't surprised that the young agent had chosen a technical project like that. Nor was he surprised that Timothy had done well, better than anticipated.

He studied the open expression of the second man in the photo, trying to imagine a personality that combined Mike Franks and Ducky. The idea was interesting, if not a little overwhelming. Both Mike Franks and Ducky were possessed of formidable personalities.

Maybe someday, he'd look up Roger Taring and thank him for helping produce such a fine young agent. Or maybe he'd suggest that McGee contact his former mentor and pass along his respects. The second sounded like a better idea. He studied the image a few moments longer, trying to guess at all the badges McGee had earned, then gave it up and turned the page, absently reaching for his coffee mug as he did so.

The coffee was cold, and he grimaced as he swallowed. Still, he had no interest in getting more. He was far more interested in the next photo.

The picture was of Timothy, about the same age as he'd been when he'd received his Eagle. He was wearing the suit, helmet, elbow and knee guards of a wrestler, the top emblazoned with the name of his high school. He was on the mat, knee to the ground, his face locked in an expression of extreme concentration as he grappled with an opponent. By the looks of it, he didn't have the upper hand in the exchange, but neither did he look like he was planning to concede any time soon.

Gibbs studied his expression, familiar even in the younger, softer face of a boy. This as McGee when faced with a problem he was determined to resolve. He turned his attention to the accompanying note.

This is a picture of me freshmen year. I tried out for the wrestling team. I wasn't really that good, but I did make the JV reserve team. This is a picture someone in yearbook took from one of our practices. It didn't actually go in the Yearbook, thank goodness, but we got copies of any pictures involving us.

I don't remember ever actually competing, but I did get to practice with the team. I guess I was sort of like a live practice dummy for them. Like I said, I wasn't all that good, but I did learn a lot about grappling. A lot of different techniques, and holds. And a lot about getting out of holds, and headlocks. And arm-locks. You get the idea. I wish I'd known some of that in junior high. I might have got picked on less. Not that I didn't get picked on in high school, but knowing wrestling techniques helped.

I was originally planning to stick with wrestling all the way through high school, but then I had the car accident. I was under medical restrictions for months, and after that...well, I had other interests. Plus, I started getting into the fast track, taking extra courses and earning dual credits for high school and college. I got involved in things like Yearbook and Chess Club and Honor Society, and the Robotics Club. And beginner computer programming courses. So I never really got back into sports. I did try to pick it back up in college, but I wasn't really in shape any more, and with all the classes I was taking in Computer Science and bio-medical engineering, it just wasn't at the top of my priority list.

I've been thinking about picking it back up though, as a form of exercise. I'm not really ever going to be good at fighting, like Ziva, but I think I could be better at it. I'd ask her to partner me, to teach me, but...well, you know Ziva. She's even scarier than Kate. And I remember what happened when I trained with Kate. But I've been looking into finding a gym that can get me back up to speed. I'd ask if you have any recommendations, but you mentioned that Marines learn a different combat style. No offense Boss, but I'm pretty sure I'm not ready for the kind of combat you practice.

"No offense taken. Marine combat training isn't for everyone." Gibbs smirked.

He remembered McGee and Kate's brief foray into training together. McGee had been hesitant, and Kate had been determined to ensure that he never forgot that women could be every bit as tough and dangerous as men. A lesson he'd learned well, from the sound of it. And in truth, he had to applaud McGee's understanding of the difference between combat training and sparring. It was a lesson DiNozzo had taken longer to learn.

On the other hand, he did know some people. Grappling wasn't his preferred style of combat, but knowledge of the techniques was useful in taking down suspects. Franks had made sure he got an education in how NOT to kill, cripple, maim or knock out his targets, and he'd kept the contacts. After all, even he needed regular refresher courses to keep his skills sharp.

He could give McGee a reference, and his associates would take good care of the young man. McGee was right, he'd never be a fighter like Ziva. But his physical condition had been improving lately, and with it, his combat skills could also be improved.

He made a mental note to look up the numbers of the people he thought were best suited to training McGee and pass them on, then turned the page.

