{Batman(Robin)/NCIS} No More Secrets
Title: No More Secrets
Author: Mayhem
Word Count: 999
Rating: PG (swearing)
Author Notes: Part of Counting Down; this is the sixth number. Techinically an epilogue, but this can be read independantly or after any previous number. Only one left!
Summary: At some point, he knew there would have to be a talk. He just doesn't want it to happen now.
I sit down backwards on the chair, arms folded across the backrest. It's a favored position of Tim Drake, but one that McGee does not indulge in.
“Something you wanna tell us, McGee?” Gibbs prompts after I’d sat in silence for a while.
“Fine,” I sigh. I don't want to, but they have to know. They have the right to know. “I was born and raised in Gotham. And, as everyone knows, that’s not…the safest. But it’s better than it was, because there’s the Batman.”
“I thought he was just an urban legend?” Ziva asks, and I bite back a smile to hear the old excuse.
“No,” I say simply. “He’s not. He’s real. And he has a sidekick, Robin.”
“But what-” Tony starts, but I interrupt.
“Just listen, okay? So Robin wears red and yellow, and is bright and attention-getting. Robin is a distraction, and Batman is the power. It’s a good team, and it works, mostly.
“But what a lot of people don’t know is that there have been more than one Robin. It’s a dangerous profession, and Robin is young, and attention-getting, see? So there have been a few.
“And I was one.”
There is silence, and then Tony snorts. “Sorry,” he says, and, “Nope, not buying it. No way McGeek here was a vigilante.”
“Tim McGee, wasn’t, no,” I reply, mild as milk. “But then, I haven’t always been McGee. It’s just a name.”
There is a slight pause as everyone pretends not to have heard that bitter statement and then Ziva changes the topic.
“So that Red Hood, he is a vigilante you know?” she asks.
“No, Jason was a Robin, too. The one right before me, actually. He died, kind of, and came back a little bit broken and a whole lot mad.”
“Right, of course,” Tony bites off sarcastically. “He came back from the dead, yeah. This isn’t a movie or a comic book, McGee. This is real life, and the dead don’t come back.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I explode, surging to my feet. I can normally keep a lid on my temper, but not this topic, not now. “You have no right to talk to me about death. No. Right. You have no idea.”
And there is a moment, and then Gibbs, almost gently-almost-asks, “Who did you lose, Tim?”
I sink back into the chair, wanting to laugh. Who haven’t I lost? But if I start laughing now, I know I won’t stop. “My mother,” I say, going in chronological order. “My father, my step-mother, the love of my life. Jason, twice. Kate. And…and Br-Batman. And so many innocents and civilians that we were too slow to save.” I begin that laundry list, and, once started, can’t stop. Disaster, casualty count. Disaster, casualty count; disaster….
No Man’s Land. Central City. The war games. The Riots. The thing with Hush. Joker’s Parade. Arkham breakouts, all three times. The Blackgate breakout, and subsequent massacre. Arkham breakouts, times four, five, and six. And so many more.
I run out of anger before I run out of names, so I cut off the list early. I wrap it up tiredly. “So don’t you talk to me about death. Don’t you talk to me about sacrifice, or family or duty or honor. Don’t you even dare.”
And Tony looks away, and I feel a stab of guilt and shame. I keep forgetting; Tony isn’t Dick. Tony fears loss because he hasn’t dealt with it often. I fear it because I know it far too well.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I shouldn’t have gone off like that…”
Ziva looks at me with sad, knowing eyes, and I can’t meet that gaze. Gibbs draws my attention by saying quietly, “That’s a lot to hold yourself responsible for.”
And, yeah, that's funny, because I know that, I do, but my list is still shorter than either Dick’s or Bruce’s. “I know,” I say, dragging a hand through my hair and down my face. “Would you believe I’m the sanest one of our little group?”
No one answers, until Gibbs finally asks, “Why’d you leave?”
“Oh, that,” I say. “I was…I was caught by the Joker. It only took them about two weeks to find me. It was right after my dad died, and Stephanie, both because of my carelessness. I didn’t tell him anything, but…I didn’t come out entirely sane, either. And I realized how crazy it all really was. So I ran.”
And I stare at the floor, because I respect these people too much to want to see pity in their eyes.
“So now you know. And now you know that I can do a lot more to help, to protect you guys, than you thought. And why I wanted so bad to be a field agent, but don’t like drawing a gun. There’s a lot more I can do, now that I don’t have to hide so much.
“So now you know.” And I pause to swallow. “Will this change anything?”
“Not if you don’t want it to,” Gibbs answers, and I chance a glance up from the floor, because we all know he's lying.
“Yes, it will,” Ziva breaks in. “Now, we can help. If you'll let us.”
And Tony meets my searching gaze, and he doesn’t say a word. This will take time for him, I know, but I'm prepared to wait. He nods, though, and I know I am forgiven my outburst earlier, and have maybe even gained a little more respect from him. Maybe this will work out all right.
“And perhaps we can spar, sometime,” Ziva continues, and I smile.
I duck my head in agreement, and say, “Sure. And maybe practice languages, too.”
She beams back, and I swallow past the lump in my throat. Tony leaves the room, to get air, to think, and Gibbs is looking at me in a new way.
