A/N: This is a two-shot that makes use of my OC Father Charles, a Catholic priest. He also appears in On That Night and A Fire into Many Flames Divided. Basically, Tim and the team were in a serious car accident in On That Night and Tim was the driver. Because of the guilt he felt, he ended up at Father Charles' church and Father Charles has helped him with the guilt he feels about the accident because Tony, Ziva and Gibbs were all seriously injured. That's all you need to know for this, but you can read the two oneshots that precede it if you'd like. I don't mind. :)

As with my last story, I received a lot of help from Nzie, but any errors that remain are my own.

Disclaimer: While Father Charles is my own creation, I lay no claim to NCIS, the characters or the franchise. I'm not making money off this story.

Let Nothing Frighten You
by Enthusiastic Fish

Chapter 1

It would be a cold night tonight. In spite of the fact that the Metro area rarely got extremely cold, there had been a cold snap, and Father Charles knew that it would be cold. It being Halloween, he smiled as he imagined all the children forced to wear jackets over or under their costumes as they went trick-or-treating. There had been a trunk-or-treat earlier in the evening just outside the church. Father Charles knew that many were unlikely to give up the secular Halloween traditions and so he made sure that he helped shape the traditions to keep them away from the more dangerous side of Halloween, the times when people would allow themselves to dabble in parts of the pagan tradition of the holiday.

The kids, of course, didn't think about any of that. They were probably mostly thinking that they had a chance to get more candy because they could come here and then hit their neighborhoods after dark. Ah, well. If it gave them a connection to the church, no matter how tenuous, he would support it. There were limits, of course, but a simple little party for kids wasn't surpassing those limits. ...he hoped. No one had said anything against it so far...and he had enough people in his parish that he could rely on someone getting irate enough to report him if they were upset.

He had made the decision to hold Mass tonight. He knew it would be much smaller than most, but he had a few families who wanted some other way to celebrate the eve of All Saints Day. Except for those few who dabbled in seances and the like, Father Charles didn't feel that Halloween posed any harm to their mortal souls, but he could understand the worry and he was more than happy to help them do something more with their time. He also had more than a few who would expect Mass tonight, and Father Charles wouldn't dare disappoint them. He knew he'd hear about it if he didn't. The Mass would be short, but he would leave the church open for those who wanted to pray afterwards. He himself had felt the need for a longer vigil and so would be in the church late, actually all night. He would wait and see if any others felt that need.

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

"Almighty Father,
Even though we walk
through the valley of
the shadow of death,
we fear no evil,
for Your Son
our Lord Jesus Christ,
has conquered
evil and death,
illuminating even the darkest valley.
Therefore, we beg you:
Protect us from the enemy,
Defend us from all evil,
and give us the grace,
to walk in the light of your Son,
who lives and reigns,
with you and the Holy Spirit,
one God, forever and ever. Amen."

There was a wonderful spirit to the Mass. It was not well-attended (as he'd expected), but those who came were listening with quiet devotion. Even the few children who were there were on their best behavior. Not dressed in costumes, although most of the parents he had spoken to had said that they'd be going out trick-or-treating after the Mass. As he gave the readings, Father Charles had to admit that his mind was on two different topics. First, he was enjoying the preparation for All Saints Day, but second, he was considering the day of Halloween itself. He had gone back and forth on the holiday for many years.

At the end of the Mass, he announced that the church would be open all night for those who wished to pray in preparation for the feast of All Saints. While Easter was his favorite day to celebrate, he loved celebrating the saints. He had made time to study hagiography. In fact, it was his preferred method of relaxation, given the option. He had a number of books on the lives of various saints.

For now, he would take what time he had tonight to meditate and pray in preparation for the next day.

He walked back and removed his vestments and then returned to the front. When he got there, he saw a familiar figure lighting a candle. He smiled and walked over.

"Tim McGee," he said.

Tim turned and smiled, although he looked a bit ragged. There was a long cut across his forehead which had been stitched closed and there was bruising in the same area. His nose was a little misshapen as well. Not quite as bad as at Christmas, but it was bad enough.

"Evening, Father."

"What happened?"

Tim rolled his eyes a little.

"I fell. Or rather, I was pushed rather violently and didn't get the chance to break my fall...at least not with anything besides my face."

"It looks painful."

"It was. Doesn't hurt nearly as much now."

"May I ask the circumstances?"

"Pretty typical for me," Tim said. "Pursuit of a suspect, only Tony and I got separated. When I was coming back to regroup, the guy found me. We grappled a bit and he got a good shove in. I hit the edge of a metal grating with my forehead and only barely missed breaking my nose. Knocked me right out."