The next page was another collage. He smirked at the image of a jet-pack, along with a rocket. Other images featured a chessboard, the familiar typewriter, a screenshot of a computer screen with lines of code. Another showing a computer game 'Call of Duty'. A tent and campfire. There were a few animals, though no dogs. A cookbook, bracketed by cooking utensils. He looked at next page, bearing neat writing.

I thought you might like to see all the stuff I got into, during school. I still keep up with a lot of it, like the computers and gaming. These are interests I developed in junior high and high school.

You know about my interest in rockets and jet-packs. I just find the different propulsion systems fascinating. And the controls, the way they can be hands on, remote control or computer programmed. The way everything works together is just...yeah, I've already told you all of these things. Though, did you know, I actually tried to build some prototype models of my own? In Robotics club. Our faculty adviser kind of made me stop. Something about not having appropriate safety equipment and protocols in place. But he did teach us how to build hover-boards. That was cool.

Chess…I really enjoy the challenge and the intellectual stimulation. And the competition. There's just something about it. You know, chess used to be considered a method to simulate crude warfare techniques. Influential players can have strategies named after them. Opening strategies or gambits, or defenses. The rules are fairly simple on the surface, but the complexities of strategy within those rules...it's amazing boss. I like to think that playing chess has sharpened my skills as a strategist, and tactician.

The same can be said for computer games. I know you don't play much. But the games I play, the first-person shooter games...you have to be able to coordinate with other players, map out plans in advance, adapt to other team strategies or unexpected problems, adapt to various mission objectives quickly. It's harder than it sounds. I know it's not the same as real life, but I think I've learned some valuable lessons while playing. Though honestly, the thing I like best is the stress relief. And you can meet some pretty neat people online. Make some good contacts.

Cooking...I learned the basics in Scouts. But when I was in college, I decided to learn more. It's kind of relaxing. And it's awesome, when a recipe comes out right. I know Tony likes to tease me about being a geek, or girly. The thing is, I enjoy cooking, and I think girls like a guy that can cook. And it's nice, not eating take-out all the time. And it gives me something to talk about with people.

Gibbs smiled. McGee might benefit from some of his recipes. Granted, the younger agent didn't have equipment and space necessary for roasting steaks in a fireplace, but there were other recipes he could teach him. And maybe McGee would have some recipes to teach him. Steak and potatoes and pizza were okay, but he liked variety every now and then. And not just chinese take-out.

More to the point, it was something he could share with his younger agent. He'd always been aware of the differences between himself and McGee. He would never let the younger man see how he sometimes felt a little awkward. They didn't always understand each other the same way he and DiNozzo or he and Ziva did. It hadn't stopped them from developing a decent mentoring relationship, but it was something he was aware of sometimes.

Especially now, sitting with the book McGee had given him, full of the insights into the young man's life that he'd never expected. Now that McGee had given him the gift of his team. Their lives, their dreams and memories.

He wondered if McGee would like to go camping with him sometime. He didn't go out often, and he suspected his version of camping and McGee's might be very different, but...it was a possibility. Maybe he'd take the whole team as a team-building exercise.

He turned back to read the last paragraphs on the page.

You know I'm not big on dogs boss, although the one Abby gave me has kind of grown on me. But I do like other animals. Cats, sometimes. We never really had pets when I was growing up, but a friend of mine had a hamster. It was cute. And sometimes I've thought abut getting some fish or something. I just worry that I won't be able to take proper care of them. The hours for this job are kind of rough. Jethro – sorry boss, he won't answer to anything else – is pretty good at taking care of himself, but he's trained, and I'm not sure another animal would do as well. Although, as a kid, I used to try and catch lizards to keep in a box. I wasn't good at keeping them. They kept escaping. Honestly, I think my mom and Sarah let them out a lot of the time.

You already know about the writing and all. Anyway, this was just a snapshot of the kinds of stuff I got into. I wanted to give you a better idea of the kind of stuff that interests me, and this seemed like a good way to do it.

