NCIS, Tom’s a might miffed

Friday, April 2nd, 2004:
Due to Gibbs, as Agent DiNozzo put it, Captain Ahab impersonation, on top of the rivalry he pitted the other two members of the team in, Director Thomas Andrew Morrow had enough complaints on his desk to rival the Pentagon’s. And he was sick and tired of it.
So much so that it was time to put a firm stop to the whole mess.

Director Morrow’s Office 9:06 am

While Gibbs blew into the office angrily at being forced to attend the meeting with his boss, the other members of his team weren’t so sanguine about it. And the fact that Morrow had blatantly removed every chair, but his own, in the office to make a statement, didn’t help. But which Gibbs ignored and went onto the fact that there wasn’t anything to drink in the room for him.
So much so, he didn’t notice the two heavy duty guards that came in behind them, until he heard the “snik” of the door closing. And then remotely locking from Morrow’s desk.
And all the while, Morrow kept going through the files on his desk and writing on the papers in them.

“Uh, sir? We…”

“I’ll deal with you two in a minute, Agent Todd.”

Morrow didn’t have to look up to know they were exchanging worried glances by now. He scribbled his signature on a paper, closed the folder and set it in his OUT basket. He looked at his desk clock.

“I am not satisfied with your work of late, agents. Your solve rate has dropped dramatically, your reports come in late, and you spend more time arguing with each other than you do earning your salaries. Which, I might add, are also up for review at this time.”

Morrow watched them squirm, his face impassive, and decided to let them simmer a bit. Then looked over at the impassive looking Gibbs, “Or skipping out of the building and forgetting your responsibilities all together in pursuit of other things.”

Gibbs’ face instantly went purple and his hands clenched forwards, only to hear the guards behind him pulling their side arms.

The Director picked up a thick file folder. “Do you see this, Agents?”

Todd opened her mouth to reply but her team leader whacked her across the back of the head. They all nodded quietly.

“This is a list I have spent some time compiling. It contains the shittiest assignments I could find. The most demeaning jobs out there, the stuff nobody wants to touch, the things that get left undone until there’s absolutely no excuse left to avoid them.” He leaned toward them and, in a very satisfied voice, said, “And it’s all for you.”

Morrow sat back in his leather executive swivel chair, evaluating their expressions. “I’ve been in the office long enough that I can do things my way now. You all will do things my way from
here on out. Each time you do not do things my way you will get a present from the goody bag.” Morrow gestured at the folder, then leaned into their faces. “I have things in there, that will make you look back on dumpster duty with longing. You will pray for the good old days of wading through sewers of literal shit for days.”

They gulped and nodded. Morrow leaned back and considered them. “You will enter what I’m told the field agents call ‘team therapy’. It will improve your efficiency and get your numbers back up where they belong. It will make you look good again. And when you look good, I look good. And we all want to look good, don’t we? Because the departments that meet their assigned goals get funding. Isn’t that right, Agent Gibbs?”

Todd said, “But, sir… “

Morrow held up his hand again and checked his watch, then went back to his desk to make a phone call. Todd shut up as his boss dialed a number and waited, making a show of perusing the
dreaded Folder. Finally, someone picked it up. “Ed? Tom. You won the pool. It took Todd less than five minutes to earn her first demerit. You pick the restaurant; I’ll see you and the others at noon. Bye.”

He hung up the phone and strode over to hand Todd the paper.
Todd scanned it, paled, and looked at her ultimate supervisor in shock.
“You wouldn’t.” Tony craned his neck to see.

Morrow smiled an evil smile. “Try me.”

Tony looked vaguely ill and croaked, “Team therapy. Right.”

Morrow leaned in again, grinning maliciously. “I picked this shrink specifically for your team, DiNozzo. Gibbs. I searched for just the right person. Her credentials are Oxford Grad, so don’t even think about trying games. If I hear one whisper from her about non-cooperation from you, you will wish your parents had never met.”

The agents eyed each other. Of course, being who they were, Morrow didn’t expect them to take this lying down. He was not disappointed. They quickly regrouped and attacked.

Over the course of the next fifteen minutes the team accumulated five more demerits — three for interrupting, one for defending themselves (each) after being warned to drop it, and the last for general attitude.
Todd got extras — one for interrupting and the others for trying to defend herself. The look on her face was priceless, she’d been so sure she was beyond reproach.

Finally, the Director decided he’d been patient enough and yelled, “Shut up, goddammit!”

They did.

Morrow shook his head in frustration. “What is so difficult about this concept, agents? You’ve been in government service long enough to know how things work. I can do this and I’m going to do this. I am higher in the chain of command than you. Shit rolls downhill. If you stand there with your mouth open, naturally you won’t like the taste. Now shut up and do as you’re told!”

Gibbs yelled about how he would not put up with it. “SHUT UP, GIBBS!” Everybody’s eardrums rang after that one. Probably Ms Cook’s in the outer office, too. “The contentiousness between you cannot be allowed to continue. You are going to settle it, one way or another. Or would you prefer to be reassigned? God damn you, Gibbs. Do you have any idea how aggravating this superior attitude of yours is? Don’t you realize who you’re talking to?”

Morrow stepped up until he was nose-to-nose with the younger man and went on in a tight voice.
“I survived Viet Nam. You have no concept of what that means so I’m going to tell you. So, you feel sorry for yourself because your perp disappeared. There are men still alive over there who have been imprisoned for decades under more barbaric conditions than you can imagine.”

The junior agents saw their boss’ eyes go distant as he recited the well-remembered numbers.

“The standard tour of duty for a marine was thirteen months. Do the math. Thirteen months is three hundred sixty-five days plus thirty-one, for a total of three hundred and ninety-six. Multiply
that by twenty-four and you get nine thousand, four hundred and eighty hours. Times sixty minutes per hour and you get five hundred sixty-eight thousand and eight hundred minutes. There are sixty seconds in a minute, so your grand total is thirty-four million, one hundred twenty-eight thousand seconds.”

The eyes focused on them again. The skin of his face was drawn tight against his skull. “You’ve all crossed open spaces under fire. You know how long a second can be when people are trying to kill you. Don’t even talk to me about paranoia.”

Eyes looked at each other for a moment, then looked at their boss again.

“We died by poison, by knives, clubs, teeth, snakes, disease, guns, bombs, friendly fire, just plain ignorance and clerical errors, for Christ’s sake! And Gibbs… you think you’ve had it rough with your tour? Wait until you come back from risking your life for the nation and someone spits on you and calls you a baby-killer. Talk to me then.”

The Director reined himself in by main force and took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths. When he spoke again his voice was calm and remote. “You will attend the sessions. You will make every effort to cooperate with your therapist. No later than one week after your therapist has determined that the work has been completed you will communicate to me your decisions about the status of your team. Am I making myself sufficiently clear, agents?”

They chorused, “Yes, sir.”

“You are dismissed.”