A/N: This was written for the NFA Secret Santa Fic Exchange. The request was for an angsty Tim-centered fic with a Gibbs basement scene. It's pretty intense for Christmas time, but there's an uplifting message there.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the NCIS characters. The song quoted at the end is by Michael Farr. I am making no money off this story.
Healing Wounds
by Enthusiastic Fish
"There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with."
Harry Crews
The chaos had begun to subside. The smoke was clearing. ...and the last ambulance had finally pulled away. ...leaving the dead behind.
A few flakes of snow were falling from the sky, trying to cover the scene, obscure the horror.
Probably, there would be a lot of political fallout from this, but right now, all that mattered was what they had seen, what had been done.
The price that had been paid.
Ellie and Tony were both at the hospital. Ducky and Jimmy were taking care of the bodies. Metro was there. The FBI was there.
There was a hint of sunlight. That's all. Just a hint. Weak light trying to pierce through the thick clouds.
Finally, Gibbs had a chance to breathe. As the lead investigator, he had been required to do a lot more coordinating than usual. This was the first time in the last few hours that he'd had a moment to think about something else.
Someone else.
He looked around, trying to find the person he knew would be there. He didn't see him and so he started walking. He saw Ducky kneeling down over a body that was much too small to be there.
The one he was looking for was there.
Tim was standing there, staring at the body of a young boy, his expression completely blank. Gibbs hadn't seen him since Tony and Ellie had been loaded into ambulances.
"This is the last one, Jethro," Ducky said in a sad voice. "I sent Mr. Palmer over to help the FBI. With his new son, I felt that he didn't need to see this, and Timothy offered to help."
Gibbs nodded mutely.
"How did this happen, Jethro?"
"Don't know, Duck."
Tim still hadn't said a word. He just silently helped Ducky put the body into a bag. One of too many. The only positive thing that could be said right now was that there had been survivors. Many more had survived than had died. ...and while he could be glad for the survivors, they didn't outweigh all those who had been lost.
"Thank you for your help, Timothy."
Tim nodded without speaking.
"That will be all."
Another nod and Tim walked away.
As he prepared to wheel the body to the truck, Ducky looked from Gibbs to Tim's departing frame.
"He was the first on the scene," Gibbs said. "Called everyone else here."
"Of course. Are there any numbers yet?"
"Five dead...from the bus. Two on the sidewalk."
"And the others?"
"Tony and Ellie should make it. It's serious, but they were both stable when Abby called."
"Thank goodness for small favors."
"Yeah."
"Such a tragedy."
"Yeah."
"One man. Just one man."
Gibbs nodded.
Ducky sighed heavily and then looked down at the bag.
"This will be a very hard Christmas for everyone."
"Yeah."
"I hope never to see anything like this again."
Ducky carefully rolled the stretcher back to the truck, leaving Gibbs to look around the scene. The school bus. The car. The blood on the snow. It told the tragic story better than any words.
A man with a monumental chip on his shoulder, a reject from the Marine Corps. Children on a field trip. He'd rammed the bus and then started shooting.
And Tim had been there. He'd reacted instantly. Called it in. Tried to get people to safety. NCIS had been first there after because it had happened on M Street. Metro had responded. The FBI had responded but too late to get there for anything but the aftermath.
There had been one attempt at negotiation. Only one.
Then, he had started shooting.
Tim had fired the final shot, but not soon enough to keep him from killing children cowering on the bus, unable to get away.
The man was dead, and they'd found explosives in his car, along with a small arsenal in the back seat. He was ready for an all out assault...whatever his target had been.
What he'd done was bad enough.
Gibbs took a breath and let it out all at once. It would take a long time for this scene to fade from his mind.
He looked around and saw Tim. He'd walked to the entrance to the park and was sitting on the concrete planters. Staring at the ground with something in his hands.
Gibbs walked over. Tim looked up at him and said nothing. He just held out a small winter hat. Small enough for an eight-year-old. Gibbs took it and turned it over in his hands. He sat down beside Tim who resumed staring at the ground. They were both quiet for a while.
