A/N: Written for the NFA Where Have You Gone? Challenge. Someone had to be missing from NCIS. This oneshot is...almost a deathfic...but not quite. I can't explain any further without giving it away. It has kind of a Twilight Zone feel to it, I think. It takes place after Probie in Season 3.

Disclaimer: Not mine! Not mine! I do not now, nor will I ever own NCIS be it real or fictional...and it's a shame. Recognizable dialogue belongs to DPB.

Gone Beyond Reach
by Enthusiastic Fish

"You know, maybe we should check on McGee," Ziva suggested. "He has seemed rather down lately."

"Check on him?" Gibbs asked vaguely.

"Yes. I think something may be wrong."

"Where is the Probester?" Tony asked.

"He called in sick."

"He was late for work yesterday. That is not normal," Ziva insisted. "I think he is still bothered by–"

"Oh, come on," Tony scoffed. "It's been weeks since..."

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

The universe paused, held its breath.

Probie ended. ...but it didn't really. Tim was left in limbo, not knowing what had really happened, having to live with that ignorance for the rest of his life. He moved on, managed to get past it. ...but what if he didn't, what if he couldn't? This is that story.

"Where's McGee?" Ziva asked.

"How should I know?" Tony asked. "I just got here."

"You are his friend."

"So are you. Why don't you know?"

"I called him before I left, to see if he wanted a ride, but he did not answer. I assumed he was here ahead of me. Something is not right about him."

x.x.x.

Moments. Mere moments. It would come and then it would end. That was all.

x.x.x

"Where's McGee?" Gibbs asked as he walked down the stairs.

"What is it that you do up there, Boss?" Tony asked. "You're sure up there a lot."

Gibbs glared.

"Which is none of my business. We don't know where the Probie is. He is AWOL. Maybe you should ask Abby."

x.x.x

No one knew. That was important. Anyone would try and stop him if they knew. This was the only end. The only way to break the impasse.

x.x.x

"Gibbs, where's Tim?"

"I don't know, Abby."

"He said he was going to help me with some computer stuff today! Why isn't he here?" Abby stamped her foot impatiently.

"Ziva thinks there's something wrong."

"Well, how often have you known McGee to be late?" Ziva asked pointedly.

That stilled them all.

x.x.x

Yes. All had left. Everything ready.

Certainty at la–...

x.x.x

It was only an hour later.

Gibbs hung up the phone, silent as the grave.

"What is wrong, Gibbs?" Ziva asked.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Boss." Tony stood up, worried at Gibbs' expression.

"We have a dead body. Apparent suicide."

"Where?"

"Silver Spring."

Somehow, no matter how large Silver Spring might be, no matter how many people might currently be there...somehow they knew exactly where he meant.

"No," Ziva said.

"Yes." Gibbs stood up. "Grab your gear. Call Ducky."

Neither of them moved.

He didn't shout. "Let's go."

x.x.x

Tony remembered the last time he'd been here...the night after Tim had shot Benedict. It looked so different now. There was dust...a lot of dust where before it had been clean. The typewriter...on the floor...in pieces. In its normal position on the desk was a single handwritten sheet.

As they moved slowly to the next room, Ziva remembered all the times she had thought of dropping by...and never had. Tim had seemed off and she had noticed, but she had never asked, had never tried to find out. One visit would have shown her how badly he was doing. The apartment felt like a...like a tomb.

Gibbs did not want to see, but he knew he had to. Tim had been missing...and he'd been found, only he was gone beyond any of their reach now. As he rounded the bed, he saw the remains of his youngest agent. He had positioned himself on a tarp, much like that often used by Ducky to move bodies around. Gibbs felt his throat tighten as he realized Tim had done all this to make the investigation easier.

"There's a note, Boss," Tony said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What..." Gibbs tore his eyes away from Tim's body. "What does it say?"

Ziva was the one who read it, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"It's like an unending nightmare, the months since that night. Nothing can happen; nothing can progress as long as I don't know. ...and I'll never know in this life because there's no way to find out. I don't get to know if I'm a murderer or simply incompetent. I don't know which is worse. The only way to stop this limbo in which I'm living is to stop living. That's the decision I've made. I'm not going to live with the uncertainty. Once I'm dead, either there's nothing or else I can find out from someone hanging around up there. I have to know. I have to stop it. There needs to be an end to this story. So I'm ending it."

She stuttered to a stop, a few tears escaping from her control.

Ducky and Jimmy arrived a few minutes later, both nearly mute. There were no jokes, no complaints, nothing. The silence in Tim's apartment left them all desolate. Every time, their path took them around the bed to where he lay, another tear would fall down Ziva's cheek; Tony would look at the closet instead; Gibbs would stare, wondering how things could have been so bad without him realizing it. Ducky and Jimmy treated Tim with more courtesy than a monarch, gently moving the body bag, not speaking.

"Duck?" Gibbs asked, his voice hoarse.

"Suicide appears to be...correct," Ducky said. "But...we'll have to wait until I get him...home."

"Time of death?"

"Perhaps two hours at the most."

Jimmy was pale but composed. He stared at the bullet hole, the powder burns around the edges and wondered, stupidly, if Tim had had the time to feel them before he died.

"Mr. Palmer?"

Jimmy just stared. Tim's eyes were closed. Without the hole, he could almost be sleeping.

"Mr. Palmer?"

Jimmy looked at Ducky.

"Come. Let's take him home."

