Chapter 10

Two weeks later, Tony prepared to head out on his month-long leave. His queen of hearts card had arrived in the mail with Stan's thanks only a few days before. Tony was so happy that he had his full deck again that he literally begged Tim and the new guy added to the team to play poker with him.

"Come on! No one will ever play with me and I'm going on leave tomorrow!" Tony said.

"I've heard a lot about how he plays, Dorneget," Tim warned their new teammate. "Be careful. Don't put too much money in it."

"Do I have to play?" Dorneget asked.

"Yes!" Tony said. "Yes, you do."

"Okay, okay," Tim said. "We'll play."

They sat down on the cot and started playing. Dorneget won a couple of hands, but Tony won most of them. Quite handily.

"What are you going to do on leave? Go home?" Dorneget asked.

"No way, Dorny," Tony said. "I raise you five."

Tim looked at his hand. He hated poker. He figured he understood the odds too well from a technical point of view, but he never seemed to have the ability to do anything with that understanding.

Dorneget looked at his hand, thought for a few seconds and then tossed a bill onto the cot.

"I call. What are you going to do, then?"

"They're paying for my flight anywhere I want to go. I'm going to Hawaii! Beaches, girls, a few fruity drinks. Can't think of anything better," Tony said. "Your turn, McGee. Fish or cut bait."

Tim scowled at his cards. One measly pair of eights. Still, he could contribute a little to Tony's spending money.

"I call."

Just a little bit.

"Okay. Show 'em if you got 'em," Tony said with a grin.

Tim tossed down his hand.

"You called with a pair of eights?" Tony asked incredulously. "I thought you knew how to play poker, McGee!"

"I do," Tim grumbled.

Tony laughed. "Dorny?"

Dorneget showed his hand. Three of a kind in jacks.

"Oh, pretty good, Dorny...but not good enough! Feast your eyes on the full house!"

Tony displayed his cards with an overly-dramatic flourish.

"Okay, okay. I'm done," Tim said. "I'm not giving you any more of my money."

Tony pulled the money to him and counted it up.

"Don't plan on seeing any of this again. It'll all be gone by the time I get back."

"You're really coming back here?" Dorneget asked. "Man, I can't wait to be done."

"Really?" Tim asked.

"Yeah. I figured I should sign up, but I didn't really want to. Better to anticipate instead of try to get around it. ...but it doesn't mean I like it."

"Do what you gotta do?" Tim asked.

"Yeah. I needed to...get a broader perspective anyway."

"Broader perspective? Couldn't you have done that by taking a trip to Europe or something?" Tony asked.

"Maybe, but tourist attractions aren't the real world." He looked around the hot, humid barracks. "How much more real could you get than this?"

A rocket whistled overhead.

"You're way too smart," Tony said. "They won't leave you with us for very long."

"No offense, but I wouldn't mind. Recon creeps me out. It's so quiet out there...until they start trying to kill you."

The words slipped out before Tim could rethink whether it was the best thing to say or not.

"They're always trying to kill you, Ned...just like we're always trying to kill them. It's just a matter of whether or not they've found you yet."

It was as if he'd doused all discussion. It completely dampened the mood. Tim grimaced.

"Sorry. I need some air."

He got to his feet and walked out of the barracks. As he left, he heard Dorneget talking to Tony.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Nah. McGee's just...intense."

Tim shook his head and walked away from the barracks. Over the past couple of weeks, the whispers had died down a bit, but he couldn't ever get used to the looks he got.

"McGee."

The female voice made him turn around and he saw the same dancer who had spoken to him before.

"Yeah?"

"I have another message for you."

Tim nodded, although he dreaded reading what Ziva might have for him to do now.

McGee,

Thank you for helping. I saw you at the village and I knew that you would do your best. I have told the village leader that you were the one who got the U.S. there in time. They are very grateful.

Ziva

Tim felt ashamed at the gratitude. He had done very little. He didn't want to go back to the barracks to get paper.

"Do you have a reply?"

"Will you see her?"