"I don't know whose it is," Tim said, softly, speaking for the first time. "It was just on the ground. By the bus."
"Probably hard to find the owner. It's pretty basic."
"Yeah. Probably. Probably doesn't matter anyway."
Tim held out his hand for it, and Gibbs passed it back.
"Probably not."
"Ellie and Tony?"
"They're going to make it."
"Good."
Tim was still staring at the ground. Gibbs let him.
"There wasn't any blood on it. Maybe, the kid who lost it is still alive," Tim said.
"Probably is. Most of them got away."
"But not all."
"No."
"How many?" Tim asked.
"Will the numbers really help?"
"No."
Gibbs smiled a little. Of course the numbers wouldn't help. Didn't mean that Tim didn't want to know them, anyway.
"Two people were killed on the sidewalk. Five of the kids from the bus. Fifteen were injured when he rammed the bus. A few of them are serious. The other 30 just got a few bruises or cuts."
"They got more than that," Tim said. "They got nightmares to last them the rest of their lives."
Just like you, Gibbs thought.
"What's left to do?" Tim asked.
"Nothing, right now."
"Nothing?"
"He wasn't technically NCIS jurisdiction since he'd been rejected from the Marines. FBI and Metro are on scene. Vance wants us hands off as much as possible."
"Why? He's already dead. What else would we do wrong?" Tim asked, and there was a hint of emotion in the question. Finally. But it was anger, not anything else that it could be.
"It's politics, McGee. Besides, with Tony and Ellie in the hospital, we aren't ready to do it ourselves anyway."
Tim nodded.
"So...now what?"
"Now, we can go."
"Okay."
Tim got up and walked away from Gibbs with a pace that said very clearly that he was trying to leave Gibbs behind. At this point, Gibbs wasn't sure the best course of action. Tim needed to decompress. He needed to deal with what had happened, what he'd seen and done, but would that best be done in solitude or in company? Quite frankly, Gibbs wasn't sure. Even after all the years they'd worked together, Gibbs wasn't quite sure what would work best. Tim didn't seek him out like the others often did. All of them...except for Ellie who was still too new to try it. The only time Tim really had was when he felt as though he had to repay Gibbs for pushing him out of the way of the car. Then, it hadn't been because Tim wanted anything from him. He just wanted to give something back, and Gibbs had made it very difficult for him to do.
So Gibbs watched him show his badge to the officer on duty and then get into his car and drive away.
A last look around at something that he wouldn't be able to forget for a long time. Then, he headed for the hospital, thinking that Tim would be there.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Tim walked into his apartment, unsure of what to do with himself. He should have gone to the hospital, but right now, he just wanted to be alone. Quiet. Silent. Away from the chaos that he'd find in a hospital. He didn't want to face noise and clamor. He wanted quiet.
No sirens. No gunfire. No screams. No blood. No children begging for help.
No death.
He knew that there would always be death in the world and, as soon as he thought something was the worst it could be, something else would come along that was worse.
He knew that because this had displaced the worst from before.
What had been the worst? Tim wasn't sure, now. All he knew was that this was the worst, now. No matter what it had been before, this was worse...and he didn't want to think about what could possibly be worse than this.
He was tempted to turn off his phone so that he could ensure his solitude and quiet, but he didn't dare do that. So he didn't. He set it on the counter and walked back to his bedroom. He wished that he hadn't agreed to loan Jethro to a local therapy dog group. He'd had the training for it from a friend of Tim's...who also ran the group. He had agreed to let her borrow Jethro for a week when she had lost one of the other dogs she usually used.
He didn't want noise, but he would have liked having his dog here. But he didn't. No changing that.
Tim sat down on the bed and looked at the hat he'd brought home with him. He hadn't really planned on that. Oh, well. Like he'd told Gibbs, it wasn't likely that he could find who it belonged to. It was a stocking cap. What did it matter? It probably cost two bucks. Easy to replace.
...if the kid was still alive.
Tim took a deep breath. They'd all get debriefed, probably tomorrow. He wouldn't resist or anything, but he was much happier just to be in the quiet, right now.
