Happy New Year!

Sequel to: The Other Side of The Coin

Tim scuffed his feet against the cement, his head hung down, disinterested in his surroundings. He couldn't remember the last time he had showered or ate. He kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his pants barely hung on his hips, the legs of his pants frequently brushing together. The collar of his thin jacket was flipped up, offering minimal protection against the frigid late autumn night. The anger that consumed him, ached to his very core. He relinquished any hope of overcoming the state of depression that attached itself to his soul; each breath he took was shallow, with no desire for the next. His cheeks and ears stung but he welcomed the deserving pain. Tears streaked his stubbled face, chafing them, but he refused to wipe them away. His body shivered, as he longed for the numbness the cold would provide.

He walked with one purpose, but knowing he couldn't accomplish it; to escape the memories of his wife, and the dreams they had shared that could no longer come about.

The moon was full, illuminating the park like a diffused spotlight, never threatening to die out. She had always insisted they walk on the nights they would not need a flashlight to find their way. She would have loved the glow tonight, as she would have hung on his arm, nestling into his side, seeking his warmth and protection; the protection he did not provide in that one vital moment that would have saved her.

Now, he felt that his life was futile and meaningless. How had he survived before the knowledge of her existence? He yearned to stop the question that played a vicious loop in the crevices of his mind. How could he not question the sudden, violent end to something that had been so beautiful? There would never be an answer that could console him and take away the excruciating pain, because the answer would never change...

He neared one of the stone tunnels on the east side of the park. He heard voices in the distance, then silence. The interior of the tunnel was pitch black, but the moon, the only light source, illuminated the opening at the other end. As he was about to exit he was approached by a group of men.

One, shoved him roughly, "Hey, you! I'm talking to you, buddy!"

Tim gained his footing and continued to walk, but unable to make any progress as they blocked his path. "Leave me alone..I'm not your buddy." he mumbled, his gaze secured to the ground.

Another man, blocking his way, spat in his face while yelling demands, "You're not going anywhere till we get what we want."

"I've got nothing! Now get out of my way!" Tim charged the man shoving his shoulder into his chest, knocking him off balance. It was just enough to set the man and the accompanying three into attack mode.

They shoved Tim, violently sending him into the side of the tunnel. Tim's head bounced off of the stonewall and his vision grayed. Two of the men grabbed his arms, pinning him against the cold stones. Another, began hitting him, ruthlessly, in the stomach and face. Securely restrained, he was incapable of defending himself. His vision blurred and his lungs fought for air. He felt his strength diminish as he began to collapse, accepting the abuse without a fight.

He fell to the ground landing on his side, as he tried to regain his breath. They rolled him, checking his pockets for a wallet but finding nothing. One of them kicked him in the side, repeatedly but he didn't try to cover himself. The man berated him with each kick, "You're... worth...less! A waste of... our time... and energy!" He felt a rib crack, bringing tears to his eyes. The men left and Tim coughed violently, tasting blood. He could feel the harsh cold of the ground seep into his body, as the pain consumed him. He made no attempt to leave, waiting for the low temperatures and injuries to pull him under. He was hopeful when his shivers subsided and he began to feel warm.

With the warmth came a conscious dream; like some sort of mirage. A flicker of light on the wall to his left had caught his attention and he began to watch random images of Ziva, played out on the dark, stone wall of the tunnel. He turned his body to his side, mesmerized, as faint, flashing images of the woman that he loved, and heartrendingly missed, covered a good portion of the wall, like a film projected from an old vintage 8mm home movie projector. Flashbacks of both of them; playing in the snow; cooking in the kitchen while sharing a bottle of wine; him waking to find her sleeping beside him and the morning light playing over her serene face.

"Ziva...I'm sorry." Tears streamed down his face and the ache in his chest was stronger than the sharp pain in his injured side. The brightness of the images grew stronger and a smile formed on his face; his heart swelling. Maybe he had fallen asleep or was unconscious or...maybe he was dying. He didn't care, all he knew was he hadn't felt this close to her since she had died. These images were strong, brushing the surface of his soul, like she was right there, with him...until a figure blocked his view.

xxxx

Gibbs' first guess was that he would be walking in the park. His nephew was never interested in bars like he had been when Shannon had died; picking fights as a way to deal with her death. But, Tim wasn't a drinker so would settle for the park at night, hoping trouble would find him; a kind of self-inflicting way to handle the death of his loved one that Gibbs understood all too well. Tim was undoubtedly accepting the responsibility for Ziva's death as he had with, Shannon, all those years ago. Longing for the distraction of physical pain that hurt so much less than the suffocating weight of guilt.

It was still dark, the sun just beginning to rise, casting an orange glow over the park. Gibbs scanned the area for any activity. He thought he heard voices near the tunnel on the east side and could make out a group of men near one of the openings. He kicked himself for not checking on his nephew sooner but was delayed with a case. He had hoped Tim's mental state was improving but he was wrong. He should have known by now how good Tim was at convincing people around him not to worry about him; reassuring everyone with notions that he was okay.

He reached the tunnel, out of breath and spotted a figure lying still on the ground at the other end. "Tim!" When he reached him, he dropped by his side and pushed on his shoulder to turn him onto his back. "Tim, look at me."

"No, you have...to...move, you're in my way, I... can see... her." Gibbs had to hold him down to check his vitals, he could see that his eyes were fixed on the wall of the tunnel behind him, his arms weakly trying to nudge him away. He had a cut lip, and there was blood on his forehead, along with dark marks lining his jaw. He rested his hand on his cheek, noting how ice cold he was, while showing signs of shock. He checked his pulse, finding it strong but erratic. Tim groaned in frustration, laying back while pressing his palms to his eyes.

"Come on Tim. I have to get you home, but I'm going to need your help." He pulled Tim's hands away from his face to gain his attention.

Tim looked back at him, blinking his eyes as if seeing him for the first time."Jethro?"

"Come on, I need to get you home." Tim's mood shifted as he tried to appease the man by struggling to sit up as Gibbs helped him. He pulled Tim's arm over his shoulder to support him.

"Where are we? Are ...we on a case?" Tim's disoriented questions worried Gibbs as he watched his eyes dart around the area, trying to discern their whereabouts.

"No, we're not Tim. Let's just get you back and warmed up."

Tim stopped; gasping loudly, as if the last two weeks had abruptly returned, flooding his memory and hitting him with the strength of a sledge hammer. He squeezed his eyes shut as his knees buckled. Gibbs had to hold him close, so he wouldn't fall.

"She's gone, isn't she? This isn't some kind of bad... dream?"

"Come on kid, it's cold and who knows how long you've been out here."

Tim kept his face covered, adamantly planting his feet. "Please, just...leave me, Jethro...I can't-"

"Tim! Look at me! Dammit!" He stood in front of his nephew, pulling his hands from his face. "I will spend every moment of the rest of my life if I have to, to make sure you learn to deal with her death!" He grabbed Tim's shoulders and squeezed tightly, waiting for Tim to look at him.

Tim could see the earnest in Gibbs' eyes and considered his position. He chose to allow his uncle to guide him home. Gibbs felt a faint hint of satisfaction as his nephew's stubbornness quickly turned into obedience, allowing them to leave the park without another issue.