Chapter 34
It was a long-ish day, but not overly difficult physically. Since half the MCRT was not up to physically-challenging work, that made a lot of sense.
"Okay, you two need to get back on the active duty list because I am sick of reading about the Gromberg case," Tony grumbled as he logged off.
"Maybe if we solved it, it wouldn't keep coming up," Tim suggested.
"Go ahead, Probie. You first."
Tim smiled. "It was just a suggestion."
"Well, we will not be solving it today," Ziva said. "It is still as empty a plate as it was before."
"Okay, where in the world did you get that one?"
"Empty plate."
Tony shook his head. "Not getting it."
Ziva looked at Gibbs and then Tim. "I know it is close. There is even a Latin phrase."
"What's the phrase?" Tim asked.
"Tabula rasa."
"That's clean slate, not empty plate."
"I was close, yes?"
"That's usually referring to the brain and the nature vs. nurture argument," Tim said.
"Well, in terms of this case, are not all our brains clean?" she asked with a mischievous grin.
"Certainly of anything valuable," Gibbs muttered and stood up. "No more arguments about idioms until I'm out of the building."
Tony nodded and gave a mock salute...for which Gibbs gave him a headslap on his way to the elevator.
"Drinks?" he suggested once the doors had closed.
"You paying?" Tim asked.
"I'm not that crazy, Probie," Tony said. "You can buy your own wussy drinks."
"Fair enough."
"Ziva?"
"Yes, I will come. I think we should invite everyone."
"What about Gibbs?" Tim asked...and then, added, "I'll catch him. You two get Ducky, Abby and Jimmy."
He took off before they could stop him. He skipped the elevator, choosing, instead, to take the stairs. Gibbs, needing to take it easy still, had not yet reached his car.
"Boss!" he called.
Gibbs stopped and turned around.
"What is it, McGee?"
"We're going to go to the bar for a couple of drinks. Would you like to join us?"
Gibbs looked at him for a long moment.
"Boss?"
"How are you doing, McGee? Really."
"I'm...okay, Boss. Things aren't wonderful, but I'm okay."
"Why?"
"Because it's so much better than it was. Because the secret I'm keeping is something I'm not keeping alone. Because I have more control over my own life now than I did just a few weeks ago."
"What about Carew?"
Tim felt the familiar twisting of fear in his gut. "It's going to come whether I want it to or not. I'm just going to try and live my life as much as I can. If I can forget it for a while, so much the better."
"What created this new ideal?"
"A message from someone who was unexpectedly on my side."
"Who was that?"
"Fornell."
Gibbs' eyebrow raised in mild surprise but didn't ask any questions.
"Amin told me once that I don't have to look at my life as something that just sucks before I die. It's more than that, and now I have the chance to maybe get past the part that sucks."
Gibbs nodded. "If you can remember that, you'll be better off."
"I know."
"That doesn't get you off the hook for keeping me informed."
"I know."
"I'll show up there...later."
"What?"
"The bar."
Tim flushed. "Oh. Right. I'll tell the others." He turned to go.
"McGee!"
"What?"
"You still have an unfinished shelf in my basement."
Tim smiled. "I'll finish it, Boss. I promise."
"When?"
"Tomorrow?"
"Okay." He walked away.
Tim jogged back into the building and rejoined Tony and Ziva...along with the others.
"So? What's the word on el Jefe?" Tony asked.
"He's going to come later."
They all left together.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"Last round?" the bartender asked.
Tim looked around. No Gibbs so far. Tony noticed his glance and smiled.
"Hey, add a bourbon to the round," he said. "He'll get here, Probie...if he said he would."
The drinks were set out and, seemingly on cue, Gibbs was seen weaving his way through the crowd.
"I think a toast is in order," Ducky said as they all picked up their drinks.
"Go ahead, Duck."
He raised his glass. "To friends, past, present and future," he said simply.
There was a pause and then all raised their glasses with gentle clinks and there were soft murmurs of agreement.
"To friends."
They drank the last round quietly and then all dispersed to their homes.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Tim walked into his apartment and moved to his box, the one he'd made and stained more than a year ago. He opened it, pulled out a flash drive and pushed it into the USB port on his tower. Once it was ready, he opened a document and began to type.
After two years, I think I might just understand how I can live with what I've done. I will never accept that there is a justification for my actions in the past, but I see now that there is more to my life than that past I so abhor. I have friends. I have a life. I have a job to do. This job will cover more than I ever thought when I first joined NCIS, but it is still my job...and what's more, I'll finally have a real say in what I take on. I think that has been one of the worst parts...this feeling I've had that my life is out of my control. Even when Director Shephard was calling the shots...it still wasn't me. Up to now, my life has been controlled by my handler, by Carew, by Director Shephard, by Lawrence... Now, I can no longer cast blame on others for how things work out. Even with my promise to Carew hanging over my head, I still have a choice.