So fast. It had all been so fast...and yet, taking forever. It had been one of the longest days he'd ever experienced.
He got up and wandered around his apartment, trying different things by turns. He sat at his typewriter but decided he didn't feel like typing. He sat at his computer but the last thing he wanted was to play any of his usual games. He went into the kitchen, but he really didn't feel like eating right now. He went back to the bedroom and turned on the TV, but no. He didn't want to watch TV.
In the end, he sat down on his bed again and did nothing.
For hours.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Gibbs left the hospital. Tim had never come, and he didn't want to point it out because he didn't want Abby freaking out at him. Ducky had come when he could, but Jimmy had gone home to be with his family.
Tony and Ellie would be all right in time. Right now, visiting was restricted. Ellie's husband was with her, and Abby was Tony's medical contact...in part because Abby had fretted that Tony's dad wouldn't get there when it mattered. So she had permission to be told about him, along with Gibbs who could actually make decisions if necessary.
So they weren't alone, but Gibbs was worried about Tim. He decided to stop by and check on him before going home.
When he got there, Tim's car was in its usual space, but there were no lights on in Tim's apartment. Gibbs went to the door and knocked. At first, there was nothing. Then, he heard the sound of someone at the door. The chain clinked and Tim opened it, squinting a little in the light. He looked surprised to see Gibbs there.
"Boss? What's up? I didn't miss a call, did I? I didn't turn my phone off."
"No. I didn't call."
Gibbs started to think that he'd misjudged, that Tim was all right, but then, he noticed that Tim was still holding the hat he'd taken from the scene.
"You didn't come to the hospital at all."
Tim shook his head.
"I needed some...quiet. I knew people would be there, that they wouldn't be alone. If they hadn't had anyone, I would have gone, but I knew they wouldn't be alone there."
"But you would be, here?"
Tim nodded slowly and looked away.
"Was there anything else, Boss?"
Gibbs decided to change things up a little. He wasn't going to wait for Tim to come to him, even though that was his usual policy.
"Come on, Tim," he said.
Tim furrowed his brow.
"Where?"
"Come on."
Tim hesitated for a moment and then, nodded.
"Just a minute."
He went back in for a moment and then came out with his coat and keys. ...and the hat. He tucked it into his pocket as he walked out.
Gibbs led Tim to his car and then drove to his own home.
"What's going on, Boss?" Tim asked as he got out of the car.
Gibbs just gestured for Tim to follow. Tim did. They went down to the basement. Gibbs poured some bourbon in jars and handed one to Tim.
Tim took it and smiled a little.
"I'm not much for hard liquor, Boss."
"Then, don't drink much."
Tim shrugged and sipped at it. He made a face. For a few minutes, it was completely silent. Gibbs could see Tim wasn't going to start it.
"Feeling any better?" Gibbs asked.
"Because of this?" Tim asked, holding up the jar. "Not really. Tastes more like paint thinner."
Gibbs just raised an eyebrow. Tim met his gaze and then took a breath.
"Not really."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
Gibbs smiled and sipped at his own bourbon. Tim sat down on a stool.
"I saw him shoot that first kid," he said and then looked down at the floor. "There's...just something about...seeing a... seeing that. It's worse than an adult. Don't know why. It's still someone getting killed, but... It's worse."
"It is worse," Gibbs said.
Tim sighed and looked at the jar. He took another sip.
"What kind of a world do we live in, then?" Tim asked, suddenly looking angry. He stood up and walked away from Gibbs. "What kind of a person could he be when he hears those...kids crying. They're scared. They're hurt. They just want to be safe, to be home...and his response is to kill them! What kind of a person does that?"
He slammed the jar onto the counter and sloshed most of the bourbon out.
"What kind of person could look at kids as a target to kill and not someone to protect? What kind of a person wants to kill instead of looking at it as a necessity?" He turned around looking torn between grief and fury. "They were little kids on a field trip, Boss! They weren't doing anything wrong! They were having fun. They were enjoying their lives...and now... Now, some of them don't even have lives anymore! It's not like they'd done anything to him! It's not like they had hurt him or anything like that. It's not like he even had any justifiable reason for what he did! So he got kicked out of the Marine Corps! So what? What job rejection could possibly justify anything like that?"
