Work Text:
I decided to combine these two prompts—hope it works well!
Gibbs hadn’t thought of Timothy McGee as a beach guy. Sure, his father was a career Navy man, but Tim had just never struck him as a beachy surf and sand and fun kind of guy. Outdoorsy maybe a little but that skin wasn’t tanned even in the heat of summer. It was okay, the paleness it was a good look on him. Tim wouldn’t have seemed Tim-like if he was more than very lightly tanned.
So it had surprised Gibbs that Tim had wanted to go to the beach for their vacation. The team had an obligatory five-day vacation, after nearly two months of sixty-plus-hour workweeks. The government shutdown had spiked their workloads and as special agents, they had to report to work as essential personnel. Unlike many of the other feds, who had been off work completely, not allowed to so much as check email on their government-issued laptops or smartphones. Even support staff at NCIS had been off work, which mean analysts, HR, and other departments had been closed, forcing a stronger workload on the team. At the end of the time, they’d all been dragging, and even Gibbs driving them hadn’t produced good work. They’d all been spent, himself included.
The team had scattered—Tony going to a poker tournament in New Orleans with Abby. They’d stop in and visit her family as well. Palmer and Breena were taking a long-awaited and deserved delayed honeymoon to San Francisco, and Ducky had gone to visit friends in Charleston. Gibbs had given Tim the go ahead to book whatever trip he wanted for them, but Gibbs had expected museums, culture, maybe even Tim’s technical things, but not the beach.
Myrtle Beach, to be exact.
It was off season and things were fairly quiet, though the weather was unseasonably warm. The beach wasn’t crowded, but there were several dozen people around, some older couples strolling near the water line, several families enjoying the near ninety-degree temperatures.
Gibbs glanced over at Tim, sitting beside him on a blanket, his electronic book reader thingamajig dark for the moment. Tim’s gaze was fixed on a man and a young boy who were building a sand castle together, the man watching closely as the boy shaped damp sand and then carved the mound into something more castle-like, slowly but surely. And something occurred to Gibbs, something he suddenly wanted to investigate.
“Why did you want to come here?” Gibbs asked, his voice soft and gentle. When Tim didn’t answer, Gibbs leaned in and nudged his shoulder. “Tim?”
Tim sighed and shifted on the blanket, pulling his knees up and resting his forearms on them, his gaze fixed on father and son. Gibbs scrutinized the pair, the boy blond with a pouty lower lip and delicate features, the man sandy-haired, with a military bearing and haircut, his features stronger, his expression softening as the boy’s castle started to emerge from a mound of sand.
“Dad was very career oriented,” Tim said, though that wasn’t a surprise. You didn’t get to be an admiral without being focused on the job at the expense of everything, even family. Especially family.
“Even though we lived in a lot of beach type areas, we never went with Dad.”
“Never?” Gibbs asked quietly, flashing back to Shannon and Kelly’s last beach visit, when they’d come to California to see him off. That was a priceless memory to him, and one he couldn’t fathom another father not sharing with his child or children.
“Never,” Tim replied, a wistful tone in his voice that made Gibbs’ gut clench, both as a father and as Tim’s partner. “Sara and I always asked. We just wanted the one family trip, but it was always Mom and us and never Dad.” He gestured toward the boy and father. “That was what I wanted, Gibbs. To build a sand castle with my Dad.”
Tim’s expression became sadder and he seemed to look even younger than his years. It aroused every protective instinct in Gibbs and he had to work to stay relaxed.
“I had the plans all laid out in my head, how to engineer it.” A brilliant smile chased across Tim’s face before his expression changed to one of abject sadness. “I was always like this.”
“Not a problem making a structure strong.”
Gibbs could imagine little Tim, all big green eyes and delicate features tipped up in hope, a little flush on his face as he asked tentatively to go to the beach. And the crestfallen expression when his dad hadn’t come along.
The beach! It wasn’t as if a guy living in seaside ports would have been put out. The logistics had been there, Admiral McGee just hadn’t made the effort.
“You want to build a castle?” Gibbs ventured. He might feel like an idiot doing so, but if it helped Tim, it’d be worth it.
“Thanks but…not the same.” Tim’s voice had almost dropped to a whisper. He stared out into the water, his thumb rubbing back and forth over his forearm where his arms were crossed. “It was supposed to be my dad.”
“Know that.” Gibbs didn’t—couldn’t—discuss his own demons, not even with Tim. But he well understood the regrets of a father and being estranged with his own for so many years gave him a different perspective.
“How’s he doin’, Tim?”
Admiral McGee’s illness wasn’t something they discussed, though Gibbs and the team were aware of it. It was Tim’s thing to process, but with this door open, Gibbs thought he might taken the opening and see if Tim was up to discussing it.
“Surviving,” Tim said quietly. “They figure he has maybe a year. He’s responded to treatment.”
“Where is he?” It seemed strange that Gibbs didn’t even know this.
“Norfolk.”
Gibbs did the math, formulating a plan. The elder McGee could be here tonight, and he and Tim—and Gibbs, if Tim wanted him to—could spend some time together.
“Call him.”
“Call…my dad?” Tim managed to squeak out.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Invite him down. Want to get to know him. And you and he need to work some stuff out before he can’t.”
“Gibbs…”
“Don’t let those sand castles stay in your imagination. It’s not too late, Tim.”
“What about us?”
“What about us?” Gibbs countered.
Tim bit his lip. “You sure about this?” he asked, staring into Gibbs’ eyes. The mixture of hope and vulnerability Gibbs saw in Tim’s gaze had him swallowing back his own emotion, his own memories of what couldn’t be swamping him.
“Sure. Call him. It won’t be perfect, but take it for what it is.”
As Tim turned his phone on and punched buttons on the touch screen, Gibbs leaned in, offering silent support, nudging Tim’s shoulder. It wasn’t much, but Tim knew the meaning behind the gesture, the connection they had that was beyond words. And Tim knew Gibbs would stay at his side.
“Hi, Dad. I have a favor to ask…”