"It is possible."

"Just...tell her that I don't need thanks. It's my job."

The dancer smiled and nodded. Then, she went on her way. Tim looked after her.

"McGee."

Tim fought not to roll his eyes. Was every person who spoke to him out and about right now? Swallowing his irritation, Tim turned around once more.

"What is it, Gibbs?"

"That's my question for you."

"It's nothing."

"Didn't sound like nothing."

"What are you talking about? The dancer or playing poker?"

"The dancer to start," Gibbs said.

"She had a message. It was just a thank you."

"For what?"

"For helping stop another massacre."

"What's wrong with getting thanked?"

"Since it was my fault they were doing it in the first place..."

"No, it wasn't."

"It was the excuse they wanted. Sure, they would have done it anyway, but now, they have a reason. I don't want to be thanked for doing what I had to do."

"McGee, you need to stop thinking about what happens out here like that. It doesn't matter. This is a war and people are going to get killed. If you can help fewer civilians pay that price, that's a good thing. The rest of it doesn't matter. Look, DiNozzo is going to be gone for a month. That puts you as my second. I need to be able to trust the people I rely on."

"Maybe you can't trust me," Tim said. "Maybe I've lied to you. Maybe I'm a huge liar and I've been lying to everyone! How would you know?"

"What have you been lying about?"

Tim straightened to attention and he saw Gibbs' eyebrow go up. To Tim's surprise, Gibbs suddenly moved on.

"Is it something that affects how well you can do what needs to be done?"

"No."

"Fine. Go talk to Ducky. I'm sure he has the time right now."

"Talk to Ducky?"

"Yes. Now."

"You're not going to send me back?"

"Stop asking, McGee. I already told you I wasn't. Accept it. And go."

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant... I mean, Gibbs."

Tim turned and walked away from Gibbs as quickly as he could. He didn't know why he'd mouthed off like that. His old drill instructor would have knocked him to the ground for that. Deservedly so. He didn't really know why he was so upset right now. ...or maybe he did. Maybe it was Major Morrow telling him that Staff Sergeant Langer's family was grateful that he had managed to get his body back. He was tired of people thanking him for things that seemed so small in comparison to what he was blamed for.

Or maybe it was just because he was nervous about Tony not being there, acting as a buffer between him and the rest of the base. Tim was surprised to realize that he'd come to rely on that...even in the few weeks he'd been on Gibbs' team. He didn't want to lose that.

And it was embarrassing. He didn't like needing to rely on other people, especially not out here. It was something his drill instructor had been fond of yelling at them. They were not individuals. They were a team. There was no I in team. He'd had a team, but they were all gone now. He wasn't sure he wanted to do that again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So...Gibbs, are you going to tolerate me being gone for a month?"

"You sure you want to come back?" Gibbs asked.

"I can't leave you to deal with McGee by yourself. He's too intense."

Gibbs smiled. "Might be a nice change."

Tony grinned. "No way. With you wanting to kill everything that moves, you need a carefree guy like me to remind you of the finer things in life."

"Except that most of that is an act."

"Don't tell anyone."

"The people who know you already know that."

"I'm coming back, but I'll enjoy every minute of my leave. Then, I can dive back into this stuff we're doing out here."

"Enjoy yourself."

"Absolutely." Tony saluted.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and headed back to the barracks. He was a little worried about having to rely only on Tim during this period. Would Tim really be able to tolerate that kind of pressure?

Regardless, that was what he had, and he'd make sure that Tim was ready.

Lives would depend on it...including his.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Timothy, you decided to take me up on my offer?"

"No. Gibbs told me to come," Tim said.

Ducky smiled.

"Do you think it's a waste of time? If so, you can leave."

Tim looked around the small supply room.

"Why did you come here, Dr. Mallard? I can't imagine that it was necessary. You're too old to be drafted."

Ducky was interested that Tim wasn't trying to leave when he had been given the opportunity. He didn't know if that was because Tim wouldn't disobey an order from a superior or if he really saw some value in doing this.

