A/N: This story is my entry for the NFA And then... Challenge. We were to take the opening lines from a particular story and use that as our inspiration for the story we'd write. This is a oneshot episode tag for Probie in season 3. It's one of my favorite episodes and so I guess I shouldn't be surprised that this is what I started writing.

Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS and I don't own the show and I'm not making money off this story. Shucks.

See Me
by Enthusiastic Fish

I am an invisible man. No, I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allan Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywood-movie ectoplasms. I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids - and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me.
Invisible Man: Ralph Ellison

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat at his desk, listening to the constant talk going on around him. He wasn't a part of it. He had come up from Abby's lab and found that there was a lot of talk, some sidelong glances...but no talking to him. No one had said a word to him since Gibbs had dragged him back from Archer's house, furious beyond all measure. All he'd received was stony silence...until he had become invisible. It wasn't as though he wasn't used to this. It had been part of his life at various times. Normally, it didn't bother him because he was, in general, fairly solitary in his habits. He just didn't need it...most of the time.

But times like this...the case was over and yet it didn't mean anything to him... Knowing who had been the bad guy didn't help him...because he didn't know what he himself had done.

They were free to go, and he decided to go. He got up, walking to the elevator, willing them to notice him leaving, to talk to him, to help him feel as though what had happened wasn't the worst thing that had ever happened.

They didn't. He might as well have been invisible. For all the notice they took of him, he didn't exist. This was only bothering him right now. Tomorrow, it wouldn't matter which was why he wasn't saying anything. The uncertainty was much worse and that would last forever. He wanted to be a part of the group right now, but he wasn't. So he was going to leave, accepting that he wouldn't be part of them right now, accepting that he didn't exist in their world.

Tim walked out, got on the elevator and left NCIS. When he got outside, he thought about sitting outside and waiting for someone, but then, he decided just to walk. He headed for the gate. It was later in the evening and the sun was long since set. So it was dark, but he wasn't worried about that. He'd taken transit late at night many times before. Almost constantly after he'd first moved to DC.

He walked off the Navy Yard and started toward the Metro station. It was a little ways away, but not far.

...and when he got there, he found that he didn't want to get on the train. He didn't even go inside. He just started walking again.

I killed a man.

That was the only thought that remained prominent in his mind as he wandered on his way to...wherever. If only he'd taken an extra moment to stop and evaluate instead of reacting. If only...

I killed a man.

It didn't matter if they'd never know for certain. Even if he hadn't been the one who had killed Benedict, he had distracted him, leaving him open to a fatal shot. He had been on his guard, surely, and Tim had called out, causing him to look away from Archer. So, at the end of the day, it didn't matter if it was Archer who had killed him or if it was Tim himself. Benedict was still dead...and it was Tim's own fault.

He walked and walked until he suddenly found himself at the National Mall, weaving his way through a heavy press of people. None of them took notice of him. He may as well have been invisible for all that anyone saw him. One face among thousands. Tourists, politicians, employees, people running this way and that. They had no time for a solitary man searching for meaning in a world of chaos.

I killed a man.

He would wager that most of the people running around here couldn't say that. What would the Metro cops be thinking of this snot-nosed probationary agent who had been responsible for the death of one of their own? How many of them were cursing him for his ineptitude? How many rightfully blamed him? If and when NCIS had to work with Metro again, would the task be harder because one Timothy McGee had killed a detective?

Tim made it all the way across the National Mall, making his way around the groups always protesting something. They meant as little to him as he did to them. Just another figure walking down the sidewalk. As he skirted around the White House, he began a vague turn in the direction of Silver Spring. That would be a long walk and Tim was sure he'd tire before he was home, but right now...right now, he didn't care. He just wanted to walk, wishing that someone would see him.

I killed a man.

Unlike New York City, Washington DC did sleep, but there were still plenty of people on the roads, in the restaurants. It wasn't like the city became an absolute tomb after the sun went down. As he walked, Tim noticed that he would come into a pockets of life, followed by darker areas where the businesses closed at five or six and were now empty until tomorrow morning.

He was at the confusing intersection of Florida Avenue, New Jersey Avenue, S Street and Rhode Island Avenue when he decided that he should just get on a bus, go home and sleep, hoping for a better and more visible tomorrow. He'd walked nearly four miles in his wandering and that was getting a bit ridiculous.

He started to cross New Jersey with the intention of heading to the bus stop on Florida. The intersection wasn't too bad, it was just that there were so many streets coming together here. From above, it looked like a figure eight, albeit with two triangles instead of circles. Still, there were lights, not too many people and Tim figured it couldn't be that bad. ...then it happened.

