Sorry of the long wait for me to update. Been super busy with work and a morning commute that has me going to sleep and waking up way too early. I'll do my best to get a few more in before I go all MIA again. Thanks if you're still reading and reviewing!

Chapter 10

Through blurred vision, Ben stared at the dark screen of his phone in disbelief. Wrinkled fingers closed over the device, thumbs rubbing over the screen involuntarily. How could this have gone so wrong? No, Ben, think about it. How could it have gone right? You've kept a secret from your only son for nearly 35 years. How did you expect him to react?

With military stoicism, the old man shoved the pain within him. But still, it came back stronger. This wasn't something he could just bury and forget. This was his only son. And his only connection to a world he had lost.

He wiped his eyes, then dialed a familiar number.

"Admiral?"

"Hello James."

"Everything alright, Sir?"

"Is anything, really?"

"I… I suppose not?" It was more a question than an answer.

"No. It's not. I need you to purchase a plane ticket for me. One way."

"Sir?"

"I need this, James."

There was an awkward silence before the Admiral's assistant responded.

"Are you okay?"

"No, James, I'm not. Day after tomorrow. Morning-ish. Dulles to Kirkwall."

"Kirkwall?"

"Scotland, James."

"Sir, are you-."

"If you ask me if I'm alright again, I'm hanging up."

"Yes Sir. I'll take care of it. W-will I be accompanying you?"

"No. This trip I must take alone. But I will need you to pick me up at my home tomorrow morning."

"What time?"

"Early. We're going to DC."

"DC, Sir?"

"Yes. I need to see my son. I need to give something to him."

"Sounds… good Sir."

"Thanks James, goodbye."

James heard the phone go silent as his eyes registered the ended call blankly. Sighing, he took a seat at his computer, and searched for a ticket to Kirkwall.

Benjamin McGee began packing a duffel back. He didn't need to bring too much. He could buy whatever he needed when he was there. Slowly, he walked into the closet, flipping on the light. As he stood, swaying slightly, the old man coughed deep. Turning over his palm, he saw that there was dark red in his hand. Cancer.

He wiped the blood away with a towel, then reached up to the top shelves of the closet. His hands felt around for a few seconds before he grasped the glass jar, hidden behind some old shoe boxes.

He squinted at the jar, tilting it slightly, a grey, powdery substance inside, the image of it nearly ripping his heart in two.

Ziva pulled into the parking spot at her apartment complex, but instead of getting out, she simply sat in the driver's seat. It felt as if her stomach was in literal knots, tightening as she thought of the tone McGee used when he threw her out of his apartment. Yes, that's right, he threw you out. You were trying to help him. You were trying to comfort him. And he threw you out. That, Ziva, is why you don't get close. That is why you don't open up. Because of people like Tim McGee. Right?

Even in her mind, Ziva was unsure of what was right. She was justifiably angry with McGee, but she knew, as she knew on the beach, that that man was almost not completely the McGee she knew and…

Knuckles grew white as she gripped the steering wheel, trying to understand what was happening. She tried to think of why, all of a sudden, she was so inclined to be there for McGee. Be there for… Tim. What was it about him that made her-. No, it was simply a situation of a friend in need. A friend. Friend in need. That's all this was. As a friend, and coworker, and fellow agent, one should be supportive and comforting. It was her dutiful obligation. Because if the team were not 100%, someone will get hurt. That's it, right Ziva? Right. Exactly. No doubt.

But there was doubt.

Absentmindedly she pulled out her phone.

"Doctor Mallard." Came Ducky's cheerful voice. In the background, Ziva could here children playing and people calling to each other. Dogs barked.

"Ducky, it is Ziva."

"Well, hello my dear! What can I do for you on this grand and rare occasion of a day off?"

The old man was in a cheerful mood, and his tone helped Ziva smile.

"I just wanted… to…"

"To talk, my dear? I'm always readily available."

Ziva swallowed a lump in her throat. Gibbs' talent of reading minds must have rubbed off on the old M.E.

"Thank you, Ducky. In person?"

"Of course! I am at the dog park actually near yours and Timothy's residences. Care to join me? I'd very much enjoy your company."

Ziva smiled.

"I would love that."

"Wonderful! I will see you soon!"

Ducky hung up his phone, glancing about at the children and dogs playing in the park.

"Something is amiss, I'm afraid." The old man whispered to himself.

"B-boss. What are y-you doing here?"

McGee stuttered out the question, rising to his feet. Gibbs stood in the doorway, sipping his coffee. The old man remained silent, intense eyes examining the red and misty younger ones.

"Everything okay?"

Tim shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah, Boss."

"Doubt that."

"It's fine."

"Don't lie, McGee."

"Ok, it will be fine."

"Still doing it."

McGee groaned, stifling the sob that loomed up within him. For some reason, all he could think of was wanting Ziva to come back. Something about her was comforting. Maybe it was that she had been with him in the beginning, and had experienced the most of his unique situation. Maybe it was because she cared. McGee stood and began angrily folding clothes that lay on the back of his couch. Gibbs just watched.

