Chapter 7

"Oh God, not again!" Tony said each word as if he were in physical pain as he started down the street towards the house of Angie and Dominic Morgan. "What is wrong with these people? What would make someone want to live in a house that looks the same as every other house on the block?"

"Perhaps to fit in, no?"

"No, Ziva." he drew out the A as he said her name with a teasing glint, "I suspect this is less about fitting in and more about hoping someday your neighbors wife might 'accidentally' walk naked into your bedroom instead of her own." Ziva made an incredulous face, but he continued.

"No, hear me out, I think I've just solved the great Suburb Mystery. People who live in these houses are confined by their jobs, lives, mortgages, kids, they can't even stand out in their own homes because they are constrained by their home owner's association. What else do they have?"

He didn't let her answer before he found himself smirking and continuing, "I bet every summer they have a great big barbeque, or a block party in the middle of the street. They give the ladies way too much alcohol and go climb into bed waiting with doors open to see which neighborhood wife will end up walking into their house that night."

"So, you are saying these neighborhoods are full of adulterers who, what? Play some kind of sexual rushing roulette?"

"Russian. Like the people from Russia. That's international, you should have gotten that one."

She waved off his correction, "You really think so little of marriage and family?"

Tony laughed, it felt a little strained to his own ears as he kept his gaze on the road a moment, "Not marriage and family in general, but have you looked around? Anyone who lives in a place like this doesn't think very much of themselves either. They want to keep up with their neighbors even if it means they themselves become suburban zombies, feeding the next generation of cardboard cut out doctors, lawyers and politicians who will build and live in their own little cardboard cut out houses. Eventually the cut outs will out number us real people, and what are we going to do then?"

"Is this from one of your movies?"

Tony got a little twinkle in his eye, "No, but it sounds good, doesn't it? I bet we could make a mint on this. We should write it, maybe we could get McWriter to help out, make it a team project. Campfire Productions presents..." he trailed off, trying to think of a good name.

"Suburban Mystique?" Ziva offered with a rare giggle.

"Oooh" he smiled as he pulled up in front of the Morgan house. "Not bad, Ziva. Not bad at all. Maybe we don't even need McGeek. We can cut him out, keep the royalties all to ourselves?"

Ziva winked at him, then reached for her gun, suddenly serious, checking it before they got out of the car, just in case.

"We'll continue this discussion later." he said as they walked up to the door.

Angie Morgan was a frail looking woman. She had been through a lot of emotional turmoil in her life and it showed on her delicate features. Her hair had yet to gray, though that could be more from a bottle of brown hair dye then because it was still naturally that color.

She was alone when they arrived, Dominic had been out with friends the night before and since it was the weekend she didn't expect him back until Sunday.

She welcomed them inside with curious eyes and offered them a seat and drinks. They declined the drinks, but joined her in the living room.

When they gave her the news of Lieutenant Macey's death she just considered them sadly.

"You do not seem surprised to hear this?" it wasn't really a question, but Ziva's voice went up slightly at the end and she sat silently waiting for the woman to address the issue.

"When Trevor didn't show up for Dominic's birthday I knew something had to be wrong. You guys being here asking about him could only mean a few things and Trevor was a lot of things, but none of them bad and definitely none of them criminal."

Ziva nodded, giving the woman a sympathetic smile, "So Lieutenant Macey had not come by? Had not had a chance to drop off the car for Dominic's birthday?"

The woman's lips started to quiver and her eyes instantly teared up. "He was bringing Dominic a car? Oh, my. He knew we had some money trouble with me out of work, living on my husbands survivor benefits, Dominic works odd jobs to help pay bills. He's just a boy, that's not something he should be doing, but he does it anyway. Feels like he needs to step up as the man of the house since his father..." she stopped suddenly, too choked up to speak.

Angie looked down at the floor and took a few breaths to calm herself before she turned her grief stricken eyes to them again. "Trevor has always been so good to Dominic, to both of us really. You find whoever did this." a sudden venomous tone in her voice, "You find them and you make them pay, because that was a good decent man and he deserves justice."

"Can you tell us a little more about the concerns Lieutenant Macey had for your son?"

