A Beautiful Mind
Rifiuto: Non Miriena
Summary: What was the real reason Admiral McGee was ashamed of Tim? Could it have been something out of his control? Or something he feared? or both? Pre-NCIS. McGee/Ziva/Gibbs.
A/N: Another of Zani's pre-written... three-shots, written back in 2010, not long after her first breakdown. The date she was planning on uploading it to the site was May 24, 2015. Why my sister didn't just publish it after she wrote it, well, we'll never know. When I asked, she won't say.- Licia
"No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness."- Aristotle
1993
NAS Jacksonville Navy Base,
Jacksonville,
Florida
He burrowed under the covers of his bed, trying to ignore the arguing going on in the living room downstairs.
"No, John! You don't understand!"
"Understand? Our son is a lunatic, he... sees things that aren't there, has conversations with people that don't exist-"
"He is brilliant, Johnathan! He has a mind like no one I've ever seen before-"
"Timmy?"
Slowly, he moved the covers aside, lifting his head. The door shut softly, leaving the eight-year-old standing before it. Without a word, he pulled back the covers, and she rushed to him, climbing up and allowing her older brother to pull the blankets back around them. As she snuggled into his embrace, she couldn't stop the tears from falling. She struggled to keep from sobbing, but soon lost the battle, and so clung to her brother. "I'm so sorry, Sarah... Dad's right... I am a... a lunatic..."
But the girl shook her head, pulling away to look up at her older brother. "No you aren't, Timmy."
"Yes I am. Sarah, how can you say that I'm not? I... there is even a name for what I have... sch..." He swallowed. "Schizophrenia." The word was soft, a heartbreaking declaration of a truth his family had been struggling to deal with since the moment of his diagnosis, not long after his eighth birthday. The fact that his son was ill was something John McGee refused to acknowledge. The Navy captain saw the almost-fourteen-year-old's illness as a stain, a tarnish on his 'perfect' family. And his solution was fairly simple.
Lock the boy in the psych ward for the rest of his life.
"You're my big brother, Timmy. I love you." The proclamation broke his heart; Sarah, at eight years of age, was wiser than the entire rest of the world put together. She saw good where there was none, helped those who needed it, loved all creatures and people and believed in every and all forms of magic. She was a child, a little girl, who looked up to her big brother and loved him more than chocolates and barbies. She saw the hallucinations he suffered from as an extension of the magic she believed in-
"He needs to be locked up, Jules! God, Julietta, listen to me! That boy is crazy! One of these days, he's going to snap and kill us all and blame the voices in his head!"
"No he's not, John! He is on medication! He's seeing a psychologist! Timothy is a good boy! And he is brilliant and beautiful and-"
Sarah snuggled closer to him, whimpering, and after a moment, he reached up, covering her ears, and humming softly.
"We need to go away." Slowly, the boy's gaze moved from his sister to the space behind her.
"What are you doing here?" Sarah ignored him, snuggling closer. She didn't need to look over her shoulder to know that Timmy was talking to someone only he could see- another of his hallucinations.
"Is she here?" He nodded, chin rubbing against the top of his sister's head.
"Yeah, Sarah, she's here. She... she's laying behind you."
"What's she saying, Timmy?"
The 'she' in question was a girl of about Timmy's age. With her long dark hair in messy braids and dark eyes, she looked like she could be either Mexican or Israeli descent, and she wore a pair of tan capris and a blue striped t-shirt that was splattered with mud. Clearly, the girl was a tomboy, and her name was Ziva; no one knew where he'd thought it up or heard it, not that Tim cared. She was his best friend, even if she was just a hallucination.
"We have to go, now."
"She... she says we have to leave." Sarah looked up at him, nodding.
They rushed through the backyard, Sarah holding tight to her brother's hand. It wasn't uncommon for the siblings to slip out of their bedroom windows and go hiding in the backyard, especially when their parents were arguing. Hell, it wasn't uncommon for them to slip off the naval base and head towards Dewey Park, where they'd go to the playground.
But today, once they reached the park, the pair rushed to the baseball field, hiding in the dugouts. "Are we okay?" Tim glanced behind him; she was nodding.
"Yeah, we're okay." Once they'd sat down, Sarah crawled towards her brother, curling up beside him. "What do we do now, Zi?"