"Watcha doin' McGee?"

"Folding clothes." The younger agent spoke quietly.

"Why?"

Tim held a shirt up before him, examining it carefully, before throwing it vicously to the ground. He turned to Gibbs, glaring at him and pointing to the crumpled shirt on the floor.

"Because it's what normal people do, Boss! It's what normal people do!"

He stooped to pick up the shirt and began to refold it, muttering under his breath.

"...what normal people do…"

Gibbs took a sip, swishing the coffee from one cheek to the other.

"And you're not normal, McGee?"

The young man stopped folding, weighing what he did and did not want Gibbs to know.

"No. I'm not."

"You seem normal to me."

Gibbs spoke as if his original question had been a rhetorical one.

"Boss, can you… please leave."

Gibbs cocked his head.

"Now, Boss. Please."

McGee turned to him, pleading in his eyes. Apart from that, Gibbs saw something else in the young man's pupils. Something painful. Something that tormented him. As much as Gibbs wanted to head slap McGee and yank the answers out of him, he knew that wasn't the best course of action. That would work with Tony. Either way, I'm not leaving.

"No, Tim."

"No?" McGee gasped incredulously.

"Nope."

The young agent flinched, as if the denial of his request had been a punch to the gut.

He then turned and headed into the kitchen to tidy up. He turned the water in the sink on full blast. Maybe the steam from the hot water will make it look less like I'm crying.

Gibbs followed him and just watched.

"Why are you here Boss?" Tim finally spoke as he polished a spoon.

"Something's up."

"No. Everything is fine."

Gibbs had had enough.

"Dammit McGee! What the hell is going on? Come over here."

The older man all but strong armed Tim towards the couch, the spoon clattering to the kitchen floor. McGee cast a sorrowful glance over his shoulder at it. Normal people don't let spoons lie on the floor like that.

"Sit." McGee was pushed into the couch. Gibbs had expected his agent to protest, but he didn't. Tim simply sat and stared at him. His red eyes looked terrible with the dark circles under them.

"Now. What is going on?"

"Nothing."

"We'll try again. What is going on?"

"Nothing, Boss." McGee's tone rose a few octaves.

"I'm going to keep asking. What is going on?"

McGee just sighed and rubbed his eyes.

Third time's a charm.

"I don't know Boss. It's just…" Tim stopped himself as Gibbs settled on the couch next to the agent.

"...do you ever feel… you know what, nevermind. It's fine. Everything is fine."

"Will you cut that out!"

Gibbs tone took hold of Tim's heart. His expression was that of a child lost in a grocery store.

"Ok. Fine. Boss... do you ever feel... not normal?"

Gibbs' face remained unchanged. The older man's answer startled McGee.

"Yes, I do."

"You do?"

"Yep."

McGee laughed, a sob almost finding its way out of his throat as the older mn sipped his coffee.

"You? Not normal? Come on, Boss. Not like this. You're… you're perfect."

McGee pointed to his boss, his tone one of sad disbelief.

"You're successful, you are social… enough. You don't have weird things happen to you. You aren't… debilitated by random occurrences. You don't… break into aquariums."

Gibbs' eyebrows shot up.

"That was you?" McGee took a deep breath, speaking quietly as he let it out.

"Yeah. That was me."

"Well, you're wrong."

"Wrong? About what?"

"I'm not normal, McGee."

"Oh? Then tell me!" McGee rose to his feet as his voice reached the threshold of shouting.

"Tell me Boss, how you're not normal! Compared to me? The antisocial computer nerd who sits in his apartment, alone, on weekends and writes! Who can't seem to hold a solid relationship! And who breaks into goddam aquariums! Tell me- no, enlighten me as to how you are not normal!" Who hears poetry of another identity in his dreams. Who sleeps with random women by the sea. Who has a father who claims that he's part selkie. Which means I'm… no, no it's not true.

McGee was panting as he all but glared at Gibbs. The older man was doing his damnedest to no head slap McGee for the tone of voice and the glare he just used towards him, but given the circumstances, he knew that would not be the best course of action. McGee rarely ever used an angry or elevated tone with anyone but Tony. Whatever this was, it was serious. Gibbs held out his hand, four fingers outstretched.

"Four marriages McGee. Three didn't work because I couldn't hold a solid relationship. Like you." Gibbs wrapped his hand back around the coffee cup as he continued.

"I sit in my house, alone, on weekends and build boats. But, you got me on the aquarium. I broke into Fornell's house once, though."

McGee just stared at his boss.

"But, Gibbs, I'm not normal. I'm just... You broke into Fornell's house?"

Gibbs chuckled.

"Yeah. He bet that I couldn't. Got free coffee for a week."

McGee shook his head, letting out an almost inaudible chuckle. The older man watched his subordinate carefully. There was a distance in his eyes, like he was seeing things that no one else was. He stared wistfully and painfully before him, yet beholding nothing. The silence was oppressive. As seconds ticked by, the tense silence continuing, Gibbs noticed the young man swaying slightly, as if unsteady on his feet. He took a sip of his coffee.

