Chapter 21

Sunday...

It was Sunday. Unless there was a case going on, the team wouldn't be there. Tim didn't want to see them. That wasn't why he was getting up early, why he was getting dressed, calling for a taxi and heading to NCIS. He had called in advance. He knew he was a visitor now. He had quit. He had to make sure they knew he was coming and get a visitor's pass. It was strange to think of NCIS being a place he would be going only as a visitor...like a tourist. He pushed the thought away and left his apartment.

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

"Just show me your ID, Agent McGee. You know how it works."

"I have my ID right here," Tim said, "but I'm a visitor now...so I'd better have a visitor's pass."

The guard, Henry, looked at him oddly. "Since when?"

Tim flushed. "...since...about a week ago."

"Really."

"Yeah. Just give me a visitor's pass. I won't be up there long. You can even escort me if..."

"That won't be necessary."

That voice caused Tim to look beyond Henry and meet the gaze of Director Leon Vance. He swallowed nervously.

"There's been some miscommunication, Henry. You can go about your busy newspaper-reading," Vance said with a smile. Sundays weren't generally busy on the Yard. Henry returned the smile and shook his head at fickle youngsters.

"Sounds good to me, Director."

"Come with me, Agent McGee."

Tim followed, but he couldn't help correcting him. "I'm not an agent anymore, Director. I...I quit."

"I'm well aware of that, but in the eyes of everyone who matters...by that I mean everyone in the Human Resources department, you are currently on sick leave."

Tim looked at him in confusion as they rode up in the elevator. He felt a twinge in his abdomen. He'd taken the medication prescribed for him, but he wasn't sure it was working, not if he was supposed to be painless.

"I didn't fill out a form," he said lamely. "That's required...and...and it requires my signature."

"I know."

"Who filed it? I know I didn't."

"Take one guess, Agent McGee."

Tim stopped in surprise and was nearly left on the elevator as the doors began to close. At the last minute, his mind kicked into gear again and he stepped out, vaguely surprised as well to see that they'd stopped at the bullpen level. He'd unconsciously expected to be taken to Vance's office. He was hoping that Vance wouldn't be standing over him. What he was going to be doing was...well, it wasn't illegal. He could do this using a Google search, but this way would be faster...and he could be sure of its accuracy. Whereas...

"You should probably sit down. I'm sure you're not fully recovered from your accident." Vance directed Tim to sit down at his desk. Tim did so, feeling odd about it. NCIS seemed almost like another world...and yet, it was so wonderfully familiar at the same time.

"Gibbs filed the form?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"To give you a chance to change your mind."

Tim tried to feel angry, but all he felt was tired. It was so hard to be so angry for so long.

"Agent McGee?"

Tim looked up. He wasn't even aware of it, but he had started opening his drawers, going through his usual ritual. He stopped his hands as soon as he noticed.

"Yes, sir?"

"What brings you here this morning?"

"I..." Tim wasn't sure he should tell Vance, but after all, what would he do? Fire him? "I wanted to use the computer once more."

"Why?"

"Some...unfinished business."

"Agent McGee."

"Yes?" Tim didn't want to actually look at Vance, but the silence dragged after that address and eventually dragged his eyes upward. Vance was looking at him with entirely too much sympathy.

"Are you sure you want this to be the last time you use this computer?"

Tim opened his mouth to say yes, but the word wouldn't come out. ...the lie wouldn't come out. ...but he couldn't bring himself to say no either. Instead, he dropped his gaze to the desk and tried not to show how close the tears were to the surface.

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly."

"I thought not. You don't seem to understand it yourself yet. ...but know that if you need to talk it out with someone who is mostly divorced from all the proceedings, you can talk to me." Vance stood up. "You are still employed by NCIS, Agent McGee. If you wish to terminate your employment, you may do so. If you would like to request a transfer elsewhere, you can schedule an appointment with me to go over your options. ...however, until you do those things, you are an NCIS special agent on sick leave. ...that means, you don't need a visitor's pass to come in here."

Tim didn't move until Vance was gone, but he was shocked by the words he'd spoken. He wasn't sure he could actually envision himself telling Vance anything...but...but there were those times when he'd spoken to him before, during his banishment to Cybercrimes. No, not banishment. Vance had a reason for that. ...it was... Tim looked at his computer. Even if NCIS itself felt strange, the computer was still his.

Every geek needs his computer.

Tim began a search. It took ten minutes at the most before he got the information he was looking for. Once he had it in hand, he stood and walked away.

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

Later that day, Tim sat staring at his telephone. It was a good thing he'd kept the landline since he had to wait a couple of days for a replacement for his cell. He wasn't sure how long he'd wait before he would make the call. He needed to. He wasn't sure why, but he knew somehow that this was vitally important, just like talking to Jimmy had been vitally important. Again, he couldn't have said why...but it was.

It wasn't until nearly seven that evening that he got up the courage to dial the phone number he'd tracked down. He took a deep breath and called.

"Hello, Burton residence."

"Hi...may I speak to Dan Burton, please?"

"Who may I say is calling?"

"A...an old acquaintance."

There was confusion in the woman's tone. "All right. Just wait a moment."

Tim waited and heard some murmuring over the phone line. Some queries and then the male voice came on.

"This is Dan. Who is this?"

"You sound almost the same," Tim said, with a measure of surprise. The only thing missing from the last time he'd heard Dan's voice was the antagonism.

"Who is this?"

"It's Tim."

"Should I know that name?" He sounded genuinely confused.

"Maybe it would help if you pictured me on the ground, covered with paint, begging for you to stop. Or maybe if I had told you I was the geek." Tim paused for a moment. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you forgot my name. You didn't remember it all through high school." Tim was surprised that he wasn't shouting. He certainly felt like shouting.

