A/N: Okay, this story needs some background. First of all, it's extremely AU. It is based on a song by Richard Marx called "Hazard". (Take a wild guess as to where the title came from. :) It's a very dark song and the music video is also very dark. The story fits that tone. The first time I heard the song, it really got into my head (back in the nineties). A few months ago, I heard it again and I thought that there was a story to be told there because Richard Marx has never said who killed Mary. So I decided to fit the NCIS characters into the plot and solve the mystery myself. That means that everyone is a bit different and Tim is really different from how he is on the show, but I have tried to fit what I see as the essence of the characters into the AU nature of the story.

Long story short: If you don't like AU stories, you will not like this story. It's unabashedly AU, and it's very long, but unlike Non sibi, sed patri, it's already finished. :)

Disclaimer: I do not own "Hazard". That belongs to Richard Marx. I do not own NCIS or its characters. I'm not making money on it. I'm just having some fun...in that twisted I have. :)

Hazard
by Enthusiastic Fish

Chapter 1

"There you go, McGee. Get out. I'll be watching you."

Tim looked at Sheriff Drake and then looked out the window. The sheriff was waiting for him to say something about the view, Tim knew. He wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

"Yeah. Just like you watched Mary," he said, bitterly.

Then, he got out of the police car, slammed the door closed as hard as he thought he could get away with and looked at what remained of his home. A burned-out shell. The sheriff drove away.

He sighed. It wasn't like he had anything valuable to lose, but this had been the only thing that was his in the world. The town had taken it from him, leaving him nothing. No family, no home.

No Mary.

He stared at the charred and burned building. Then, he sighed again. Nothing to do but to look and see if there was anything salvageable from it. It wasn't likely, but there was a possibility. He couldn't afford the risk of missing something.

He climbed into the house. The whole porch had burned.

He looked around. It looked like there was nothing left. He had nothing.

The small ranch home had been all he and his mother had been able to afford when they'd come here in his childhood. He knew that there was very little worth keeping. It hadn't been a nice house twenty years ago. It probably hadn't ever been a nice house. It had only become worse with time. Cosmetic repairs were beyond what Tim could afford and he wasn't very handy. So the house had degraded. Probably, the townspeople had done him a favor in destroying it.

He kept telling himself that.

He walked through the tiny living room. The sofa bed where he'd slept was nothing but melted plastic and blackened metal springs. The old TV was melted into a plastic shell. So was the computer. It had been old, but he had taught himself on it, and there was no way he could afford another. His meager earnings hadn't allowed him to save much. He walked into the kitchen.

There was more metal in here; so there was more that had survived the blaze. Not that it mattered. He saw the broken dishes. They'd clearly had fun breaking what wouldn't burn. Could his life be any worse? Tim didn't think so. It had already been bad for more years than he could count...and it had just got worse.

He walked out of the kitchen, through the living room to the only bedroom in the house. It was his mother's room. He had never slept in there, not even after his mother had died. He rarely even went into the room. It felt wrong. Now, he went in and saw that the fire had burned some of it, too, but it was strangely less-damaged than the rest of the house. Maybe the closed door had made a difference. He walked over to the remains of the bedside table. On the floor was a picture frame, he knelt down. The photo inside had been blackened, but somehow hadn't burned. He had no idea how that had happened.

It was a family. A family that really had never existed, but he still had the picture to support the lie of that family. All he had left of his life was a lie. He sat down on the floor and looked at it for a long time.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hey, Boss, we got a call about something in Hazard."

Gibbs looked up from his desk and raised an eyebrow at Tony.

"Hazard?"

"About an hour away."

"Why there?"

Tony shrugged. "There was a murder few days ago."

"Heard they arrested someone already."

"He was released. No real evidence, I guess, but everyone says he's guilty as sin."

Gibbs waited. When Tony didn't continue, he gestured.

"And?"

"Right. And there was a suggestion that he might have been railroaded, that there's more going on than it seems."