Tim turned around again, but not before Gibbs caught a sheen of tears in Tim's eyes.
Tim let out a few choice swear words and then, he said nothing. He didn't go back to the bourbon. He just stood there, facing the wall.
"Nothing can justify it, Tim. Nothing. There's never any excuse."
Another silence.
"I...I thought... I thought I'd seen the worst already. I thought I'd... I thought that I could deal with anything that might happen in this job. After Delilah... After Dearing blew up the building. I figured that I could...deal with it all." There were a couple of shuddering breaths. "I can't, Boss. I can't stop seeing that little boy and I can't stop hearing all those kids screaming. Screaming for help. Screaming in pain. Screaming in fear. I just can't..."
Suddenly, he turned back around. No tears had fallen yet, but they were there.
"Could I have done something different, Boss?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Could I have done something that...that would have... changed things? Could I have stopped him somehow before..."
Gibbs could see it. Tim was having a genuine crisis. He didn't know how to deal with what he'd seen today. He was bouncing around from anger at the man who had done it, to grief at the ones who had died. Now, he was on self-doubt as he tried to wrap his mind around what had happened. One extreme to the next in an effort to get at how he felt and what he was supposed to do now. If he settled on the wrong thing, he could start questioning his own position.
He walked over and put his hands on Tim's shoulders and then, shook him just a little.
"No, Tim. You couldn't have changed things."
"Could someone else?" Tim whispered.
"No. The only one who could have changed this was him. He's the only one who could have stopped this from happening...and he didn't."
Tim sighed and looked down at the floor.
"There's just... no way to make this okay, Boss."
"No, there's not."
"How long does it take to get over it?"
"You can't, not really. You just have to learn how to deal with something that will always be hard."
Tim looked up, suddenly, and looked ashamed.
"I'm sorry, Boss."
"For what?"
"I didn't... This is probably worse for you than it could ever be for me. I'm sorry for not thinking about that."
Gibbs raised an eyebrow. He knew what Tim meant, but the last thing he wanted was for Tim to start berating himself because of that.
"Don't worry about it, Tim."
"But..."
"Don't worry about it. No apologies."
Tim looked up at the ceiling and then pulled away from Gibbs. He walked back to the stool and sat on it.
"I don't... know if I can..."
Gibbs walked over.
"Don't start thinking about that right now, Tim. No one feels like they can do the job after something like this. Take a few days, first."
"Do you?" Tim asked.
"What?"
"Feel like you can do the job?"
"I don't have much else, Tim. Most of my life is my job."
"But do you?"
Tim's persistence about things sometimes was frustrating. He wouldn't be put off by prevarication. He wanted a real answer.
Gibbs decided he had to be honest with Tim because his usual non-answers would only leave Tim feeling more like he couldn't handle the job, like he was too weak for it where others would just take it in stride.
"Every case is like that for me, Tim. I always wonder if I can keep doing the job."
Tim looked at him for a long time, trying to figure out whether or not Gibbs was telling the truth or just trying to make him feel better.
"Why do you think I always have a project going? It's something I can do to help me deal with it. No matter what happens. I can come home and have something I'm building."
"Instead of something being destroyed," Tim said softly.
"Yeah. That's why Jimmy went home to be with his family. Something living to get rid of the memories of someone dying."
"Nothing seemed right," Tim said, looking around the basement. "I tried. I really tried, but nothing was working. Nothing fit. Everything seemed wrong. ...and I'm not a carpenter."
Gibbs smiled.
"Not everyone is. You just have to figure that out. Something will fit for you. You'll find it."
Tim didn't look reassured at all. Gibbs supposed he couldn't blame him. This was worse than anything Tim had faced in a while. Even the drone attack that had led to Delilah's paralysis hadn't had the same sense of loss because Delilah had survived and because good memories with her after had mostly taken the place of the event itself. Tim had taken a few trips to Dubai. Delilah had come to visit him a couple of times. Things were working for him on that front. This was something completely different.
