A/N: This is a story I hadn't planned on writing, but ended up needing to. It makes extensive use of my personal fanon for Tim which you can find on my profile and in some of my stories, Only an Accident in particular. It's about grieving for a sudden loss and the healing that can come from it.

Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS, but I will claim my OCs. However, I'm not making any money on any of them.

Sorrow You Can Hold
by Enthusiastic Fish

Sorrow you can hold, however desolating, if nobody speaks to you.
If they speak, you break down. ~Bede Jarrett

Chapter 1

"How old are you now, Tim?"

"Old enough that you don't need to ask that every time, Dad," Tim said with a grin, glad that someone realized it was his birthday.

"Oh, come on. You're only as old as you feel."

"Dad," Tim said, laughing, "I'm not old enough for that to apply."

"Contradicting ourselves, are we?"

"No. I'm not. I'm old enough not to need questions and young enough not to worry about how I feel."

"Clever. You should have been a lawyer, Tim. You and your mother with your slick words."

"I don't have them when it matters, Dad."

"Sure, you do, Tim. Remember what Syrus said? 'Speech is the mirror of the soul; as a man speaks, so is he.'"

"So, I'm a stammerer, huh?"

"No, Tim. You're eloquent when you need to be. When it counts, you always know what to say."

"Dad, that's..." Tim stopped when suddenly he heard his father groan. "Dad? What is it? What's wrong?"

All he could hear was his dad's rapid breathing.

"Dad!"

Then, he heard another sound.

"Sam? Sam! NO!"

The phone clunked to the ground and disconnected. Tim was left holding his phone shouting uselessly into it, knowing that calling back wouldn't help. After a few seconds, he stopped. He just sat holding his phone breathing heavily, staring at it...somehow knowing what the next call would be. He didn't know how he knew but he did all the same. His mother would call him...and give him the news. All he could do was wait. It didn't occur to him to call anyone else. It was nearly midnight. It didn't occur to him to move. He couldn't even feel his legs. He didn't even sit down. He was standing like a statue in the middle of his apartment, in shock. His breathing was about as rough as his dad's had been.

What could he do? Nothing. Nothing could be done. He couldn't stop whatever was happening (although he knew what was happening) in Ohio. He couldn't talk to anyone there. He couldn't give any news to anyone because, until he heard from someone, he didn't think he could say the words. He just stood, holding onto his phone as though...more than his life depended on it.

"Dad," he whispered. "Dad."

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

The phone didn't ring for another three hours. Tim had not moved in all that time. He simply was waiting, desperate for communication but knowing, even in the midst of his shock, that he had to wait to be called. He couldn't do the calling himself.

He didn't jump when the phone rang, but it took all his strength to answer it.

"Mom?" he asked.

There were no words at first. Nothing from his usually stoic mother. No comfort. No bereavement. Just breathing. Shaky inhalations, soft exhalations.

"Mom?" he asked again.

"He's...He's gone, Tim," Naomi whispered. "Your father...he's gone."

"What happened?" Tim asked, not needing to, but doing it just the same.

"A pulmonary embolism. It was too much...for his heart. His body just couldn't...couldn't fight it anymore. He was dead...before the ambulance arrived."

More breathing. Naomi's was soft, shaky and slow. Tim's was fast, irregular. ...but neither of them was showing much more emotion than that. There was an edge of tears in Naomi's voice but that was all.

"Oh, Tim. Your father is dead. Sam's gone."

"He...was wishing me a happy birthday," Tim said. "We were just talking."

"I know. He was supposed to have a meeting tonight but it was cancelled. He said he was so glad because it gave him a chance to bug you." A short, sharp laugh, quickly cut off.

"Was it a thrombosis?"

"Probably. We won't know for sure until the...the autopsy."

"Yeah. Mom..."

"Yes?"

"Do you want me to call Sarah?"

"Could you? She'll need to hear it and have someone right there. She can't take it over the phone."

Tim nodded, still staring blankly ahead of him. His whole apartment could fall to pieces around him and he wouldn't have noticed. It was as though his entire life now revolved around speaking to his mother on the phone...the same phone on which he'd been speaking to his father only a few short...interminable hours ago.

"Should I wait until morning?" he asked, feeling helpless.

"I...I don't know, Tim," Naomi said, projecting the same helplessness. "What you think is best... It's three a.m. over there isn't it?"

Tim looked down at his watch. "Yeah. Yeah, it is...same as in Ohio."

Another horrid short laugh. "Of course. Of course it is. Maybe you should wait. There's nothing...oh, nothing anyone can do."

"Mom, is anyone with you right now?"

"No. There was no time to call."

"You should call Melissa. She won't care if you wake her up."

"Oh, I couldn't. I'm just..."

"I'll call her for you, Mom," Tim said. His voice was as calm as ever. Only his breathing showed how shocked he was.

"You don't need to do that, Tim."

"No. I will. As soon as I get off with you. I'll call Melissa and she can come to the hospital."

Tim could tell that, for once, Naomi was glad to have someone telling her what to do and what would be done. It spoke to the level of shock she herself was feeling. Grief would come later...not much later but later just the same.

"All right, Tim. Tim...call me in the morning, okay? No matter what. Call me in the morning."

"I will. First thing. When Melissa gets there, you get some sleep."

"I love you, Tim."

"I love you, Mom." Tim paused and then hung up the phone.

A few seconds of breathing, then he dialed a number he'd known since he was a teenager.

"Who is it?" came the groggy voice.

"Melissa."

"Who is this?"

"It's Tim. Melissa, I need you to...to go to the hospital and pick up my mom."

She was wide awake now. He heard her shush her husband who was grumbling beside her.

"What happened, Tim?"

"My dad died."

"Oh, no. Tim...I'm so sorry."

"Yeah. Me...too. Mom's at the hospital. Could you go and get her...and make sure she gets home all right?"

"Of course, Tim. I'll go right now. How is she taking it?"

"Like always." Tim managed a smile at that.

"Of course. You both are such troopers. Don't worry about a thing, Tim. Naomi will be safe with me."

"I know, Melissa. Thanks."

"Does Sarah know yet?"

"No. I'm going to tell her."

"All right. I'm sorry, Tim."

"Yeah. Thanks." Tim hung up and stared at the phone in his hand. It was strange. He loved his phone. He had it with him at all times. It could do so much for him. It connected him to his family when he couldn't be there. It connected him with his colleagues and friends at work. It helped him do his job. ...but it couldn't bring his dad back. His dad was dead, gone forever. Still, he stood in the middle of his apartment, staring at his phone.

"Dad," he said again, wishing that it would bring him back...but he knew it wouldn't. He knew it. His father had died...as they had known he would one of these years. He just hadn't expected it would be so soon. They should have had years more before his body shut down. It wasn't fair.

Alone in his apartment at three in the morning, Tim stood...unable to mourn, unable to cry...unable to do anything except stand and wish for something that could never be.

His dad was gone.