Gibbs knows about Carew. That's both a blessing and a curse because part of me is afraid that he'll try and be a part of whatever Carew asks me to do. I don't want more lives hinging on decisions I made in the past...or decisions that were made for me. ...but I want someone to know what it is I gave up for them. It's a selfish desire, but I do want it. I want to be able to depend on that...maybe it's because I know that, eventually, the luck that has so far kept me alive will run out. When that happens, it might take out whoever is with me as well. I don't want that. I won't accept that possibility.
Tim sat back and stared at what he had written. It didn't come even close to covering the details of his thoughts, but that wasn't really what it was for. It was a record of his life in case his life was lost. He wanted people to know what he had done. He wanted people to know the things he couldn't tell them during his lifetime. This was more than a journal...and less.
It was both an explanation and an epitaph.
Tim looked at the screen for a moment more and then saved it and closed the file. He scanned through the other files and saw nothing that needed updating. He opened a program on his hard drive, changed the access passwords for it and then programmed the access onto the flash drive. Satisfied, he removed the drive and replaced it in the box before replacing it on the shelf.
He went to bed, knowing that he'd had enough to drink that it would be dangerous to drive. Especially combined with his lethargy.
With all the things that could kill him, the last thing he needed was to kill himself in an accident.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"Morning, Boss."
"The wood is over there, McGee."
Tim nodded and walked over to the shelf. He began to feel the wood, trying to get back into the mindset he'd had when he'd begun it. After half an hour, he felt confident enough to begin working on it. He heard Gibbs constructing the keel of his latest boat behind him and he smiled to himself, thinking about how nice these times were. His father, heck, his whole family would never believe that he was enjoying the clumsy carpentry he was doing.
They both worked in silence for a few hours. When they stopped for a break, Tim looked at Gibbs and knew there was something he had to say.
"Boss?"
"Yeah?"
"Just in case..." He hesitated.
"What?"
"When Carew calls on me again..."
Gibbs turned around and stared at him silently.
"It's...I've been keeping a...a record, I guess, of what's been going on...and some other things. If...If something were to...happen to me from...from whatever comes up."
"Spit it out, McGee."
"There's some things you guys will need to know. They're hidden in my box in my apartment."
"Hidden?"
"Hidden in plain sight seems to work for me."
"If something happens?"
"I've come so close to dying, Boss. I highly doubt that whatever Carew decides he needs from me will be safe...or simple. I just..." Tim met his gaze, with a bit of embarrassment. "...don't want to die and be forgotten...or be lost and have no one I care about know what I've been doing. I can't tell them now, but if I die, they deserve to know something."
"In your apartment?"
"On the shelf."
"What shelf?"
Tim smiled and pointed at the wood behind him. "This one...if I finish it."
Gibbs stared at him again. Then, he nodded.
"You should probably get back to work then."
Tim nodded. "Yeah, Boss." He turned back.
"McGee?"
"Yeah?"
"No one would forget you anyway."
Tim felt a feeling of warmth spread through him.
"Thanks, Boss."
"You're welcome."
Then, he continued to fashion the shelf.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
That night, Tim walked into his apartment, a newly constructed, stained shelf in one hand and a can of varnish in the other. He cleaned off one of his metal shelves, removed it from the wall and put up the wooden shelf. He still had to varnish it, but he could see how it was going to look. The result did make him chuckle a bit. It was so different from the rest of his shelves, but still...
"I like it."
With a smile, he took it down and set it on his writing desk. That made him pause for a moment. He hadn't written for a long time. A very long time...and he felt no real desire to do so. His real life had taken on all the trappings of a suspense novel. Where was the need for living vicariously through other characters?
With a mental shake, he turned back to his computer. Life rarely turned out the way one expected. What he had to do was learn to accept what he could get. He walked into his bedroom and looked out his window...
...across the street...
...he caught the flash of a camera...
There was always someone watching. ...but he pulled his gaze from that evidence of his life and looked upward. Climbing out the window, he mounted the fire escape, going up to the roof of his building. Then, he looked up. He couldn't see a lot of stars there. Silver Spring might not be New York City, but the DC Metro area was densely populated and there were plenty of street lights whose glare would cover the celestial lights farther up.
That didn't really matter too much, though. He looked at the ones he could see and remembered that moment when he had stared up at the stars in the mountains of Montana and appreciated their beauty, even in the midst of the turmoil surrounding him. He looked down at the building across the street, but again brushed the feeling aside and turned his gaze back on the sky. Then, he closed his eyes and instead of seeing the sparse sprinkling of stars Silver Spring offered him, he saw the star-studded heavens of Montana. ...and he smiled.
Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.
FINIS!