It was his turn to cross, but the driver didn't realize that. The car didn't even slow down as it barreled through the intersection. It was like he was invisible.

Tim didn't have time to get out of the way.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Sir, sir! Can you hear me?"

"Call 911!"

"Did you get the plate?"

"No. Guy didn't even stop!"

A light...just for a moment. Then, it was gone.

"...came out of nowhere..."

Invisible.

"...darn ambulance..."

He wanted to know if they could see him, but he couldn't manage to speak. Reality kept swirling around in his head and he didn't know if he was alive or dead, awake or asleep...was he standing up or sitting or lying down?

He tried to ask for some kind of clarification.

"...can...be...mm..."

"Sir...can...u...ar me?"

Breathing hurt. A lot.

"...n't mo..."

"...he...ens..."

Actually lots of things hurt.

Another flash of light...and then another.

Hands touching the parts that hurt the most. He didn't like that, but he couldn't seem to tell them that. He heard himself make some kind of sound that adequately described how much he didn't like anyone touching his chest.

"...ry..."

There were more words but he couldn't engage his mind enough to understand them. He faded away again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It would take some time before Gibbs could relax enough to sleep. Every time he thought about what had happened that afternoon, he started fuming again. Tim could have been killed and he couldn't believe that he'd just stood there and watched Archer draw his gun. He had given Tim a chance and he had just stood there. Tim was lucky he was still alive.

Gibbs hadn't seen Tim since they'd got back from the crime scene that was now at Archer's house. It was like he had become invisible, but that was probably better for both of them. Gibbs couldn't guarantee he'd be able to restrain himself from lecturing Tim again. By tomorrow, he'd be feeling more calm.

His phone rang. With a deep breath, he put down his jack plane and answered.

"Gibbs."

"Is this Leroy Jethro Gibbs?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"My name is Joanna Allison. I'm a nurse at WHC."

"What is it?"

"You are the emergency medical contact for a Timothy McGee?"

"Yes. What happened?"

"Mr. McGee was involved in a hit-and-run tonight."

"Where?" Gibbs asked. He was so surprised, so shocked, that he couldn't even think.

"From what I was told, he was crossing the street just as the bus was pulling up, maybe he was trying to catch it. I really don't know. You'd have to ask MPD."

"Is he all right?"

"Can you come to the hospital, Mr. Gibbs?"

"Yes. I'll be right there."

"Thank you."

Gibbs hung up and hurried to his car. As he was driving over, questions began running through his head. Where was Tim when he got hit? Why was he there? If he'd been taken to WHC, he probably hadn't been at the Navy Yard or at his apartment. Why? Who had hit him? What state was he in? It must not have been minor considering they had called him...meaning that Tim was likely unconscious.

He drove to WHC as quickly as he could and hurried inside. He went to the information desk and asked where he should go. When he got directed to the OR, he went as quickly as he could. At the desk, he asked for Joanna Allison.

"Mr. Gibbs?"

He turned around.

"Yeah. What's happened?"

"You're a friend of his?"

"No. I'm his boss. He's on my team. What happened?"

"Have seat, sir."

"What happened?" Gibbs asked again.

"It was a glancing blow, not head-on, but what we think is that the sideview mirror must have hit him in the chest. He hit his head on the road. There's been some internal bleeding...but he's in surgery right now for something else."

"What?"

"There was significant damage to Mr. McGee's spleen. They're going to try and save it, but they may have to remove it if the damage is too extensive."

"What will that mean?"

"He can live without his spleen, but that will make him more susceptible to diseases because the spleen is part of the immune system. We're going to do our best, but we're hoping that you'll be able to contact his family if he has any. It wasn't listed in his chart."

"He does. I will when I know that he's okay."

"All right. You can wait in the OR waiting room. Someone will come out when they've finished."

Gibbs nodded and sat down. It was hard to have to wait. There was so much he didn't know about what had happened and why it had happened. Still, he knew when the only option was to sit. He knew how to do it, too. So he sat...and only belatedly thought to look at his watch.

Three-eleven a.m.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Mr. Gibbs?"

Gibbs stood up immediately.

"Mr. McGee is going to be all right. It will take some time, but he should recover."

"Did you remove his spleen?" Gibbs asked.

"No, but that still could be in his future if it doesn't heal. He'll be in the hospital for a while and we'll be monitoring the swelling. Right now, his spleen could fully heal. We don't remove a spleen unless it's really necessary. The damage is such that I think, at worst, we'll have to perform a partial splenectomy."

"Can I see him?"

"He's in recovery right now. When he's stabilized, a nurse will come out to get you."

