Chapter 2
Highway to Hell
Can I say a massive thanks to all who have reviewed my story so far.
These reviewers admitted that they are not fans of the genre that I am working on and also in some cases
the character that I am writing about. That is why I am most grateful for their time and comments.
All constructive criticism and positive reviews if I am deemed worthy of such a thing, are all received with many thanks
I'll admit that there is a slow build up here but I am trying to very much set the tone and if you stick with me
I believe it will pay off - I have some gritty stuff planned for chapter 3.
Disclamer ….NCIS is not mine …aww … if only – one can dream.
Now on with the story.
Chapter 2
Highway to Hell
If Tim hadn't switched off his phone he knew that it would have probably been smoking right now with the amount
of calls he would be getting.
He dreaded to think of the amount of voicemails that he would have received if he ever chose to turn it back on.
To be on the safe side he disposed of it out of the driver side window lamenting momentarily that he had just
bought it less than two weeks ago, a state of the art phone at that.
He started to do something he hadn't for a very long time, he started to pray, it came naturally to him in times of crisis.
This now being one of those times. It was all he could do right now, his firearm, his ability with computers,
all his training as a federal agent could do little to help his predicament right now.
As he entered his apartment he noted the cold, how his breath misted in front of him as he made his way to his bedroom.
He reached into the back of his wardrobe and grasped an item that until less than an hour ago
he had forgotten had been there.
He looked at the bag in his hand and his heart sank, it was covered in a light film of dust, testament to its lack of use.
It was as if it was almost taunting him – "you need me". He must have known he would need it again at some stage,
if not why would he have kept it?
Why had he not disposed of the contents?
His over analysis of the situation would have to wait. Tim was about to leave Washington DC as he had arrived,
alone and with a bag of items that would have raised quite a few eyebrows if its contents were to become
known to his colleagues or anyone for that matter.
"Ziver" shouted Gibbs
"Yes Gibbs" Ziva muttered. He was driving her crazy even more impatient than usual.
"As soon as we finish up here I want you to find out where the hell Tim went. It better be good" said Gibbs.
He would rather Ziva find out what had happened with Tim as Gibbs, tired and all as he was,
was now getting that all familiar feeling in his gut.
He was mad at Tim but he also knew something wasn't right and DiNozzo was not known for handling Tim carefully.
Although he knew next to nothing about what was going on, his gut was able to tell him that
he should at least tread carefully.
Ziva heard the bite in Gibbs words while he relayed his order to her.
But something about the way he looked at her when he said it made her soften.
She wouldn't have called it a look of fear, but a hard edged concern being the only way to describe it.
She knew what he was trying to relay to her without actually having to say it.
"Find out where he is and how he is and come to me immediately when you find out- only me".
Tim was now finally on the road.
He dare not even look in the rear view mirror, not because he was afraid of what he might see there
but of what he might not see; somebody who would not be strong enough for what now needed to be done.
Jethro his faithful companion was now thankfully having the run of his namesakes' garden,
thanks to a suspected gas leak in his building.
Gibbs had gruffly told him to "leave the dog for an extra few days" after the leak had been cleared up.
"Dog needs the exercise" Gibbs muttered. But Tim suspected that Gibbs actually liked the animals company,
animals being so much less complicated than people.
He would admit he shared that sentiment with Gibbs. They could sense the need for quiet and for comfort,
infinitely better than any people that he had come across except maybe a very special few.
He drove for what seemed like days but in reality was four hours, his legs beginning to cramp.
He forgot about his discomfort when he now recognized the road he had turned onto only five miles back.
There was no map made that Tim knew about that had this place on it, for that he was extremely grateful.
He switched off his lights having no more need of them now as he remembered every curve and bump in the road.
He had not been back here for almost eleven years but he would not, could not forget this place - his salvation and his prison.
Tim brought his car to a stop resting his head on the steering wheel. He was relieved and angry all at once.
It's not that he hadn't wanted to come back here, but he wanted it to be on his terms.
He had left because he had felt at the time that he could not move on from what had happened unless he did.
He was now right back where he started.
He hadn't time to fully process this line of thought when he felt a light knock at his window.
He didn't even have to look up to know who it was.
Tim hoped he could have approached unnoticed but he realized he had been kidding himself.
He opened the door and with aching limbs exited the car, towering over the person he stood facing.
The fading light could not hide the sadness and recognition on their face.
"I had hoped, with the greatest of intentions that I would not see you here again so soon Tim" the man said sadly.
"This can only mean one thing" the older man ventured.
Tim nodded sadly, his only audible response a weary exhalation of air.
"You best come in. The others have retired for the night. Come you look tired we can talk in the morning".
This was all the older man said, before he gently guided Tim by his elbow towards the large oak door.
Tim took a moment to look back from the direction he came, at what he couldn't be sure.
He just knew that when he went through this door he may not be able to go back out it again,
literally and figuratively, nonetheless he must walk through it again but for different reasons this time.
The older man Francis or Frankie as everyone here called him guided Tim into the kitchen.
The low light of the room now matched Tim's mood almost perfectly.
He proceeded wordlessly to pour a cup of what Tim could only assume was the concoction
that he always had in his hand when he had been here before.
It reminded him of Gibbs for a moment, a coffee always in hand.
The thought brought him a pang of regret for a moment, another emotion to add to the list he was now experiencing.
As they both sat facing each other on the large table that Frankie himself had made with his own hands,
the only sound that Tim could hear was his heart thumping loudly in his ears.
He suddenly felt exhausted.
He heard a creak behind him and he smiled in spite of himself. Frankie was a perfectionist,
when he was working on a project that interested him,
but he still, after 10 years hadn't fixed the broken step halfway down the stairs.
Tim looked over his right shoulder and said only one word. "Ellen"
She started to speed up and move towards him with a smile on her face
but slowed down just as quick and was now looking unsure of how to approach him.
The reason for his presence here not lost on her. Her face quickly changed into a mask of politeness and she straightened herself.
"I thought I heard somebody down here. I never thought for a moment it would be you".
"Welcome back Father McGee"
I thought that was an interesting ending to the chapter, your thoughts and questions are welcome.
Should post chapter 3 tomorrow.
Toodles for now.