"Perhaps it wasn't. I am obviously too old to be fighting, but I wanted to give back to my adopted country. It has done a great deal for me. I see my task here to be keeping as many from dying as possible, be they Americans or Vietnamese. These people have had so much hardship that I want to ease that suffering if I can."

Tim nodded.

"Timothy, may I ask if your sense of responsibility is something that predates all your problems in becoming a Marine?"

Tim smiled a little.

"I just want to be doing things right. Right time, right place...and in the right way."

"And you thought you were when you chose to join the Marine Corps."

Tim nodded.

"And that was taken away when your father disapproved?"

"I still felt like it was right, but I didn't expect him to be so against it. I don't think that's the problem."

"If so, then, you must have an idea of what the problem is."

"Maybe."

"Timothy, if you don't mind my saying so, it appears that there is something you're keeping from everyone."

"Even Marines have a right to some privacy, Dr. Mallard."

"I agree, but I am concerned about your well-being."

"I'm nervous about Gibbs relying on me."

"I don't blame you, but I think you have the required skills."

"I do, but I think Gibbs is worried about relying on me, too."

"It's not because he thinks you're a jinx."

"No, he thinks I'm nuts," Tim said.

"If he did, he wouldn't have given you this opportunity. Jethro doesn't mollycoddle anyone. If that worries you, you can set that aside. He has confidence in your ability."

Tim suddenly smiled a little.

"You know...we're out here in a foreign country, surrounded by hostile forces who would kill us as soon as look at us. Isn't this the wrong time for psychoanalysis?"

"Probably, but if it's still a problem now, then, now is what we have. You should have dealt with this before you shipped out."

Tim's smile slipped.

"Most of it wasn't a problem before I got here."

"No doubt. Well, do you still feel like a jinx?"

"Only when I leave the barracks," Tim muttered. Then, to Ducky's surprise, Tim looked up at him. "So...you're a shrink, kind of, right?"

"I do have some training along those lines, yes."

"Can you tell me what it is about this place that turns men into monsters?"

"In what respect? Surely, you don't think that fighting against aggressors is..."

"No. Not that. That's not what I mean. I'm no expert on Vietnam. I didn't even really know where it was before this all started. ...but I'm assuming that these people don't generally go around killing women and children...with flamethrowers. What happened at My Lai. What makes men...do this to each other? It's not a battle. It's a massacre. It's killing people who can't fight back. Why?"

"I don't know that I can answer that question, Timothy. I'm sorry. War can bring out the best or the worst in a person and what causes one man to become a saint and another a monster...I don't know."

"I've seen men become monsters, Dr. Mallard. I've seen it happen, but what I don't know is if they were already monsters or if...if something just snapped inside them at that moment."

"At what moment?"

Tim ignored the question.

"What if that's in all of us and all it will take is the right circumstances to bring it out? What if we're all monsters?"

"I don't believe that, and I would be willing to bet that you don't, either."

"I've seen it happen, Dr. Mallard. I've seen it."

"That doesn't mean it's widespread."

"Doesn't mean I'm wrong, either. Have I talked to you enough? Can I go?"

"Of course."

"Thanks." Tim turned to leave. He was almost out the door when Ducky really processed what Tim had said.

"Timothy, one last question?"

"Yeah?" Tim turned back reluctantly.

"Who is it that you saw?"

Tim's eyes moved away from Ducky, up toward the ceiling.

"Just some Marines...that's all."

He left as quickly as he could. Ducky looked after him. He was convinced that Tim had a secret he was keeping, and he would bet quite a bit that it had to do with his last assignment before being put on Gibbs' team. There was something about the way he talked about the incident...and it had nothing to do with being thought of as a jinx. That was a separate issue so far as Ducky could see. Still a problem but not the same one.

He hoped that there was a solution to this tangle, but until the nature of the tangle was known, it would be difficult to know. ...and while he could request information officially, that might put Tim in an extremely difficult position. Moreso than he already faced.

Why make it worse?