It was. Gibbs traced the images. Camping. Cooking. Games. He knew a lot of it, but it was different, seeing it laid out in front of him like this. A glimpse into the world of a young man he knew primarily through work.

He turned the page.

The next image filled nearly the whole page. McGee in a graduation cap and gown, holding his diploma case in one arm. He was smiling, his mother on one side and his sister on the other. Around his neck hung a stole and a number of cords. He wondered what they were for, though the stole had NHS embroidered on it.

He turned to the note.

You probably already guessed but this was taken the day of my high school graduation. My dad took this picture. I was kind of surprised he made it, but he applied for special leave to see my ceremony. It was only 48 hours, but it was nice that he came.

In case you're wondering, the stole is for National Honor Society. The cords are for 4.0 GPA, Robotic society, Yearbook Society.

I wish I'd made valedictorian, or even salutatorian, but I didn't quite. I was top twenty though. So, I was proud of that. And my scores were good enough to get me the scholarship to Johns Hopkins. I think that's what I was most proud of, that I managed to earn my spot at a university like that.

I was considering medicine, becoming a doctor. But my stomach...it's not the best. Plus, it felt like it wasn't the best use of my talents. Plus, memorizing all the different bones and muscles and everything. There is a lot of memorizing involved. And I'm not sure I would have the nerves for it. It just didn't seem like the right fit. So I switched to biomedical engineering.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. When I graduated high school, I wasn't sure which way I was gonna go. Anything seemed possible, you know?

"I bet it did." He hadn't felt that way. When he'd graduated high school, he'd just wanted to get away. But looking into that smiling face, he could see it. A boy on the edge of manhood, looking at a world full of possibility.

He thought about what McGee had written. He was glad the young man hadn't gone into medicine. He wouldn't have come to NCIS if he had. On the other hand, he thought McGee might have been a good doctor. Yes, the nervous young man he'd first met might have had trouble in such demanding profession, but the man he'd become in the last few years would have done well.

He and Palmer would have been contemporaries. Would their paths have crossed earlier, or never crossed at all? It was an interesting thought.

He traced his finger over the stole and cords. Honor Society. Robotic Society. 4.0 GPA.

"Your parents had a lot to be proud of. And so did you." The boy who had earned those distinctions deserved to be proud of himself. He was glad Admiral John McGee had made it to see his son graduate. McGee deserved that.

He turned the page.

The image was that of two young men and a modest dorm room. Two twin beds, two desks, both with computers set up. Two small wardrobes. The boys were both grinning shyly at the camera. McGee had his hand raised in an awkward wave. The other lad, an inch shorter and with a shock of dark, rumpled hair, sported a cocky grin.

So...this was my dorm room for undergrad. The other guy is my first room-mate. Jack Sakowski. He actually did go into medicine. He wanted to do Pediatrics. Last I heard, he has a practice on the West Coast.

Jack actually helped me out a lot. He was the one who convinced me to switch majors instead of trying to press on with medicine. He could tell I was struggling. We learned all the tricks of dorm and bachelor living together. Like shared bathrooms, and using the laundry room, and what the best times to hit the cafeteria were. I helped him navigate around campus, and he gave me tips for class.

Jack was also the one who got me into online computer games. Like, into the MMORPG games, and the online groups. He helped me into my first guild in World of Warcraft. He and I used to bounce a lot of character development ideas off of each other. In a way you could say he taught me some of the things I use in writing now, about fleshing out characters, giving them the little details that made them more real. Neither of us was really good at names though.

Jack and I roomed together until he went into Medical and I went into the graduate program at MIT. We still keep in touch and run a guild together in some of our online games.

He was kind of like Jimmy, in a lot of ways. Maybe a little more confident, but they're very similar. I kind of hope that someday I can introduce the two of them. I think they'd get along really well. He'd probably love Ducky too, now that I think about it.

"Probably would." Gibbs studied the face of Timothy's friend.