Tim looked at his coat, at the hat poking out of the pocket.
"Why keep it?" Gibbs asked.
"I don't know. I picked it up and I feel like... like I need to have it. I don't want to leave it or throw it away."
"Don't let this take over, Tim," Gibbs warned. "You have to leave it because it won't help those kids, either, if you started getting obsessed."
Tim started chewing the inside of his cheek.
"I was okay before you started making me talk about it," Tim said and forced a laugh.
"No, you weren't. Pretending you don't feel anything isn't any better."
Tim got up and walked over to his coat. He pulled out the hat and looked at it. He sniffed once.
"It's like... He threw their lives away for no reason. They didn't mean anything to him. I can't throw this away. It's still good. It doesn't have any holes in it. It's not torn." He paused and breathed for a few seconds. "This stupid little hat... means more to me than the lives of those kids did to him."
His shoulders slumped and the tears he'd been holding back finally fell down his cheeks. He wasn't sobbing. He was just crying silently as his mind moved from anger and exaggerated numbness to sadness. Gibbs let him. He didn't say anything or move. He just let Tim get out what he'd been trying to hold in.
After a minute or two, he took a shaky breath and wiped away the tears.
"Feel any better?"
"No. I don't think so," Tim said, but he smiled shakily.
Gibbs just nodded in understanding. He walked over and put an arm around Tim's shoulders. He directed him toward the stairs. Tim walked with him and then followed him up the stairs.
Gibbs pointed at the couch in the living room.
"Sleep here tonight. If you feel up to it, we can go to the hospital in the morning."
Tim looked like he might protest, but then, he just nodded. He sat down, kicked off his shoes and then, lay on the couch. Gibbs grabbed a blanket and a pillow and tossed them to Tim. Then, he went to the fireplace and started a fire. Once he was sure that it was going to stay lit for a while, he walked over to the chair by the couch and sat down. Tim looked at him without asking the obvious question.
"I like the fire," Gibbs said.
Tim smiled back and then, lay down. He stared at the flickering flames. Gibbs waited until Tim's eyes grew heavy and slipped closed. Then, he headed for his own bed.
It wasn't going to fix everything, but they had to start somewhere.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
One month later...
Tim took a deep breath. He wasn't sure about this. He had to. He had agreed, but at the same time, he wasn't sure. He stared at the two empty desks. Tony and Ellie were recovering, but not back yet. Soon.
"You ready to go, Tim?"
"No," Tim said, turning and facing Gibbs. "Boss, I'm not sure about this."
"Don't have be. You just have to go."
Tim smiled. That was Gibbs. Why mince words? Actually, Tim appreciated how much Gibbs had helped him find his feet again. He still hadn't really adjusted to it all, but he was getting better.
He took another deep breath.
"Let's go."
"Okay."
Tim and Gibbs walked out of NCIS and Gibbs drove them to the elementary school. Tim had been invited two days ago, and he had agreed, but...he really wasn't sure how he felt about this...which was why Gibbs had invited himself to come along.
Gibbs got out of the car. Tim didn't move.
Gibbs leaned in.
"Come on, Tim."
One more deep breath, and they walked to the office to check in. The secretary smiled.
"Oh, good. They're waiting for you in the multipurpose room. It's just down the hall. First door on your right."
"Thanks," Gibbs said.
Tim smiled but didn't speak.
"I'm not sure about this, Boss," he said again.
"Tim, this will help them...and it might help you, too."
Tim grimaced and nodded.
They walked into the multipurpose room. About forty kids were sitting on risers. Two were in wheelchairs beside the risers, three were sitting on chairs with crutches by them, and five had arms in slings.
There were a few adults in the room, but none of them had noticed. Gibbs cleared his throat. One of the adults turned around.
"Oh! You're here!"
"Agent Gibbs and Agent McGee, ma'am," Gibbs said.