"When was this?"

"Last week."

"You seem to be feeling better than you must have been."

"I am. A lot better. I missed most of the first day after. Concussion. I was here for the Mass. It was nice."

"I'm surprised to see you on Halloween night, actually. I would have thought the holiday would keep you busy, even in the Navy."

"Normally, yes, but...with what happened before...I had a concussion then, too. There's apparently a risk of long-term effects if I go back too soon, especially if I were to get another knock on the head before all the symptoms are gone, and I still have headaches. Gibbs was there when the doctor was explaining it and he wouldn't even listen to me suggest that I come back quickly, not even at my desk. He's been...more cautious about stuff like this since...Christmas."

Tim took a breath, and Father Charles could see that there was still a bit of a shadow in regards to the car accident that had introduced them. Still, the shadow was much less and when he had first spoken, it had been almost absent. It was the mentioning now.

"Still having trouble?"

"Not nearly as much," Tim said, not bothering to pretend he didn't know what Father Charles meant. "Just sometimes I still get...a little worked up about it. You wouldn't even know it had happened now. Tony and Ziva are fine. Gibbs is fine."

"And you?"

Tim smiled. "Most of the time, I'm fine, too."

"That's good. I'm glad to hear it."

"Do you do anything else to celebrate Halloween?" Tim asked.

"I'm going to keep a vigil tonight."

"All night?" Tim asked.

Father Charles smiled and nodded. "Yes."

"But...why?"

"In preparation for All Saints Day which is tomorrow."

"But do you really need to stay up all night?"

"I don't think your job is always operating on normal hours, correct?"

"Yeah, very correct."

"Even to the point of staying at work all night long?"

"Yeah, but that's only when it's absolutely necessary."

Father Charles smiled and put a gentle hand on Tim's shoulder.

"Exactly."

Tim gave him a skeptical look.

"Tim, you have, unfortunately, fallen into the same trap as many others before you and as many more will after."

"What trap is that?"

"The trap of feeling as though, because I am speaking of a religious activity, that it is automatically free of any obligations, that everything is optional and isn't really important. My service is just as optional as yours when you go to work. It's just that my service doesn't involve pursuing suspects. It's about worshipping God and serving His people."

Tim flushed. "I didn't mean to insult you or..."

"Oh, I'm not insulted. Not at all. Just making a point."

"Father?"

Father Charles looked back over Tim's shoulder and saw one of his parish.

"Just a moment, Tim. I'll be back."

"Of course."

Tim sat down on one of the pews while Father Charles walked to the younger man. He was recently baptized and still a little uncertain about what he'd chosen.

"What can I do for you, Dallin?"

"I couldn't come for the Mass. I'm sorry. I just got off work."

"It's all right. That's fine."

"But...I wanted to ask..."

"What is it?"

"Halloween."

Father Charles smiled. "You're not condemned for enjoying the holiday."

Dallin fidgeted a little.

"It's just that I've read some things about Halloween being entirely secular and pagan and...and some of my friends have been asking and..."

Father Charles shook his head.

"Don't worry. Of course there are parts of the current perception of Halloween that you should avoid, seances, blood sacrifices and the extreme stuff. However, dressing up in a costume and going to a party is not wrong. Nor is trick-or-treating, although I think that you're probably too old for that."

Dallin smiled weakly.

"I just want to do it right."

"And God knows that. You'll mess up, and that's okay. That's why you can repent...but you don't need to worry about Halloween."

Dallin let out a breath.

"Okay. Thanks. Sorry to be a bother."

"You're not. Just relax and enjoy yourself."

"Thanks, Father."

"My pleasure."

Dallin left the church and Father Charles walked back to Tim.

"So, Tim, what are your plans for the rest of this Halloween night?"

"I don't know," Tim said. "I've been having a hard time taking the week off, and I know that there will be other things going on at work...and I have to sit around."

"Well, you don't have to just sit around, you know," Father Charles said with a smile. "I'm sure you have other things you could be doing."

Tim laughed a little. "Yeah, I do. I'm just sulking. Would you call that a sin?"

"Taken to extremes, yes, but a few moments of self-indulgent self-pity are acceptable. I wouldn't even give you a Hail Mary as penance."

"Thanks. Happy Halloween. Enjoy your vigil."

Tim got up and shook Father Charles' hand. Then, he headed out of the church. Father Charles smiled after him. It was always nice to see Tim. Of course, he hoped to convince Tim to convert eventually, but regardless, he was happy that Tim kept coming when he could, that at a time when he didn't know what to do, he chose to make the trek out to this church to attend Mass.