"Y-Yes...Dr. Mallard."

"It's all right, lad. Carefully now."

"Yes, Doctor."

Jimmy couldn't suppress a soft sound, perhaps a moan, as Ducky zipped up the bag, hiding Tim's face from them all. He could have sworn he heard another sound from someone else in the room...a whimper, quickly stifled. Then, he and Ducky lifted Tim's body onto the gurney. He strapped it down and tried not to think about who was inside.

x.x.x

The mood in NCIS was one of shock, horror. A stupid, senseless death. Could it have been prevented? That was the question everyone was asking in silence...just not out loud. Those who had known Tim best were all crowded in the bullpen, sitting or standing...or, in Abby's case, pacing. All of them were thinking about the body down in Autopsy...coincidentally being stored in the same drawer as Kate's body had been. Drawer 107.

"We should have known," Tony said, first.

"How did we miss it?" Ziva asked.

"Why did he hide it?" Abby asked.

Jimmy, Ducky and Gibbs didn't speak. Jimmy was still too shocked at having participated in the autopsy of someone he had known fairly well to think of anything to say. Ducky was sure that he would have cried had he tried to speak. Gibbs...was numbed, still unable to believe that he had lost a team member in such a way. Kate's death had been bad enough...but this?

Torn apart by grief, by loss.

The universe resumed its normal course, exhaling reality.

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

Tony stopped in the middle of what he was saying. For just a moment, he was sure that he had seen the end result of Tim's suicide. The look on Ziva's face made him think that she was feeling the same way...but then, the moment passed.

"Maybe you're right," he found himself saying. "Let's make sure he's okay after work."

Ziva nodded, looking relieved.

Gibbs looked at the two of them for a long moment; then, looking down the file sitting open on his desk, he said, "Call me after you're done talking."

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

Tim sat in the dark. More and more, he found himself dwelling on that night, on those horrible moments when he had pulled the trigger, not once but three times. It was the uncertainty that was slowly tearing him apart from the inside out. He didn't know how to talk about it to anyone. They didn't seem bothered by those things. Even Abby hadn't understood. Hugs couldn't help him. They couldn't solve the unsolvable. He had been too troubled to clean or to type or anything for days. He would come home and sit around, staring aimlessly into the past, wishing he could change it all. Desperately wanting to take back what he'd done. If nothing else, he just wanted to know what he'd actually done.

There was a knock and it jolted him out of his stupor and he walked slowly, warily to the door, looking through the peephole. Tony...and Ziva. In surprise, he opened the door, embarrassingly aware of his less-than-immaculate grooming, of the state of his apartment, of the fact that there were no lights on and the sun had set about an hour ago.

"What's up, guys?" he asked.

"What's wrong, McGee?" Tony asked.

Tim was going to say that nothing was wrong, that he was fine, but the words stuck in his throat.

"Tell us, McGee. We are concerned," Ziva said.

Tim stood back and let them enter. He turned on the lights and heard their stifled gasps of dismay. There was no hiding it.

"What's wrong, Tim?" Tony asked again.

Tim turned around and he felt the tears building up, the tears he'd never shed before, the tears he'd always hidden from them. With a long sigh, he sank down onto his computer chair and began to cry, telling them about how he felt, the anguish of not knowing, the knowledge that he'd never know whether or not he was the killer, how he couldn't get past it...how he'd even begun thinking about suicide.

They stayed and listened late into the night. Talking to him, listening to him. ...and then, at the end, taking him with them to stay the night with Ziva so that he wouldn't be alone. It took time. It took effort on all their parts, but as the weeks passed, there was a feeling in the air that they'd dodged a bullet...or that Tim had.

In the moment when the universe paused, Tim was buried, a victim of suicide brought by severe depression. In the moment when reality resumed its usual course, there was a feeling. Was it real? Or was it just the concern of friends? That is a question that cannot be answered. However, sometimes the difference between being out of reach and being pulled to safety is a margin of inches...or seconds. One moment when concern is acted upon. One moment when a worry is not ignored...and the world turns on such moments. Lives are saved or lost in such moments...

Tim tried being earnest. "Look, a women's life is at stake here, okay? I need to know where you got the phone." He paused, looked at the unsympathetic expression of a person who had not yet been hit by the realities of life. He decided to hit him...figuratively-speaking, of course. "Tim and Dan, they must be pretty scared of you, huh?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Come on. They're obviously geeks. We used to shove them into lockers. Pull their gym shorts off in class. Drop their books down the toilet. It was even better if they start crying, right?"

"Or wet their pants."

The payoff just got better and better. "Yeah, well that, too. You know what the best part is? When you get older, you're not going to remember their names, but you know what? They're always going to remember yours. That's pretty cool, huh?"

"You know, I really haven't thought about it too much."

Here it came. "Well, I have. You know why? Because I was one of those kids. And I've been looking forward to this day my entire life, dirtbag."

"But I didn't do anything!" he protested, no longer looking cool.

"I've got you for aiding and abetting a kidnapping, interfering with a federal investigation, and selling stolen property. Do you know what that means? That means they can try you as an adult, Geck. And when you're in prison, every night when you're crying yourself to sleep, I want you to think of me, tough guy. We're done here. See you in court." He stood up to leave.

Jason Geckler caved faster than a sinkhole. "Wait, wait, wait, wait. Look, I found it, all right? I can show you where."

One moment...and how many lives saved from moving beyond reach?

FINIS!