"Of course! I'm Miss Lucy." She seemed flustered. "We were supposed to be watching for you to come in so we could start right on time. We don't want to keep you."
"It's all right," Gibbs said.
"All right. All right," she said and smiled. She turned around. "Okay, kids. Agent McGee is here! Everyone get into your places!"
Tim looked at Gibbs, wondering what was going to happen now that they were there. Gibbs just smiled.
Tim looked back at the kids, most of whom were staring at him avidly. Then, he noticed that there were two people with guitars.
They're going to sing, he realized.
It had only been a few weeks since it had happened and they were ready to sing. Tim couldn't feel the same way himself. Still, he steeled himself to listen.
"Okay. Agent McGee and Agent Gibbs. You can sit on...um..." She looked around.
Gibbs walked over and got two tiny chairs. He held one out to Tim who laughed a little and took it. They sat down, a foot off the ground at most.
"Oh, dear. There are regular chairs."
"It's fine," Gibbs said.
"Okay." She turned back. "Are you ready?"
"YES!" the kids all shouted in unison.
"Okay. Remember that you're not trying to shout. Sing with your best voices."
She gestured and the guitars began playing a simple tune. The kids were bouncing their heads in time with the music.
"I'm thankful for the morning
Love to watch the sun come up!
I am thankful for my breathing,
The coffee in my cup.
I am thankful for the birdsongs
The way they sing to me.
Yes, I am thankful to be thankful.
It's all I have to be."
Tim listened to the kids sing, mess up the words, and giggle as they did so. But through it all, he heard the overarching message. Gratitude. He felt the tears in his eyes as these children who had been through such a terrible experience not so long ago were singing with gusto about how much they had to be thankful for.
"I am thankful for the passion
And the cunning of the muse
For the life I am creating.
I am thankful I can choose."
He smiled as they sang and nudged each other and squirmed. There was one little boy, right in the middle of the risers who was twisting back and forth in time to the beat, singing out at the top of his lungs. The little girl standing next to him kept trying to make him stop moving, but he refused.
"I am thankful for the world as she turns.
We go round and round and round.
I am thankful for the world as she turns.
We go round and round and round!"
The song ended, and Tim stood up and alternated applause with wiping the tears from his eyes. The kids instantly started talking and jabbering at each other and Miss Lucy had to get them quiet again before she turned around.
"Agent McGee, we know that you're very busy and we know that you have very important things to do, but we were told that you were the one who got help to us as soon as it could happen, and we are so grateful to you that you were there and that you were doing your job."
The kids started clapping loudly.
"I wasn't the only one there," Tim said. "There were a lot of others."
Gibbs got up and put his hand on Tim's shoulder. Tim looked at Gibbs, feeling almost helpless. He couldn't take the credit for what had happened. That would be wrong!
Gibbs just shook his head.
"Let them thank you," he said softly.
Reluctantly, Tim nodded and turned back.
"We've been spending time writing thank-you cards to the police officers at Metro and the others who were involved. They're going to be in the mail as soon as I get to the post office, but you were the first one there, and we needed you to be there. You were. We sang this song at Thanksgiving, but we wanted to sing it for you. It seemed...right. And the kids wanted to give you the cards they'd made, personally."
"Oh...the song was wonderful," Tim said. "But..."
"Thank you." Miss Lucy turned around to the students, cutting Tim off. "Okay, kids. Let's get our cards for Agent McGee!"
The children all swarmed toward the doors. Tim made to take a step after them, but Miss Lucy held up her hand.
"Just wait here, Agent McGee."
"Okay."
They went out, leaving Gibbs and Tim in the room by themselves.
"I...I don't want all this, Boss," Tim said softly.
"But they do. You're giving these kids a chance to feel like they've done something good, like life can keep going and there's always someone watching out for them. It doesn't matter if it's you or someone else. You just need to stand in for that person."
Tim nodded.
The kids started streaming back into the room. The little boy who had been twisting vigorously during the song was first. Somehow, Tim wasn't surprised at all.
"Agent McGee! Here's your card!" he shouted. He thrust it at Tim.