He walked to the altar and knelt in prayer. He loved Mass. He loved helping and serving his flock, but there were times when he just basked in the holy space that he was privileged to oversee for a while.

He only had it to himself for a couple of minutes. He heard a sound from the back.

Father Charles stood up and looked back. A group of...costumed people were coming in (he guessed young adults by their sizes, and males by their voices), looking more than a little suspicious. They were all wearing masks, talking loudly. There was a hockey mask, a strange ghost mask, a frightening clown mask and a skull mask. None were particularly nice-looking. He was instantly on his guard. However, as he approached, he kept his manner pleasant.

"Good evening. Can I help you?" he asked.

The hockey mask started laughing. Unpleasant laughter.

"You seem a bit old for trick-or-treating, but I might be able to find something."

Then, the clown made himself much more unlikeable by pulling out a gun and pointing it at him.

"I think you will find something, Father," he said. "Your life depends on it."

"I'll keep that in mind," Father Charles said, trying to keep himself calm without showing his fear. "Do you want me to put my hands in the air?"

"No, we want you to give us the money you have somewhere in here," the ghost mask said.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Father Charles said.

The clown aimed the gun at him.

"Wrong answer."

Father Charles thought that he was about to be killed and he started to pray for absolution, knowing that, if he was shot, he wouldn't have the chance to have another priest administer to him. He made the sign of the cross.

...and then, unexpectedly, the clown was thrown forward, his gun flying from his hand.

The reason for that quickly became obvious. Someone had tackled him. In the struggle, Father Charles couldn't tell who it was, but the fight didn't last long. Before Father Charles could even think about trying to help, it was over as the other ghouls pulled the man away.

As soon as he was pulled to his feet, Father Charles gasped in surprise.

"Tim!"

Tim smiled a little but then focused on the invaders.

"Leave him alone," he said.

"Who's going to stop us? You?"

"I just did," Tim said, with a smile. "Maybe not permanently, but I did. This man is a priest! You're in a church! Are you really going to kill him?"

To Father Charles' surprise, that seemed to make the masked attackers pause.

Then, the moment passed and the ghost and the hockey mask twisted Tim's arm behind him and shoved him forward.

"Listen, just leave here and nothing more will happen," Tim said. "We haven't seen who you are, and we won't go after you. Just let us go and leave, and it will be fine."

The clown laughed derisively.

"Get back, to the altar, Father," the hockey mask ordered. "Away from the door. Let's not have any other people noticing." He pulled the front door closed.

Father Charles moved, as much because he didn't want anything to happen to Tim as because he was willing to do what they said. One of his continued weaknesses was his stubbornness. His mother had always said he was too stubborn to be a Catholic priest. He didn't like to submit to anyone. How could he be willing to submit to God? He had always said that he knew God would get everything right. He couldn't be so sure about people. And these people were clearly people he shouldn't submit to.

When they reached the relatively-secluded altar holding the candles, the ghost mask shoved Tim against the wall, still with his arm twisted behind him.

"Give us the money and we'll leave you here," the hockey mask said.

"There are some coins in the donation box right there," Father Charles said. "You can take it."

The clown pointed the gun at him again.

"You've had a fundraiser. There's a lot more than that!"

"Not here," Father Charles said. "Most of that money is in the bank."

"Most. Not all."

Father Charles was glad that almost all of it was in the bank, but there was still a fairly hefty sum still waiting to be deposited back in his office. There had been some generous offerings in the last couple of days.

"That money does not belong to you."

"It will once you give it to us."

"Father..." Tim said from his uncomfortable position against the wall.

"No, Tim. These men are not asking to steal from me. They're asking to steal from God. I can't allow that."

Tim struggled against the ghost mask.

The skull mask, who had been hanging back up to this point, came forward now and grabbed Father Charles by the arm and yanked him toward the altar where a few little candles were burning.

"Maybe we'll make you tell us where it is," he said.

He started to force Father Charles' face toward the altar. Father Charles struggled to keep away from the lit candles.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tim break away from the ghost mask and lunge at the skull mask. The skull mask shoved Father Charles to the side. He fell to the floor as Tim tried to fight for an upper hand.

He might have made it, but the clown mask was grabbing the gun again. He looked ready to hit Tim on the head, rather than shoot him. Father Charles remembered what Tim had said about the possibility of serious, even permanent damage, if he sustained another head injury before healing from the most recent one. He leapt to his feet as quickly as he could and stepped in between Tim and the clown mask.

...so instead of hitting Tim, the gun came down on Father Charles' head. He fell to the floor, unconscious.