Angie nodded, "I really don't know too much. Dominic is a good kid, but apparently while he and Trevor were out a few months ago, they had run into a friend of my son's that gave Trevor a bad vibe. He had been looking into the young man's past and had finally come to some serious conclusions about what these people wanted my son involved in. I really don't believe it, because Dominic is a good boy, but these gangs are dangerous. If they want him and he doesn't want them? They will make life very difficult until he goes along with it. They might kill him if they don't get their way, and that scared me enough to tell Trevor that once Dominic was 16, if he came and confirmed that he was in any kind of potential danger then I would sign my son over to him to go to Washington DC and live with Trevor until I was able to sell the house and move up there with him."

"When did Lieutenant Macey first bring this issue to your attention?" Tony asked.

"The first time was probably October, I think, right before Halloween last year."

After cycling through the rest of the standard questions of did you notice any changes, did anyone want to hurt him, can you think of anything that might help us figure out who did this to him, their avenues were exhausted as far as where the mother was concerned, but they wanted to speak with the boy.

"Do you have a way to contact Dominic?"

She looked at Tony as if he were crazy. It was obvious she was trying to shield the boy from the hurt that would most likely be bone deep once he found out he had lost another father figure, but finally relented in the interest of justice. "Not exactly. We don't have money for cell phones, but he is usually hanging out with Jake Boyle or Kyle Rodriguez, let me get their information for you."

She left and came back a moment later with their information.

As she walked them out, Ziva gave the woman a card, "If you think of anything else, you have any questions, or if you hear from your son before we can reach him, please give us a call."

They were shown out, but just before Angie shut the door, Tony turned back to her, "Does your neighborhood have a block party here in the summertime?"

Angie seemed taken aback slightly by the sudden change in subject, but answered "Yes, every year in July."

Tony thanked her for her time and they started to their car. He turned a cocky smile towards Ziva as he pulled the rental away from the curb, "See, I told you so."

She just rolled her eyes.

xoxo

Security called up to let McGee know that Teresa Chandler had arrived. "Send her up." was his only response. He checked that his histories and searches were still running, grabbed a file folder for the case, making sure to pull any pictures out and put them face down in the back of the folder before slipping the journal entry inside.

"You want to take this, Boss?" he asked, offering the older agent the file folder.

"You can handle this one, Tim."

As he walked over to meet security with Teresa Chandler at the elevator he felt slightly unnerved. Gibbs usually reserved use of his first name for emotional moments, consoling moments, or when he had done something Gibbs couldn't understand to crack a case, usually something to do with computers.

With a Ding the elevator door slid open, and the woman from the photo stepped out. She was a small woman, 5'1" he knew from her file, but even after meeting her the day before she seemed smaller as if the weight of the grief was pushing down on her. Her curly dishwater blonde locks were swept up in a simple pony tail, away from her face exposing her bright blue eyes that still housed that lost look he hadn't fully registered on meeting her yesterday.

McGee thanked the security guard dismissing him before turning to Teresa, "Thank you for coming in."

Once they had settled in a conference room, McGee offered, but she declined any drinks. He had made sure there was a box of tissues on the conference table, a pitcher of water with a few cups around it. He grabbed a glass and poured himself some water before settling in a chair across the table from her.

"Sorry to have made you come down here, but we felt that this discussion was not suitable for your office."

She just nodded, "Did you find a note?"

"What?" McGee asked, mind on the journal entry in the folder in front of him, not fully registering what she was asking.

"A suicide note? Did you find one?" he voice was sad and pleading. "He would have left it explaining things, especially walking out on everyone he cared about."

McGee shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts, "There was no note."

Teresa's shaky hand reached out grabbing a glass and filling it with water. She didn't move to drink it, just seemed to be keeping her hands busy. Once she finished she set the glass down and her fists curled into tight fists on the table. "That son of a bitch!"

Her sudden anger surprised McGee and he felt bulldozed as she pushed on not letting him get a word in edgewise.

"He can't do this to everyone who cared about him. Just leave without telling us why. He should have left something, anything to tell us," her voice broke, but she pushed through the tears that began flowing down her cheek, "Should have told us what we all did wrong."

McGee had to stop this, he didn't know how to start with her continuing to rant and cry. He placed a hand over one of hers and handed her a tissue with the other. On second thought, after she took that, McGee pushed the tissues right next to her hand.

She finally stopped ranting to give him a grateful smile as she wiped at her eyes and blew her nose.

McGee squeezed her hand again, "Trevor didn't leave a note, because he didn't have a chance to."

She looked at him with pleading eyes, questioning without speaking.

"He didn't kill himself."