He didn't tend to meet his agent's friends. In fact, he'd learned more about their social circles from the albums than he had through interaction. Of course, it wasn't much of a surprise. Not with the demands of their jobs, and their varied interests. Ziva made friends with Abby and through various martial arts programs, or other exercise regimes. Tony was a clubber, a social butterfly, whose other contacts came through his fraternity and his fellow film aficionados. Abby had a myriad of interests. The nuns, Habitat for Humanity, Bingo...and when she wasn't involved with those organizations, the hung out with the gothic crowd. And, sometimes, with others in the forensic and technical fields. Ducky worked with historical groups and fellow Medical Examiners. Palmer...he wasn't sure what Palmer did to socialize.

He wasn't a social individual. Hadn't been for a long time. He attended rare events like Thanksgiving, or Christmas parties. He could sometimes be coaxed out for different inter-agency events. But his friends were few and far between, mostly met on the job, like his romantic interests. By and large, he preferred it that way.

If Shannon and Kelly had lived...would he have been more social? Attended Scout meetings? Would Shannon have coaxed him into joining the PTA? Would he have met all his neighbors on Halloween during trick-or-treat, or neighborhood barbecues?

Would he have a list of friends and contacts from Shannon's high school and college? An email address and a list of contacts? Would he have introduced himself to her room-mate? Watched them learn to navigate college life together? Where would people like Tony and Ziva and McGee fit into his world in a life like that?

He didn't know. Had no way to know. But somehow, sitting on the couch, reading about the lives and friends and experiences of his agents, the questions no longer made him ache.

He flipped the page, turning to the next image.

The picture was a whimsical one, and made him smile. McGee in a fencing uniform, foil in hand, feet set in some stance that Ducky would probably recognize and he certainly didn't. He studied it for a moment, then turned to the caption.

So...ummm...this is a picture of the one class I failed in college, but I thought you might appreciate it. I took fencing in sophomore year. I thought it looked really cool. And Jack and I had been playing a lot of fantasy role-playing games, so when I saw an opportunity to learn to sword-fight for real...well, I just really wanted to try it. But, as you probably guessed, my hand-eye coordination…

Honestly, I was awful. My posture was terrible, and my footwork was worse. And I had this thing about actually poking someone. It's really hard to score in fencing when you're worried about hitting your opponent wrong. Sword fighting in games looks so easy. I'm not sorry I tried it, but I have to admit, I am not proud of the results.

I know Ducky did fencing. I wonder if he could give me some pointers. Although, I'm not sure I'll do any better with Ducky than I did then.

He laughed. "Duck'd probably be thrilled to teach you." Ducky had been a fencer in his youth, and even now some of the talent showed. He still remembered how Ducky had handled the officer's saber they'd recovered in the case of the one seaman. He was also willing to bet that Ducky would be far more patient than a university professor, even if he was an exacting teacher by nature.

Besides, Tim had gotten more coordinated over the years, and he seemed the wort who benefited from one-on-one instruction and attention. He wouldn't put it past the pair of them to turn Tim into an accomplished swordsman, if he wanted it. Or at the very least, competent.

He himself was more of a hands-on or knife fighter, when he didn't just shoot his dirt-bags. Ziva, of course, was a knife fighter, and a terrifyingly good one. And lethal with throwing knives, as well as all manner of unconventional weaponry.

Maybe McGee would like lessons. Or maybe not. It was something to think about at another time. For now...he had more entries to explore.

The next page showed Tim in cap and gown again, this time the heavier apparel of a college graduation. Instead of a diploma, the professor in the image was carefully draping a length of colored cloth around his neck so that the colors draped down his back.

He read the entry with interest.

So...my mom took this, the day I graduated with my Master's Degree in computer forensics at MIT. I thought about including my Johns Hopkins degree, but this...this was the big one. Master's of Science in Computer Forensics. It's a big deal. Especially from MIT.

I don't know if you know this, boss, but when you get a Master's degree, they do this thing called a hooding ceremony. That's what that length of fabric is in the picture, my master's hood. You can get them for Doctorate work too, but I felt like I had another calling at that point.

The professor is my Graduate Adviser. Doctor Raymond Gravitz. He taught me a lot of what I know about computers. Almost everything. He's...boss, he's brilliant. He was tough to work with, but I learned a lot from him, and I was proud to get my Master's Degree under his instruction.

