When the time arrived for me to leave for work I was still awake, picking things up off my floor, throwing things broken beyond repair away. I did not even realise that time was passing, just mechanically stooped, picked something up and put it away. This went on for the better part of three hours and then it was time for work. I had not had any sleep and almost called in sick. That, however would not have been fair to the team, after all why should they suffer because of my stupid, stupid mistake?
Man, I hate that question. It was always at the end of all the questions at school and was the hardest part to answer. It was also the question people wanted the answer to the most. Why? It was almost as if the whole human race thrived on that one alluring question. Why? Why did he trash his apartment? Why did he not get any sleep? Why did Landon decide to kill people based on his book? Why, why, why, why, why? Yeah, I really hate that question. The answer always tantalisingly out of reach, just there in front of you, yet unable to be grasped.
I moved to the bathroom and had a short shower, I knew that if I set the water to a hot temperature I would never get out, so it was almost all cold water. Stepping out after about five minutes, I walked to my bedroom and picked up some clothes off the floor from where they had been hurled the night before. Throwing them on my body, for once uncaring of whether every button was perfect, glad just that I was functioning, I walked to the kitchen. Taking a look around I decided to skip breakfast. If I could have found my way around the bomb site that was formerly known as my kitchen I doubt I would have eaten anything anyway. Instead I settled for grabbing my keys, miraculously still hanging by the door after my late night rampage.
It was a wonder I had not had complaints from my next door neighbour. He had enough of a problem with my shredding let alone my trashing my entire apartment at one-thirty in the morning. Well, there would be no more shredding, not if I had anything to do with it. Shredding was merely a by-product of my writing and look what had become of that. No, there would not be any more shredding.
Opening my front door, I stepped out and looked back at my apartment. Most of my living room was done, I would just sleep on the couch tonight and then clean all day. Good thing it was Friday today. Sighing, I closed my door softly and turned to walk down the stairs. Good heavens, there were a lot of them.
Upon reaching NCIS, I took a deep breath and prepared the mask I would need to hide what I was feeling. If I was lucky no-one would pick up on the fact that I was wearing gloves. It was not that cold but I found I did not have the energy to explain the inevitable questions about the multiple cuts and bruises covering my hands. Closing my eyes briefly, I pasted on a half smile, best not to make it full one lest they guess I was fooling. Knowing them they would anyway but hey, couldn't hurt to try.
The doors dinged as they opened and I stepped out into the bullpen. Glancing at my watch I saw I was thirty minutes early. Absently, I wondered where Ziva was, she was normally here earlier than this. I walked over to my desk and sat down. I would use the extra time to catch up on some paperwork. Five minutes later that plan was foiled as Gibbs came in and sat near me. Calling my name his next words almost stopped my heart.
"McGee. You alright?"
How could I lie to Gibbs. I couldn't. That was all there was to it, I just couldn't. Even if I tried he would be able to tell. Glancing up at him I replied steadily,
"I will be."
There not a lie, it was the truth. Eventually, I would be fine, when eventually would be I did not know. I had a feeling that was one of those questions no-one knew the answer to.
"Tim." His voice held a certain amount of warning in it. He was obviously was not going to let me off the hook that easily. "Did you get any sleep last night?"
Numbly, I shook my head. This was not what was supposed to happen. Gibbs was not supposed to comment or care. He would see the guilt if he did that. Then he would only tell me that it was not my fault or that I needed to move on. Fat lot of help that would do. It was my fault. All of it. Those people, murdered because of me. They say that the pen is mightier than the sword. I doubt this was what they had in mind. Vaguely, I realised Gibbs was talking to me again. I blinked at him and he repeated himself.
"I said, what did you do last night then."
Again I just shook my head. They could not know. They would not understand the destruction to my home.
"Tim." Gibbs was speaking again. "You are going home, I'm driving."
My head jerked up to meet his in alarm.
"Uh, that's alright, Boss. I can manage."
He just grabbed my stuff and walked over to the elevator leaving me no choice but to follow. It was not a long ride, fifteen minutes at the most but my over-stretched nerves dragged it out till it seemed to take hours rather than minutes. Gibbs got out of his car and grabbed my stuff again. Getting out of the car, he motioned for me to do the same and then locked it. I started to protest again but every one died in my throat when I saw that glint in Gibbs's eye. He would not let this one go. When we reached my apartment, he motioned again for me to open the door. I took a breath and placed my key in the lock. Giving it a gentle twist I swung my door open, my eyes already trained on Gibbs looking for any sign of what he felt inside.
"Why, Tim?"
There it was again. I took a deep breath and turned to face him.
