A Child of Trouble

Rifiuto: Non Miriena

Summary: The bomb blast brings back some frightening memories for one of the NCIS team and his family. So when the rest of the team find out his past- a past filled to the brim with violence, death and loss- can they help him overcome what's broken him? Or will he become another statistic? Established McGiva.

Late September, 1985

"Timmy! Timmy, wai' for me!"

"Ye'll 'ave t' catch me, Sarah!"

"Timmy, wai' up!"

The two children dashed through the green landscape, enjoying the cool grass beneath their bare feet. It was one of the rare times when their mother had allowed them outside to play, and so the children had packed sandwiches and juice and dashed off to join their friends. Or, well, he had, and his baby sister had tagged along, like she was prone to do. The older sibling picked up his pace, rushing towards the spot his friends were waiting at, a small glimmer of desperate hope that his sister would give up and decide to go home shining in his heart, only to be dashed when he felt her small arms wrap around his legs. "Sarah!"

He turned, pushing himself up on his elbows to see his baby sister laying in the grass with him, a grin on her features. Laughter caused him to turn, finding his two best friends- Ian O'Brien and Jackie Collins- sitting in the grass by the cliff side that overlooked the sea, watching him with mirth in their eyes. "Loo's like she caugh' ye, Timmy!" Ian cried, as the boy in question sat up, pulling his legs from his sister's grasp.

"Oh, shu' up, 'tis no' funny!" He replied, climbing to his feet and helping his sister. He sighed. "Remind me again why Mams sai' ye could come?" The four-year-old just grinned at her brother, before wrapping her arms around him.

"B'cause ye love me." His friends started laughing again, but they quickly shut up when the boy turned to glare at them. After a moment, he tugged his sister towards them, and the four sat, enjoying their sandwiches and the cool, salty wind that rose up from the sea below them.

It was rare, that children could be out and about by themselves- especially ones as young as Timmy and his friends and his sister, but since they'd said they were going to the 'meadow' as they called it- really, just a grassy knoll outside of Derry, the city where the children lived in Northern Ireland- their parents had allowed them to go, all slightly grateful that they would be away from the violence that gripped the streets most of the night. They had promised to return home before the strict seven o'clock curfew that had been enforced on the city in the days before and- especially- after the massacre in 'seventy-two.

The children knew very little of the killings that had rocked their town in that day- since most had been born after- but they had all heard the stories of the peaceful protesters who had marched in Bogside that day, only to be shot at by British paratroopers who were there to stop the protest. In the end, twenty-six had been wounded, and thirteen killed in what was now forever to be referenced as Domhnach na Fola, 'Bloody Sunday.'

Timmy and his sister Sarah knew that their family had a personal connection to the massacre- Timmy's aunt Fiona had been wounded in the protest. She was John McGee's younger sister, the third of four children born to the American Naval Captain and the Irish actress. John and his siblings had grown up in Ireland, only going to America to spend summers and visit their father's family. And when John ha gone to Dublin University at seventeen, he'd met Kathleen Donovan, an American exchange student from California. The two were night and day, hadn't gotten along at all when they first met, but over time, their dislike had grown and shifted into love, resulting in marriage not long after graduation. Timmy had been born in September seventy-nine, and Sarah had followed, two years later, in spring of eighty-one.

They played in the grass for the next two hours- Tag, Follow the Leader, anything they could think of- before deciding it was time to go home. As they returned, laughing and talking as they made their way through the streets of Derry, none of them noticed the car pull up near the curb, or the man get out. Timmy held tight to his baby sister's hand, Mams's warning ringing loud in his ears.

"Ye look aft'r yer sist'r, Timothy. Ye're 'er big broth'r, 'tis yer duty t' look aft'r an' protect 'er. If I find ou' ye 'aven't, well, ye'll no longer be me fav'rite son."

It was an empty threat, and they both knew it; he was her only son, and therefore, her absolute favorite of the other sons she didn't have. But Kathleen was prone to worry- especially after Fiona's scare- but she also allowed her children the freedom to be responsible. And while John was back in the States, Kathleen made absolutely sure that her children knew their responsibilities and followed them to the T.

It sucked, having the be the disciplinarian when her husband was away.

Normally, by now, they'd all be in America with John, living on base, but because the kids had just started a new school year, the couple had decided that the best decision would be for Kathleen and the children to stay in Ireland, so as not to uproot Timmy and Sarah's studies; they would all be together in America for the spring holidays.

The cool fall weather sent the leaves rustling to the ground; it was uncommon for all of Ireland to change with the leaves, and this particular part of the Northern half of the country always seemed to change later than the rest. Not that the kids minded. They were enjoying the green grass and the warm breezes, the last holdouts of summer before winter came, shoving out fall and bringing about Christmas.

As they passed by the car, laughing and joking, time seemed to stop. Buildings shook and a people screamed; a strange, unfamiliar ripple effect moved through the air, hitting everyone within its reach and throwing them all to their feet.

The last sound Timmy heard was the deafening pitch of someone- no, something- screaming before darkness took all sound away.