A/N:

This fic was written for McMhuirich based on the prompt, "One of Thom E. Gemcity's novels is made into a feature film. McGee's happiness is short-lived when a ruthless killer targets the crew turning the whole project into a disaster." No ruthless killer, but hopefully she's willing to overlook that. ;D No beta, so I hope it isn't a mess. I'll post one chapter per day until it's done.

If you're wondering about The Middle Ground's status, check my profile for updates. :)

Prologue

He should have known better.

Tim sat down on the end of his bed and took a deep breath.

He was a screw up, he always had been. He was the kid everyone bullied in school. The kid who crashed his 1984 Camaro Z28 the day he turned sixteen, which was also the same day his parents gave him the car. He was the probie who made enough mistakes to nearly get fired on more than one occasion.

He closed his eyes. He'd made so many stupid mistakes over the years, he was surprised he still had a job. And someone had gotten hurt right in front of him and he couldn't even control it.

It had all seemed so exciting at first. They were making a movie out of his first book. The book he had written heavily based on his friends at the Naval Criminal Investigative Service.

That was his first mistake.

Tim stood up and walked over to the window. As the weather got colder the nights just got darker and darker. It seemed he could barely get home in time to take Jethro for a quick walk around the neighborhood before it was pitch black out.

He sighed, his mind flitting back to his failures.

The books he had written got him mocked and head-slapped like crazy for months, and had nearly gotten Abby killed when a psychopath targeted her because of something he had written. And that had been the last book Thom E. Gemcity wrote.

It had been the last thing Tim wrote, period. It had been five years since that day. The books were mostly out of print and the money was all gone thanks to his poorly chosen hedge fund investment. There was hardly a single reminder of his writing career until someone decided to resurrect the film rights purchased at the peak of his popularity.

Jethro nosed at Tim's hand and whined.

He leaned down to gently scratch the German Shepherd in his favorite spot, just behind his left ear. He would be forever grateful to Abby for guilt-tripping him into taking the dog. Knowing Jethro loved him unconditionally waws sometimes the only thing that got him out of bed in the morning.

Straightening, Tim's eyes fell on his old manual Remington typewriter, which had been reduced to a prop sitting on one of his bookshelves, collecting dust.

It was strange how such a happy time had so quickly turned into something so terrible. All Tim had wanted to do his whole life was write. He'd thought it would make everything better.

Instead it made everything so much worse.

Tim had let everyone down.

Jethro whined again, and Tim walked mechanically into the kitchen and picked up his dish. Jethro sat patiently beside his owner as Tim dragged a giant bag of dry dog food out of a cupboard and refilled the dish.

As soon as the dish touched the ground Jethro began gulping his food down. Tim silently returned the back of dog food to its cupboard and walked over to the fridge to find something for himself to eat.

He stared inside at the nearly empty shelves for a minute before closing the refrigerator door and leaning against the counter.

He wasn't really hungry anyway.

Tim made his way into the living room and turned on the TV in a last ditch attempt to distract himself, to take his mind off the mess his life had become. He sat down on the couch and flipped channels until he settled on a popular crime show re-run.

He watched for several minutes until the main character, who was in mortal danger at the moment, began reminding him too much of Abby, causing painful scenes to flash before his eyes. He changed the channel to the news and muted the sound.

Nearly losing Abby during what later came to be known around work as the "Deep Six Case" had been hard, but it was knowing that what he'd written was what ultimately put her in danger he couldn't forget. It became something that continued to haunt him for years.

Every time he looked at his typewriter, every time he saw one of his books after that, all he could see were Abby's eyes. Her eyes, wide, scared, and filled with tears. He saw them when he closed his eyes at night and when he woke up in the morning. If he hadn't been able to break his contract for that last book... who knows. Giving the advance money back hadn't hurt one bit, even when he had to turn his Porche back into the dealer because he couldn't afford the payments anymore.

It had all been worth it because he wasn't putting anyone else's lives in danger anymore.

It just hadn't been worth the risk.

His writing 'career' became just one more item on the list of ways Tim had screwed up his life. No one else needed to keep track of that list, every item was indelibly stamped on his brain.

Tim stared at the television screen, the images being presented not even registering. It had been awhile since he had felt this bad, since he'd been paralyzed by feelings of inadequacy and unable to snap himself out of it.

While he was at MIT, Tim saw a therapist a few times. She confirmed much of what he already knew, that he suffered from Generalized Anxiety as well as Panic Disorder and depression, both of which made worse by an overbearing, perfectionist father.

"You can do better."

Tim heard those four words more times in his childhood and adolescence than he could possibly count. Enough so that he believed it.

In some ways, the pressure was good for him. He was always motivated to be the best he could possibly be, to keep working hard. It got him a 4.0 GPA and a scholarship to MIT.

But none of that was enough for Admiral John McGee. He pushed and pushed and pushed until Tim couldn't take it anymore and pushed back. Joining NCIS had begun as a desperate attempt to please his father without actually joining the Navy and had ended up becoming his greatest rebellion.

Tim took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Leaning his head against the back of the couch he knew it was time to get things together, to get back to work.

"Suck it up and be a man, Probie," he could just about hear Tony telling him. "What's wrong with you?"

Bracing himself, Tim leaned forward and opened his eyes again. No more moping, he told himself and turned the volume on the TV back on.

Just in time to hear the newscaster discussing his latest nightmare.