Gibbs nodded and sat down again, not fidgeting, just waiting. After another two hours, he was finally called back to see his agent. It seemed impossible that only a few hours ago, Gibbs had been trying to keep himself from reaming Tim for his inaction.

Tim was lying very still. His face was scraped up and he had a series of stitches going across his cheek, back to his ear. He also had a black eye.

"You can sit right here, Mr. Gibbs," the nurse said. "He's...awake for all intents and purposes, but he's very groggy and he won't be very coherent for a while. You can talk to him, though. He'll probably appreciate it."

Gibbs smiled a little. Tim probably wouldn't appreciate having the man who had threatened to fire him sitting beside him.

But he was the one who was there. At some point, he'd have to call Tim's family and tell the others about this, but he was content to wait for now...especially knowing that he was likely to recover.

"Hey, McGee," he said.

Tim's eyes fluttered open. He looked at Gibbs and his face scrunched up in confusion whether because Gibbs was there or because he just didn't get what was going on, Gibbs wasn't sure.

His mouth moved a few times but no sound came out.

"They called me," he said by way of explanation.

"...see me?" Tim asked.

"Of course, I can see you, McGee."

"...invisible..."

Gibbs got the feeling he wasn't actually getting everything Tim might be trying to say.

"You're not invisible."

Tim just took a breath and closed his eyes again.

"Don't worry. I'll wait."

Gibbs settled back to wait until Tim came out of the anesthesia completely.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim woke up feeling...very not good. He opened his eyes and tried to think about what was going on, what had happened.

"McGee?"

What was Gibbs doing here?

"You awake?"

"Boss..." Tim turned his head toward the voice and, sure enough, Gibbs was sitting there.

"How are you feeling?"

"Awful."

"What happened?"

"Uh..." Tim tried to think. What had happened? He was definitely in a hospital, and he felt terrible.

"You remember the car?"

That triggered a memory. Tim started to nod.

"I...yeah...I was crossing...to the bus."

"Where?"

"Florida and New Jersey."

"Why were you there?"

"I was walking?" Tim said uncertainly...but not because he didn't remember. He wasn't sure he wanted to explain to Gibbs of all people what had been going through his mind.

"But why?"

"Didn't seem any point in staying at work. Wasn't in a hurry to go home. I just started walking."

"Why did you think I wouldn't be able to see you?" Gibbs asked.

"What do you mean?" Tim asked, definitely feeling confused.

"You asked if I could see you."

"When?"

"In recovery. What did you mean?"

"Uh...I don't know," Tim said...lying through his teeth. "Am I okay?"

"Not right now, but the doctors think you will be."

"When?"

"In a while. For now, don't try to get up. Just relax."

That sounded all right to Tim. He had no desire to get up, to move or to do anything at the moment. He just wanted to lie there.

"Do you think you're invisible and that's why the guy hit you?" Gibbs asked after a few seconds.

"No. Did they get him?"

"He didn't stick around, whoever he was. They might not find him."

"Oh."

"Why were you talking about being invisible?"

"I don't know."

"I can tell when you're lying, McGee."

Tim looked away and tried to will Gibbs to go away. It didn't work.

"McGee?"

Tim shrugged and then winced. Was there no part of his body that didn't hurt?

"Hey, what's going on?"

"Nothing. I just got hit by a car. Nothing's going on, Boss."

"Uh-huh. I'm going to call your parents now that we know you'll be okay. Your doctor with explain things to you and to them when they get here."

"Okay," Tim said, closing his eyes and waiting for Gibbs to leave.

Finally, Gibbs did and Tim opened his eyes a little bit and stared at the ceiling. Invisible. Gibbs had been content to have him out of sight before. As his employer, Tim had figured that having Gibbs as his emergency medical contact made a lot of sense. If he'd been married, that would be another matter. It wasn't like he was going to force his parents to make decisions or worry from a distance. Now, however, he wished he had put anyone else. He didn't want Gibbs to be the one hanging around, asking awkward questions...and reminding Tim of his failures. Exhausted even from the little bit he'd done, Tim lay back and slept.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Two weeks later...

Tim was lying on his bed in his apartment, grateful to be not moving, not talking, not entertaining. He was alone and that was a distinct relief. His family had descended and fussed over him. His coworkers had all visited him. Abby had exhausted him with all her fretting. Now, he was by himself, ready to relax and try to recover a little bit of the energy that had been sapped away by his close encounter with a car. They were searching for the car. It turned out that the impact had broken the sideview mirror. MPD had found pieces of it and were working to figure out the make and model of the car...and were checking with local repair shops. Hopefully, it would be a matter of time before they'd find the culprit, but even so, Tim was just relieved that he hadn't been killed.