Yeah, you know what? I think it might just be okay, after all.
Author: Mayhem
Word Count: 999
Rating: PG (swearing)
Author Notes: Part of Counting Down; this is the sixth number. Techinically an epilogue, but this can be read independantly or after any previous number. Only one left!
Summary: At some point, he knew there would have to be a talk. He just doesn't want it to happen now.
I sit down backwards on the chair, arms folded across the backrest. It's a favored position of Tim Drake, but one that McGee does not indulge in.
“Something you wanna tell us, McGee?” Gibbs prompts after I’d sat in silence for a while.
“Fine,” I sigh. I don't want to, but they have to know. They have the right to know. “I was born and raised in Gotham. And, as everyone knows, that’s not…the safest. But it’s better than it was, because there’s the Batman.”
“I thought he was just an urban legend?” Ziva asks, and I bite back a smile to hear the old excuse.
“No,” I say simply. “He’s not. He’s real. And he has a sidekick, Robin.”
“But what-” Tony starts, but I interrupt.
“Just listen, okay? So Robin wears red and yellow, and is bright and attention-getting. Robin is a distraction, and Batman is the power. It’s a good team, and it works, mostly.
“But what a lot of people don’t know is that there have been more than one Robin. It’s a dangerous profession, and Robin is young, and attention-getting, see? So there have been a few.
“And I was one.”
There is silence, and then Tony snorts. “Sorry,” he says, and, “Nope, not buying it. No way McGeek here was a vigilante.”
“Tim McGee, wasn’t, no,” I reply, mild as milk. “But then, I haven’t always been McGee. It’s just a name.”
There is a slight pause as everyone pretends not to have heard that bitter statement and then Ziva changes the topic.
“So that Red Hood, he is a vigilante you know?” she asks.
“No, Jason was a Robin, too. The one right before me, actually. He died, kind of, and came back a little bit broken and a whole lot mad.”
“Right, of course,” Tony bites off sarcastically. “He came back from the dead, yeah. This isn’t a movie or a comic book, McGee. This is real life, and the dead don’t come back.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I explode, surging to my feet. I can normally keep a lid on my temper, but not this topic, not now. “You have no right to talk to me about death. No. Right. You have no idea.”
And there is a moment, and then Gibbs, almost gently-almost-asks, “Who did you lose, Tim?”
I sink back into the chair, wanting to laugh. Who haven’t I lost? But if I start laughing now, I know I won’t stop. “My mother,” I say, going in chronological order. “My father, my step-mother, the love of my life. Jason, twice. Kate. And…and Br-Batman. And so many innocents and civilians that we were too slow to save.” I begin that laundry list, and, once started, can’t stop. Disaster, casualty count. Disaster, casualty count; disaster….
No Man’s Land. Central City. The war games. The Riots. The thing with Hush. Joker’s Parade. Arkham breakouts, all three times. The Blackgate breakout, and subsequent massacre. Arkham breakouts, times four, five, and six. And so many more.
I run out of anger before I run out of names, so I cut off the list early. I wrap it up tiredly. “So don’t you talk to me about death. Don’t you talk to me about sacrifice, or family or duty or honor. Don’t you even dare.”
And Tony looks away, and I feel a stab of guilt and shame. I keep forgetting; Tony isn’t Dick. Tony fears loss because he hasn’t dealt with it often. I fear it because I know it far too well.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I shouldn’t have gone off like that…”
Ziva looks at me with sad, knowing eyes, and I can’t meet that gaze. Gibbs draws my attention by saying quietly, “That’s a lot to hold yourself responsible for.”
And, yeah, that's funny, because I know that, I do, but my list is still shorter than either Dick’s or Bruce’s. “I know,” I say, dragging a hand through my hair and down my face. “Would you believe I’m the sanest one of our little group?”
No one answers, until Gibbs finally asks, “Why’d you leave?”
“Oh, that,” I say. “I was…I was caught by the Joker. It only took them about two weeks to find me. It was right after my dad died, and Stephanie, both because of my carelessness. I didn’t tell him anything, but…I didn’t come out entirely sane, either. And I realized how crazy it all really was. So I ran.”
And I stare at the floor, because I respect these people too much to want to see pity in their eyes.
“So now you know. And now you know that I can do a lot more to help, to protect you guys, than you thought. And why I wanted so bad to be a field agent, but don’t like drawing a gun. There’s a lot more I can do, now that I don’t have to hide so much.
“So now you know.” And I pause to swallow. “Will this change anything?”
“Not if you don’t want it to,” Gibbs answers, and I chance a glance up from the floor, because we all know he's lying.
“Yes, it will,” Ziva breaks in. “Now, we can help. If you'll let us.”
And Tony meets my searching gaze, and he doesn’t say a word. This will take time for him, I know, but I'm prepared to wait. He nods, though, and I know I am forgiven my outburst earlier, and have maybe even gained a little more respect from him. Maybe this will work out all right.
“And perhaps we can spar, sometime,” Ziva continues, and I smile.
I duck my head in agreement, and say, “Sure. And maybe practice languages, too.”
She beams back, and I swallow past the lump in my throat. Tony leaves the room, to get air, to think, and Gibbs is looking at me in a new way.
Yeah, you know what? I think it might just be okay, after all.