Tim took it and then, the boy started shouting.
"I was first! I was first!" he shouted.
"Dillon, use your inside voice," Miss Lucy said.
"I'm sorry," he said, unrepentantly, but he moved out of the way as other children came in to give their cards.
Tim ended up with a huge stack of them. He didn't have the chance to look at more than the covers. The kids were coming at him too quickly. It was overwhelming. Then, they were jumping around, shouting and, generally, being noisy kids. Every so often, he could hear Dillon bragging that he had been first. Tim couldn't help but compare this exuberance with the frightened screams from before.
He preferred this noise.
Then, Miss Lucy was gathering them together one more time. She got them quiet and then, looked at him.
"Agent McGee, thank you, again for all you did."
Tim wanted to protest, but he didn't. Instead, he smiled.
"Thank you so much for what you've done. I'll have a lot of fun reading through the cards. Your song was beautiful. It's the highlight of my day."
The kids all laughed and started talking again. Then, Miss Lucy got the other teachers to get the kids out of the room and back to class. Dillon was still shouting that he had been first. After they were gone, she turned to Tim.
"I'm sorry about Dillon," she said. "He's had a really hard time. He has some disabilities, and you have no idea how much this day has helped him. He's been looking forward to it ever since we decided to do something for you."
Tim smiled and swallowed the lump in his throat. "You have no idea how much this day has helped me. It was hard for everyone."
She nodded.
"I guess I didn't think about it being hard for you. We think of the police as being...used to it. No surprises left."
"This is something you can't get used to," Tim said.
"I guess not. Thank you."
"Thank you," Tim said. Then, he suddenly remembered the hat. He pulled it out of his pocket. "Oh, this hat was in the snow by the bus. I know it's just a basic hat, but... do you know whose it is, maybe?"
Miss Lucy gasped.
"Oh, that's Dillon's hat! He said that he lost it there. His mother has said that he wouldn't wear any other hat, no matter how cold it was. I don't know why. Would you let me get him so you could give it to him?"
"Oh...sure." Tim hadn't planned on that. He was just thinking that it was better that he get rid of this hat that he'd been holding on to for a month.
The door crashed open.
"You have my Dad hat?" he shouted.
Tim nodded and held out the hat.
"My Dad hat!" he shouted and ran over to him. He grabbed the hat and put it on right away. "You found my Dad hat! You're the best policeman ever! Best! Best ever! Thank you a million times a million!" He hugged Tim tightly around the waist.
Before Tim could do or say anything, he let Tim go and ran out of the room, shouting that he had his Dad hat.
"Dad hat?" Tim asked.
"I don't know," Miss Lucy said. "I can't tell you what's going through Dillon's head most of the time, but this is how excited he's been to have you come." She got teary. "He would never sing with the class before, but when we were getting this song ready, he was singing louder than anyone. Agent McGee, if you ever wonder if you've done enough... you did for Dillon." She laughed and wiped away the tears. "I've got to get back to my class. The aide can't manage on her own. Thank you again and again."
"Once is enough," Tim said.
"A million times wouldn't be," she said.
She took his hand and squeezed it tightly and then left.
Tim looked at the stack of cards.
"Ready to go, Tim?"
"Yeah."
He picked up the cards and they left the school. Once they got into the car, Tim searched through the pile until he found Dillon's. He wanted to look at each one, but he felt like he should read Dillon's first. The cover had a picture of a little stick figure with a big stick figure. Both of them were wearing black hats. Inside, there was a short message, written in large, carefully-printed letters.
The spelling was atrocious.
Der Ajent Magee,
Mi dad sed to Mom that he coodnt liv withowt me. U savd Dad two.
Thank u
Dillon
Tim had thought he was done getting choked up about this, but that little card had touched him far more than he had thought a card could.
"Tim?"
"Yeah, Boss?" Tim asked, trying to get himself under control again.
"Feeling any better?"
He'd asked that multiple times in the last month. Most of the time, the answer had been no. Now, though...
Tim took a deep breath and let it out.
"Yeah, Boss. I am."
FINIS!