"Tim McGee. I have seen you in years...not since high school."

"You probably never gave me another thought after graduation."

"No, I did. I felt bad about that, Tim. I really did."

"Not bad enough not to do it."

"Is that why you called? To get some sort of...revenge?"

"No. I called to ask you a question."

"It's been fifteen years, Tim. Why now?"

"Because you might have forgotten about it, but I never have. It's easier for the perpetrators to forget than it is for their victims."

"Perpetrators?"

"I'm in law enforcement." Why am I giving him an explanation?

"Oh. What's the question?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you suddenly start hating me? Why did you decide to make my life miserable? And why did you do that to me, why did you pretend to be my friend again, only to torment me...again?"

Dan was silent. Tim heard a soft female voice ask if this was going to take a while. Dan whispered back that it could.

"It's been fifteen years, Tim. I barely remember all that. It was high school."

"Lucky you."

"We were friends before high school."

"Yes. I know...but somehow, I don't remember the friendship as much as the bullying that came after."

In the ensuing silence, Tim pictured Dan leaning back in a chair, his face pulled into that perplexed stare he'd occasionally given Tim back when they had still been friends.

"I'm not going to say there was a good reason for it," Dan said, finally. "There wasn't. They didn't threaten me or anything like that. I know I was jealous of you."

"Jealous? Of what?"

"I got held back a year. You got pushed up two. Suddenly, we were in the same classes...and you were in higher classes than me. There were other kids who resented being in the lower tiers. Or they just figured you were trying to act like you were better and decided you needed a lesson. It was easy when there were so many of us." Dan sighed. "You want a reason? That's all I can give you. We were childish and stupid."

It was Tim's turn to be silent...thinking of how to put it. "No," he said. "No, you were cruel. That...that party was not childish. It wasn't stupid. It was humiliating, degrading and intentionally cruel. You waited specifically until I was back on my feet to knock me down. You pretended to be my friend, Dan." Tim heard a plaintive note in his voice and wondered if Dan had caught it as well.

"I know, and thinking back now, I remember that I almost didn't have the guts to do it. You came walking up the street in clothes I could tell were new. You were smiling. You looked almost happy."

"But that didn't stop you. You still did it. You didn't even just stand by and watch. You participated."

"What do you want me to say, Tim?" Dan asked. "That I shouldn't have done it? Of course, I shouldn't have. If I had know about your dad, I–"

"No, please, spare me that. Do you honestly think that having my dad almost commit suicide made what you did worse, that if my dad had been fine it would have been less traumatic for me? That it might have been just a big old joke that we could laugh about now?" He waited but Dan said nothing. "Let me disabuse you of that idea. Yes, having my dad in the hospital was bad, but do you know know what was so horrible about that night, what I still remember?"

"No."

"It was that I was so happy to have you as a friend again. I didn't have very many. As the designated punching bag, people didn't like associating with me for fear it would spill over onto them. ...but suddenly, I thought I was going to have my best friend back. ..but I didn't. Worse, you proved how much of a friend you weren't by leading me into that...and then taking the first shot, the one that hit me in the eye. I believed you and you stabbed me in the back."

"Why did you believe me?" Dan asked. "I never thought it would work. You were too smart to fall for it."

"I trusted you," Tim said, feeling an ache that had nothing to do with Dan and everything to do with his current life.

"But why?" Dan persisted. "I think I proved pretty often that I didn't care about you. Why did you think that I'd suddenly changed my mind?"

"I...wanted it to be true. I never could figure out why you suddenly started hating me. I guess I always hoped that you would stop...and you did...I thought. I...I thought that my dad had betrayed me and this was a chance to have someone do the opposite...to get rid of that feeling."

They were both silent again. The realization of how that feeling had only been intensified rather than ameliorated left them without words.

"Why now, Tim?" Dan asked after a minute.

"Why not?"

"Well, no reason but what were you wanting from me? You must have had some idea of what I'd say."

"I wanted an explanation. That's all."

"No apology?"

"No. I couldn't accept it. I don't know when I might be able to...but not now."

"Tim...did it really affect you that much? For this long?"

"I thought I had forgotten about it as thoroughly as you did...but I hadn't. Yes, it did affect me. It still does. If it hadn't been for my mom, I might not have even gone to graduation."

"I might not have shaped up if it hadn't been for your mom. She and the sheriff scared the living daylights out of me." He laughed a little.

"Thanks for answering my questions, Dan," Tim said, feeling unexpectedly drained by the conversation and wanting nothing more than to hang up.

"The fifteen-year reunion is coming up at the end of the summer. Are you planning on coming?"

"No. There's no one I really want to see. I want high school to stay in the past. Bye, Dan."

"Bye, Tim."

They both hesitated again.

"Tim?"

"What?"

"Even if you can't accept it, even if it's fifteen years too late...I am sorry."

"Bye, Dan." Tim hung up and then stared at the phone. "What did I really expect to get out of that?" he asked aloud. He asked it...and then he knew. He knew why he had needed that and he knew what he needed now. He called for yet another taxi.

I really need to get my car fixed.

He also needed to get some rest. He felt really tired, not just physically, but mentally as well. ...and yet, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep or even relax until this was taken care of. He felt a strange compulsion to get it done, like there was no time left to think, only to do, only to act.

That was why, half an hour later, Tim was paying the taxi driver and walking up the steps and then knocking on a door he would never have considered touching even that morning. He knocked. ...and then, knocked again, wondering what he'd do if no one was home.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming."

Tim felt himself begin to tense up at the voice and then, the door swung open quite quickly.

"McGee...what–?"

"Hi, Tony."