"Who's making the suggestion?"

"The guy who runs the city morgue."

"What?"

Tony hitched himself onto the desk, happy to explain.

"One Dr. Donald Mallard. He says that the guy who was arrested has been shunned by the town for years and they were all wanting to pin this on him, no matter what was found."

"What did the sheriff say about this?"

"Well, Dr. Mallard said that the sheriff was the worst of the bunch."

"Oh." Now, it was becoming clear. This man didn't seem to want to make an outright accusation against the sheriff, but he wanted something to be done. "We have clearance to go?"

"Yep. Already asked Morrow about it and he said he'd allow it for now. I believe he said that we were supposed to try to avoid stepping on anyone's toes."

"Yeah, right." He looked at the paperwork on his desk. He hated filling out reports. He was happy to put them off in lieu of looking into whatever this was. "Well, let's go."

"Right behind you, Boss," Tony said with a grin.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

After a while, he heard a car pull up to the house. He wondered what the sheriff would want now. To arrest him again? Maybe they were coming to make sure he had no choice but to leave. Maybe they were ready to force him. He wouldn't be surprised. They'd been waiting for a chance like this.

Why am I staying here, anyway? I hate this place.

But he knew why, and there was nowhere else to go.

"Timothy? Are you in here?"

Tim sighed and got up, tucking the photo into his pocket. He walked back to the front and saw Ducky standing on the ground, looking inside.

"I heard you'd been released."

"What are you doing here?" Tim asked.

"I'm sorry about this, Timothy."

Tim let out a humorless laugh. "Unless you were one of the people wielding a torch and a pitchfork, you have nothing to be sorry about."

"I'm still sorry."

Tim scoffed at him. "Well, thanks. You said what you had to say. You can go home. I'm already home."

"What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know. I don't think I'll get very good resale value on this place."

"No, probably not."

Tim jumped down to the ground and looked over. They hadn't burned out his junker of a car although they'd left their mark in other ways.

MURDERER! FREAK!

"Do you think they got it out of their system now?" Tim asked. "Seems like they were happy to leave my car in good condition. I guess that's their way of saying they want me gone."

"Will you leave?"

Another laugh. "Where would I go, Ducky? I don't have any money. I don't have much education, and I certainly am not going to get any referrals from anyone in this place. ...and when they search in my background they'll find..." Tim shook his head, not willing to bring that up. "I still own this land. It's mine. They can't take it away."

Ducky looked at him shrewdly but didn't ask him to elaborate on what he hadn't said. Ducky was the closest thing to a friend he had in this stinking hole.

Now that Mary was dead.

"I didn't ask you to help me, Ducky," Tim said. "I didn't ask you to come here."

"I know you didn't. You never ask. However, I am offering my help if you'll accept it. You can't stay here."

"Why not? The roof hasn't collapsed yet."

"Timothy, come and stay the night at my home."

Tim looked at his house and then looked back at Ducky. He didn't want to say it out loud. He didn't want to ask the question.

It slipped out anyway.

"She was there. In the morgue. Wasn't she."

"Yes."

The false bravado vanished. "I swear that I didn't do anything to her, Ducky. The last time I saw her, she was alive. I wouldn't have ever..."

"I know that, Timothy."

Tim took a deep breath. He hadn't seen her body, but he knew where they'd found her.

In the river.

"Come. There is nothing to be gained by staying here."

Tim finally nodded. He had nothing to gather up. No possessions. So he followed Ducky to his car and got in. They drove to Ducky's house on the other side of town.

"You know, they might decide to take it out on you for being nice to me," Tim said.

"I'm not worried."

"Congratulations," Tim said.

He got out of the car and followed Ducky inside.

"Have a seat there, lad. I'll make dinner."

"I don't need dinner."

"Yes, you do. You may choose not to eat it, but you do need it."

Tim stalked over to the couch and plunked himself down on it. He heard Ducky puttering around in the kitchen and he let his mind wander through his whole miserable life.