Your remind me a lot of Professor Gravitz. You both have this air of expecting the best from your team at all times. You're tough, but fair, you work your people hard, but you work hard too. You expect us to show initiative, to think outside the box and think critically. I'd like to think, in some ways, that working with Professor Gravitz prepared me for working with you. And I mean that as a compliment boss. I really do. Gravitz is...he's like Scout Master Taring, in how much he influenced my life.

I like to think both of them would be proud of what I've done with the things they taught me. Although, if you ever meet him...maybe could you not mention hacking the CIA? And the Pentagon? And the FBI? I know it was for a good cause and everything, but I have the feeling he might not be impressed.

A laugh escaped as he read the words. "Don't tell 'em you hacked the government? If you say so." Honestly, he'd been impressed at the skill his young agent had showed.

He read the words again. "I think they'd be pretty proud of you, McGee. I know I am."

And he was. McGee had done well and grown into his position at NCIS, and shaped up into an outstanding agent. Someday, he'd be a Senior Field Agent that teams would fight to have. In fact, someday, he'd be a Team Leader that teams would fight to have. He wasn't quite there yet, needed a little more seasoning, but the day wasn't far off that he'd have to give his youngest agent the chance to spread his wings and fly.

He hoped the young man would stay at NCIS, but he wouldn't be surprised if other agencies tried to poach him. Hell, Fornell had mentioned it once or twice, that he could do with a McGee on his team. It was a mark of their controversial friendship that he hadn't actually tried to coax McGee away and into the FBI.

He flipped the page, grinning as a familiar image came into view. McGee in an NCIS jacket and cap, standing in front of a small office building that he recognized as the Norfolk office. The angle looked about right for a security camera, a guess he confirmed a moment later.

This was taken my first day on the job at the Norfolk NCIS office. I dug up this picture from the security footage. You can probably guess, but this was taken less than a year before I met you.

I don't think I've told you this, but NCIS wasn't my first job. I actually worked through college. Mostly summer jobs, but still. Abby and I had a contest one day, sort of, about worst jobs.

Anyway, I did some food service stuff, waiting tables, that kind of thing, including some hotel room service. But the two I remember most were...well, for the most awful, working as a portable latrine cleaner. I did that for two summers. Nasty work. Pretty sure nothing I encounter in NCIS will ever be that nasty, technically speaking. I mean, human remains are a different kind of gross, and that guy liquefying in an oil drum was no picnic, but there is something about the accumulated stuff in a public toilet...and you probably don't want to know. Or, you already know and don't want to be reminded.

My most boring job was working as a potato chip inspector. I had to sit next to a conveyor belt and pick out all the burnt potato chips as they passed. Eight hours a day, staring at a conveyor belt, watching for burnt potato chips. And, of course, you couldn't let your attention wander. So...yeah.

Still, I can't say I regret doing all those different things. My mom would say they built character. And it was good experience. I'm glad I got a chance to learn different skills, even if I don't use them so much now.

Anyway, this is still my first day in NCIS. That makes it pretty important to me.

"Important to us too." He grinned.

A potato chip inspector. And a latrine cleaner. It explained why McGee had never been phased by Ducky. Nervous, maybe, but never phased by the smells of Autopsy or doing the dirty work.

Maybe McGee didn't realize it yet, but he'd learned some invaluable lessons about focus, persistence and perseverance in those jobs. And those lessons stood him in good stead. Not to mention the mindset that had caught his notice, of doing whatever it took to get the job done, even if it meant crawling around on the floor in an overheated building to upgrade the network on his personal time, so the NCIS headquarters could have the best possible equipment.

He turned the page.

The next picture showed McGee in his suit, briefcase in hand, stepping out of the elevator in the bullpen. His expression carried a blend of nervousness and excitement Gibbs remembered.

This was my first day as an official member of your team. I was excited, but also really nervous. Like, really, really nervous. I'd worked with you before, but...it just seemed like it was different somehow. I was a part of the team, not just the 'sometimes' guy who showed up occasionally.