McGee's vision faded. He remembered being in his apartment, talking to Gibbs, but now, all he saw was a grey haze, like ocean fog. Before him, he saw the figure of someone coming towards him. It was a female figure, but it felt wrong. All of it felt wrong. He felt wrong.

Reaching one arm out slowly, McGee could feel a pulsing in his heart, as a sound only he could hear resonated, rhythmically crashing and subsiding. The waves. The sea. My home. His fingers stretched eastward, towards his mother and the salt water. His lips moved slightly, quivering as he spoke silently, tears breaking free uninhibited from their eyelid prisons.

Gibbs had stood when McGee reached out, but kept his distance. Then, with a sudden drop, McGee plummeted from his feet, collapsing in a heap on the hardwood floor. Gibbs was immediately beside him, cradling his head in his arms.

"McGee! McGee! What's wrong?" The older man demanded, watching in horror as McGee's eyes rolled backwards.

"God Dammit McGee!"

"...si...l...k…"

Gibbs leaned his ear beside McGee's mouth.

"What Tim?"

"B...os..s…"

"Yeah McGee. What's wrong?"

With eyes still rolled backwards and saliva trailing from the corner of his mouth, McGee finally spoke words his boss could understand.

"...It was… just a… touch of silk… just a touch of silk…"

Then McGee went limp in Gibbs' arms.

"Well, hello Ziva my dear! How are you!" Ducky rose from the bench in the dog park when he saw Ziva approach. He could tell from her stiff demeanor that something was up, but decided that formalities would not be foregone. The M.E. embraced her tightly, then took a seat beside her on the bench. For some time they just sat and watched the children and dogs running about, playing in the afternoon sun. Ziva shifted uncomfortably.

"May I ask, my dear, what is the matter?"

"Why do you think something's the matter, Ducky?"

"Oh come now Ziva, you must know that a man of my… stature is sharp enough to detect when things are not as they should be."

Ziva sighed.

"It's McGee, Ducky."

Ducky swiveled on the bench to face Ziva.

"Ah, our beloved friend of still water."

Ziva looked at him perplexed.

"Still water?"

"Yes. Still water. Water that is calm on the surface, but strong, powerful and even unpredictable underneath. Where the eye cannot perceive."

Ziva took a deep breath, settling her elbows on her knees.

"Is that not the truth."

"What is wrong, dear? What is going on between you and Timothy?"

Ziva's eyebrows jumped and she avoided Ducky's gaze. After all, the question was worded peculiarly.

"He is… troubled, Ducky. He has not been himself lately. I witnessed him… cry. He does not think he is normal. He says that he is not like other people."

If Ducky were surprised at this, he didn't show it.

"And he shared this with you?"

Ziva only nodded.

"Well, you should be honored. Despite this moment of weakness for Timothy, you should know that, our dearest young agent is very private. It is that fact that he shared this with you may mean something. He trusts you, Ziva my dear."

She remained silent.

"I assume you want to help him. But, you do not know how. You are frustrated because you don't know how to help."

The Israeli let out a deep breath as Ducky continued.

"As I have experienced in my time, sometimes those we care about are subject to things only they can comprehend. We must sometimes, unfortunately, mind you, wait beside them. Provide support. Provide a safe place for them to rest."

"A safe place. What is, a safe place, Ducky?"

"Well, to answer that more appropriately, one must ask, what must one be safe from."

Ziva mulled the question over as she pushed an overly friendly dog away from the bench.

"One's self."

"One's self, my dear?"

"Yes."

"You feel our beloved Timothy must be kept safe... from himself?"

Ziva only nodded.

"Oh... dear me." Ducky whispered, a frown creasing his features.

"That is something entirely different in itself."

'Your life was taken from you

By misunderstanding and love

Peace you will find to be true

When there is naught but water above'

Almost 3,500 miles away, an old woman walked along a rocky shore. Wrapped in a dark grey cloak, the old woman made her way towards the lighthouse. Before reaching it though, she paused. At the highest point on the little island, she turned, facing southwest. Quietly, she sang, the wrinkles on her face a testament to her years.

She thought of the man, so long ago, that had taken her son from her. She remembered the night vividly, the young soldier, unable to comprehend the reality of his situation, grasping the infant and his skin away from her arms. She could still see him walking off into the cold night, towards his warship.

She didn't truly blame him, though. While it had broken her heart, she understood that mixing affairs with those of his kind would lead to such ends. The only truth that she knew now, was that all things would come full circle. It would be amended, and he would return. She knew this, for she saw it in his eyes, more than thirty years ago.

He would return. And he will have righted his wrong. It was the nature of things. The ebb and flow, so to speak. The tide comes in, the tide goes out. It was how things worked. The nature of an honest man was predictable. And, that's why she had chosen him, years ago. She saw into his soul, that he was honest. She saw that he was true of character. More importantly, she saw that he was not fully human.

Honesty, integrity, purity, and his selkie blood were what drew her to him. For she knew, that their child would be more selkie than he.

The old woman sat upon the rocks, gazing across the sea towards the southeast as seals played in the waves.