The girl shrugged, kicking at the dirt beneath her toes. "Somewhere far away, where no one argues or screams or-"
"Hits?" Tim asked, meeting the girl's gaze across the dugout.
"Who hit you, Timmy?" Sarah looked up at her brother, confused.
"Wha's she saying, Timmy?" He turned back to his little sister.
"She said... we have to go far away, to somewhere no one knows us."
"Forever?" He glanced towards the girl, who met his gaze. Swallowing thickly, he nodded.
"Yeah. Forever."
The bus stop was lonely, an island in a sea of concrete and metal in downtown Jacksonville.
Timmy swallowed; he'd taken Sarah back to the house, deciding that it was best if he left, since he was the problem. His sister had protested, but he promised to come back to her, once he got somewhere they could live. He'd taken the little money he'd saved up from his summer job at the bookstore and a few things he knew he'd need- a change of clothes, a couple things of crackers, his wallet, a couple books, and a few notebooks and pencils. He now sat waiting for the bus to arrive; their parents hadn't even noticed them sneak back into the house- the arguing was still going on, and despite his reluctance to leave her, he knew he couldn't take Sarah with him. She may have been smart, but-
"Where do you want to go?"
He turned; she sat beside him, kicking her legs nervously. He shrugged. "Don't know. Where does one go when they run away?"
She sighed, thinking. A moment passed, before, "Well, when I want to go away, I go to the Opera House."
"Where's that?"
"Amman." He furrowed a brow. "It is in Jordan. My sister and I saw Giselle there last year."
"Oh. Okay. Can we go there?"
By the time the bus arrived, he'd had made up his mind. "Where you goin', kid?" The teenager glanced behind him; she leaned against the dashboard area; playing with the end of one of her braids. "Hey, kid." His gaze snapped back to the driver. "Where you goin'?"
"A... Amman." The man furrowed a brow, clearly confused.
"A-what?"
The two teenagers shared a look. "It's in Jordan. It's the capital of Jordan. I want to go to Amman."
"Look, kid, I can take you as far as the border-" A moment passed, as the boy seemed to speak with someone only he could see, and then nodded.
"Okay."
The ride up to the border was long and quiet. He spent the majority of his time starring out the window, occasionally listening to his companion's chatter-
He would never get to Amman, or even out of Florida.
At the next stop, a man got on, made his way to the back of the bus, and took a seat beside the boy, whose companion scrambled up and away from the man as fast as she could. Timmy looked up, suddenly startled to see the man sitting beside him and not his usual companion. The intense blue eyes unnerved him, but not as much as the lost look in his own green eyes unnerved the man.
No, lost didn't even begin to describe the look of pure... pained heartbreak in the kid's gaze.
"Where you headin'?"
A moment passed before Timmy finally spoke. "Ah... we're going to Amman." The older man raised an eyebrow.
"'We?'"He nodded.
"Yeah. Ziva- she's my best friend. We're going to Amman, to the Opera House."
The older man nodded slowly. Okay, clearly the kid was nuts-
"Where... where are you going?"
The man sighed. "Stillwater."
"Where's that?" He looked up, catching her eye as she leaned against the side of the seat in front of them.
"Pennsylvania."
"Oh... what are you doing here?" The two locked eyes, and after a moment, the older man reached up, caressing the back of the boy's head.
"You runnin' away, kid?" Timmy was silent, pulling away from the man and scooting closer to the window.
"N... no." But the man raised an eyebrow. "I'm not... wanted at home. Mom is convinced I can be fixed, and Dad... Dad thinks I belong in an insane asylum. The only ones that even care about me are Sarah and Ziva."
"Ziva?" The boy nodded.
"She's my best friend. She and I are going to Amman. We're gonna go to the opera house."
This time, the man turned, searching for the girl he spoke of, but found no one. "What's your name, kid?" When the boy hesitated, he cleared up, "You've told me your... friend's name. It's only fair I know yours, if I'm gonna help you get to... wherever you want to go."
"You'd help us?" The man shrugged.
"Sure. I know a few people who'd be able to help you get to where you want to be."
The boy seemed to think about this for a moment. He glanced at Ziva again. "I... I'm Timmy." The older man held out a hand, shaking firmly when they connected.
"Gibbs."