I know I get annoyed when Tony calls me Probie, and his teasing can be kind of irritating. Still, I wouldn't trade being part of this team for anything.

You know, when I published my first book, my agent wanted me to get into writing full time. But...I couldn't do it. I couldn't leave this job. Even knowing what kind of money I could make, doing publicity tours and book signings, writing more books...I couldn't quit. And as much as I love writing, if I had to choose between it and being an NCIS agent, if it was the choice between working on your team and never publishing another book...I'd stop writing. I really would boss.

The expression of loyalty warmed his heart. He knew how much Tim loved writing. He didn't know everything about the world of being an author, but he knew that McGee had given up a number of opportunities to stay in NCIS. And to stay on his team.

He turned the page.

The next two pages were another collage. Overlapping pictures of McGee with various members of the team. Pictures of McGee in Abby's lab, in Abby's house. One in a coffee house, at what looked like an Open Mic, with McGee on center stage. McGee, in costumes at events he didn't recognize. One looked like his 'Elf Lord' costume, another like a British professor affectation, complete with turtleneck and pipe.

One was a picture taken at Ziva's house, playing Twister. Another, helping in the kitchen. Yet another in Ducky's house, with Mrs. Mallard.

There was a picture of McGee in his usual pose at the keyboard, brow furrowed in concentration, and another of him laughing with Kate, juxtaposed with a similar picture featuring Ziva. Another showed him hunched over Abby's spare computer, sleeves rolled up, a Caf-Pow between them.

He was even present in a couple pictures. One featured him smiling, probably the completion of a case. Another he was stern, but his eyes were warm. One was a field picture, himself striding away with a cup of coffee while his team grabbed their gear.

There was even one of the 'crop circle' case that had amused Tony so much. And a picture of a moment in MTAC, McGee on a headset. The screen showed static, probably the end of a call. McGee looked tired, but pleased. And in among those, other pictures from McGee's years at NCIS.

All together they formed a picture of a young man surrounded by friends.

He turned to the note on the next set of pages.

I tried to pick some specific incidents to put in this book...but I couldn't. There's just so much. Good stuff and bad stuff. Like the time you were there for me on that cop shooting. And the time Sarah was almost accused of murder, and you stood by me, even though you were pissed that I didn't tell you about her. And there was the crop circle incident, and the time Tony was connected to that one convict, and the Secretary of State was calling, and you told me to tell her to go screw herself. And...I did. I was terrified, but I did it. I told her off. And did you know? The MTAC crew clapped for me. The Director gave me a commendation for that one.

We've shared life-or-death situations, boss. And Christmas parties and Thanksgivings and sensitivity training. You were my boss when I was just starting out. And when the whole thing with Deep Six came out, and the book, and the characters being based on people...you were the one who didn't get pissed about it. The one who helped me work through the issues to solve the case that was based on my writing.

After you saved me from that car a month or so ago boss...I realized. You have been there for a lot of the milestones in my life. You're my mentor. In some ways, you're like another father to me. I don't think I could be half the man I am now without you, or the rest of the team.

The thing is, I could rehash all the stories you were there for. But I could never do them justice. Not even if I wrote a whole book about them. The memories are just too...they're too real, I guess. Some things can't really be put into words, not even by a writer. Or maybe, especially not by a writer. And what I have with you and Tony and Ziva and Abby and Ducky and Palmer...it's one of those things.

Anyway, Boss, the rest of the book is for later. I don't know what the future holds. Maybe I'll find a special someone, get married, have kids. Or not. But there will be other holidays, and special events, and when they happen, you can add to this book. Or...or I can. If there's anything you want in here, in any of these books, just let us know. I'm sure we'll all be happy to contribute.

Merry Christmas, Gibbs.

He closed the book with reverent, careful hands. "Merry Christmas...Tim."

Author's Note: Finally! McGee's contribution.

For some reason this one was tough to write. McGee was not the most cooperative of characters.

Next up, how will Gibbs respond?