Teresa's eyes filled with fresh tears, these ones falling in silence as her clenched fists relaxed, she turned her right hand over under McGee's and squeezed back. "Please, please tell me what happened?"

Tim swallowed around a fresh lump in his throat. There wasn't that much that she should or needed to know, but he told her what he could. Enough to alleviate her guilt and then continued.

"You and Lieutenant Macey were close?"

Teresa nodded, "We worked together almost everyday. We were friends. Sometimes hung out after work, he helped me move. Helped me get everything together for my father's funeral." She trailed off, fresh tears springing in her eyes. "Who is going to help me with his?" her desperate tone hinted more to McGee that she was indicating more then just planning the funeral, but also the grief of losing a loved one.

"Can you think of anything that might help us figure out who did this? Did he say anything to you about trouble he was having or anything he was worried about?"

Teresa nodded, "Um, there's a boy he's been worried over for about 6 months. One of the kids from the foundation."

"Did he give you any insight into his concerns?"

"No, nothing specific. Trevor said the boy was friends with some dangerous people and without his dad there to watch over him Trevor was concerned he might fall in line with his friends and ruin his entire life."

McGee noted the common thread to the lieutenant's journal on his notepad with his free hand, gave her a little squeeze in encouragement.

"He had such a soft heart." she continued wistfully, "He cared so much about people who were going through what he had in his childhood and he did everything he could to make up for what those kids had lost." Teresa shook her head, "Why would someone do this to him?"

McGee was certain she didn't want an answer. Having spent all yesterday on the phone with similarly grieving families he had become accustomed to the question. He just gave her a gentle squeeze of her hands and waited, but she appeared to be out of words. "Is there anything else you can tell us that you think could help?"

Teresa shook her head, "He was a good man."

McGee smiled reassuringly, not sure how to ease into the next question, so he just jumped in, "Did you know that Lieutenant Macey kept a journal?"

Her eyes shot from their twined hands to his face, trying to read something in his eyes. "No." Her expression turned contemplative as she tried to fit that piece of the puzzle into the man she knew. "It makes sense, though. Trevor was definitely not a quiet man, but he didn't say much of substance even to those close to him. He played his cards very close to his chest, but his ease of relating to those kids and putting their feelings into words I had always wondered how he had so clearly grasped the words to express."

She smiled at him as if realizing something for the first time, "It would make sense if it was written somewhere, would have made it easier for him to repeat the words out loud, that was something Trevor was good at. He didn't really talk, had a hard time finding the right words at the time because of some defenses he had built up as a child, but he had a gift for written words. I always thought he should write a novel or something."

McGee nodded. "I have something from his journal that I think he would have wanted you to have."

He watched her face as he opened the folder in front of him and pulled out a sheet of paper. She had a hopeful look on her face as he slid the document across the table to her.

The first line from the document played through his own head as he watched her begin reading, "I Find myself watching her and wondering why it is that I just can't tell her everything."

He watched her read through the journal entry, feeling her hand tighten against his a few times as she read, tears falling silently onto the page.

As she finished she looked up at him and smiled, "That stupid man," she said, but she had no mirth in her voice, actually saying the words with a hint of wonder and a weak smile. "I wouldn't have let him run me off, he should have known me better then that."

"Childhood pain can cause lasting psychological impacts."

"I know." she smiled at his effort to console her and defend her friend. "I don't hold it against him. I knew who he was when I fell in love with him. Knew it could be never, but was willing to wait." She sniffled, wiping her tears away again, her eyes finally dry. "I should have told him how I felt. He's not the only one who was scared of love."

She looked him directly in the eyes, "Fear of losing someone should not hold you back until you actually lose them. Take that away from this, Agent McGee." she said, gesturing to the paper and herself.

Tim cursed in his head, his sappy little floppy heart was dangling on his sleeve again and even through her grief the woman could see it and she was consoling him. That was quite the turn of events.

"Don't let time slip away from you, too." She patted his hand where it held hers and nodded at the page on the table in front of her. "Could I get a copy of this?"

"Keep it."

Her smile this time went all the way to her eyes.

There was really nothing left to say, but the two made small talk, McGee allowing her some time to compose herself.

Gibbs was in the hall when they walked out.

The two men lead Teresa to the elevator where she pulled Tim into a quick hug, "Thank you."

Fresh tears brimmed in her eyes, the lump back in McGee's throat as the elevator doors closed her inside, the lieutenant's journal entry grasped tightly in her had.