He'd been lying on his bed, ruminating, when there was a knock on his door. He groaned and got up. Slowly, he shuffled to the door and looked through the peephole. He groaned again and then opened the door.

"Hi, Boss. What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk, McGee."

"About what?"

"About why you were walking around DC."

Tim sighed and shuffled back to his bedroom.

"No, we don't."

"Yeah, we do. Why you walking?"

"I wanted to. People walk all the time."

"Not generally five miles."

Tim just shrugged as he sat down on his bed.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"I want you to tell me the truth."

"No, you don't," Tim said with a sigh. "You want me to tell you whatever it is you think you've already figured out. It's not about me telling you anything. It's just about me fitting into what you already think."

"You were upset about what happened with Benedict," Gibbs said.

"Yeah, I was...not that it matters. I may as well have been part of the woodwork for all the notice anyone took of that. When I asked Abby if she could figure out whether or not it was my bullet that killed Benedict, she asked if it really mattered. Of course, it matters!" Tim said. "It's the difference between having killed a man or not having killed him. I'm responsible for his death either way, but does everyone really feel like that?"

"Like what?"

"That it's just a matter of saying that it's too bad and moving on? Boss, I killed someone! I killed a cop! ...and then...then you dragged me to to confront another cop. I couldn't kill him, too! ...no matter what, I couldn't have done it. I couldn't kill another cop, no matter how crooked he was...but you didn't even ask. You just took me with you. You gave me a gun and dragged me along."

"You needed to be there."

"No, I didn't," Tim said. "I wasn't the one who should have been there...and when I came back, everyone could tell that you were ticked off at me and they avoided me. I may as well have been invisible. I walked out of the building and not one single person asked how I was doing, what I was feeling...nothing. I walked through crowds of people, strangers...and I felt no more or less invisible than I had when I was surrounded by people I knew. At least the strangers weren't expected to notice me."

"That's why you were walking?"

"It's wasn't any kind of plan I had. I just started walking and thinking about how I was responsible for the death of a good man and not a single person had cared enough to see me. Tony came by here the night after, but even he was trying to make me react the way he wanted. You all seem bent on turning me into some version of yourselves. Timothy McGee needs to fade away to be replaced by Gibbs or DiNozzo junior. I can't be you, Boss. I can't be Tony. I can only be myself...and that person that I am didn't need to be there. That person that I am needed someone to notice me, to ask me what was wrong...to try and understand how I see things. That's what I needed." Tim laughed a little. "And I started walking and got hit by someone who was apparently not paying attention. There were streetlights. He had a red light. I was crossing with the light...but it was like I was invisible again. Just didn't see me there."

"And which one makes you feel worse?" Gibbs asked after a few seconds.

Tim looked at him, wondering if Gibbs really wanted an answer.

"The car accident hurt more, but feeling like I'd killed a man and no one cared about how I was doing is worse. All I wanted was to have someone say, 'Yeah, McGee. It really sucks. I'm sorry. What can I do?' The answer would be that there was nothing, but just the effort would make things a little better." Tim took a deep breath, winced at the strain and let it out quickly. "Not Abby saying that it doesn't matter, not Tony trying to drag me out of my apartment to drown my sorrows...and not...not you forcing me to confront a crooked cop with a gun in my hand. Yes, I have to carry a gun and yes, at some point, I'd have needed to get back out there, but the day after? Was that really necessary?"

Tim ran out of words to say and he was feeling tired and achy anyway. He just wanted to sleep. He looked at Gibbs for a little while. Then, to his surprise, Gibbs sat down on the chair beside his bed and smiled.

"Yeah, McGee...that does really suck. I'm sorry. What can I do?"

Tim couldn't help it. He smiled back.

"Right now?"

"Yeah."

"Let me sleep. I'm really tired."

"Okay. And later on?"

Tim took another breath and let it out quickly.

"Just remember that you can't make me into a copy of you. Give me some time to... process everything."

Gibbs nodded. "Okay."

He got up and headed for the door. Then, he turned back.

"You're not invisible, McGee. Sometimes, we just can't see what's right there, but you're not invisible. I can see you."

Tim smiled again. "Thanks, Boss."

And then Gibbs surprised him.

"And you're not to blame for Benedict...no matter whose bullet it is. You didn't kill him and it's not your fault."

Tim blinked at him for a few seconds and his throat felt a bit tight.

"Thanks, Boss."

Gibbs just nodded and left. Tim lay back and stared at the ceiling.

...and then, tried to find the most comfortable position he could so that he could rest and recover...and then, go back to work.

FINIS!