Chapter 40

Dr. Hicks couldn't help but wonder if Tony would actually show up for his follow-up appointment. While Tim was meticulous about coming, and he was pushing himself to recover, Tony was resisting it, and with the assignment Dr. Hicks had given him, he wasn't sure what would come of it. The one thing that would help was that Gibbs had required it of him. That was a surprise and, in and of itself, told him about how serious this could be. Gibbs wasn't someone who would push for therapy without it being extremely important.

As he waited, he considered Tim's status. He was gradually getting better. There was still too much fear, and he hadn't been willing to discuss his grief at Ray's death yet, but they were starting to deal with the most instantly-destructive part of his trauma. Getting Tim to come to grips with his anger was extremely important since he saw it as proof of what kind of a person he was. Slowly but surely, he was getting there, and Dr. Hicks was glad to see it.

Then, his phone rang.

"Your next appointment is here."

"Thank you, Sherry. How is he?"

"Very quiet. Barely said two words."

"Okay. I'll be right out."

That sounded about right if Tony had actually done some serious thinking. Based on how he had spoken at their first meeting, he'd been coasting without expending any real effort. Now, he might be making that effort.

All the better if he was. Late, but better than never.

Dr. Hicks got to his feet, feeling his usual slight pain. If it didn't get worse, he could handle it. ...and if it did get worse, he could handle it, but he wouldn't want to. Then, he walked to the door of his office and stepped out into the waiting area. Tony was sitting on a chair, staring at the floor.

"Tony, come on in," he said.

Tony stood up and took a deep breath before following him. As soon as the door closed behind them, Dr. Hicks smiled and gestured.

"You can sit in any chair you'd like, and no, it's not a test."

Tony didn't smile. He sat down.

"You knew this would happen," he said, sounding accusatory.

"I knew what would happen?"

"That I'd feel like this."

"Well, I'll admit that I had hopes for it, and I'm glad to see it."

"Glad?"

"Yes. Your high level of discomfort means that you actually did what I asked you to do. You gave real, genuine thought to your reactions and you realized that what you've been doing does not match your perception of yourself, nor does it really make sense."

Tony got up and faced away. Dr. Hicks suppressed a smile. No, the chairs weren't a test of anything but how comfortable his clients felt in therapy. Some would only sit in the chair closest to the door. Others would brazenly take the chair closest to the desk as if daring him to try and help. Most actually picked the chair that looked most comfortable. Some, like Tony, were suspicious about the chairs and didn't want to be there at all. Tony hadn't even managed to sit for more than a minute. He was upset and agitated. It was a good start, even if Tony didn't realize it yet. After ten years, his habits had become second-nature, pursued without thought. Breaking those habits would take time and be very uncomfortable.

"So what are you going to do about it?" Dr. Hicks asked.

"I don't know," Tony said. "Ziva said I was being arrogant, but I don't feel like I am."

"In what context?" Dr. Hicks asked.

"I said that... that everything that's gone wrong for Tim is my fault."

"Which is absolutely untrue."

"That's what Ziva said," Tony said.

"And? Do you agree?"

Suddenly, Tony turned around, looking a little distressed and a lot confused.

"Every time something happens to Tim, someone hurts him, I remember that I did it first. And even if others hurt him, they were enemies. I'm supposed to be his friend. I'm supposed to be on his side and I hurt him and I was glad I did."

"And that makes you responsible, how?"

"I told the people who wanted to take him who he was!" Tony said.

"All right. What about Levi? What about the people this time? What about the FBI? What about the federal government in general? What about the CIA? Did your breaking under torture somehow also translate to all those things being because of you, too?"

"I hurt my friend!" Tony said.

"Yes, and that was wrong. You shouldn't have done it. So?"

"So? You think it doesn't matter?"

"I think you've focused on that for so long that you can't see anything else. Tony, I don't know how much Tim has told you about my life, but I spent a year being tortured, only it was for information I didn't have. It was a case of mistaken identity. I have to live with the results of that for the rest of my life. I broke. Completely. The only reason I didn't tell them anything of value is because I didn't know anything of value. After a year in their control, I'd make up things, just in the hopes of maybe saying what it was they wanted to hear. I would have done anything to make them stop. If they had told me that I could save my life by telling them that my mother deserved to die, I would have said it. Torture is meant to break you down, and you justified it by saying that Ziva was there getting tortured and Tim wasn't. So it didn't matter. And Tim would agree with you. He would agree that the tradeoff was worth it."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does, because, Tony, they broke you in a different way. They broke you by making you choose between a person in immediate danger and a person in hypothetical danger. Both people were important to you. Both mattered, and you had to choose. You broke because you couldn't, and even while you made the choice, you felt that you were making the wrong one and it's eaten away at you, apparently for a decade. How did you get away with stopping your therapy before? I'm sure that your previous therapist was competent. I have your file."

"I knew what to say."

"Ah. Well, I don't care if you know the right things to say. I care if you can focus on actually fixing your life."

"My life is fine," Tony said, although he averted his eyes.

"Is it? You're alienating your friends. You're hiding from Tim. Your job is on the line, and you're mostly miserable. That's fine? ...and don't tell me it's what you think you deserve. That's crap and we both know it."

Tony looked up, startled. Dr. Hicks smiled.

"Do you think I'm a CIA-approved psychiatrist just because they saved me, Tony? No. If I wasn't good at what I do, I wouldn't pass muster. I use my experiences to help me know what people do. And you don't really think you deserve to live like this."

"If you're so smart, then, why am I doing it?"

Dr. Hicks considered whether to answer Tony's question or not. He had the feeling that, consciously or not, Tony really wanted him to. The question was whether it would really help to have an answer or if the struggle to get to an answer was better.

"I think it might have started out that way, but at this point, you're terrified of what you might have to do to get over it. It was hard when you started and so you started repeating what you knew you were supposed to say and then, you just let yourself get fixated on what you did. It became easier. Not better, but easier because, as long as things were going well, you could ignore the problem, but every time things get shaken up, you remember what you did again and you know that working on it would be hard."

"I'm not afraid of things being hard!" Tony said, sounding affronted.

Dr. Hicks didn't like making speeches at his clients. It tended to make it too easy for them to get through their sessions without any effort, and he felt that effort was as important as anything else. However, Tony had already admitted that he hadn't made the effort, even when he'd talked. He was a talker and he didn't listen when he didn't have to. So he needed to be called out. ...and that meant a bit of a speech. Dr. Hicks took a breath.

"Yes, you are. Sure, I'll bet you work very hard in your job, but on a personal level? You have the attitude of the one who takes the easy road, unless you're forced to do otherwise. That's what Agent Gibbs is doing. He's pushing you to take the hard road, and you hate it. You hate every second that requires you to analyze your own life, your choices, the path you're taking. You don't want the fight it requires, but you also know that the path you're on right now is leading you to complete isolation, and you don't want that, either. That's why you tried to get me to answer your question. You think it means that the onus is off you. You don't have to fight again. You can start to coast. Well, that's not happening. I don't stand by and let people destroy themselves, so if that's your plan, then, you can leave this office right now and never come back. You can go find some two-bit armchair therapist who will let you keep pulling the same crap you've been pulling for the last ten years and then look back in another year or so and wonder how your life went so wrong."

Dr. Hicks paused for a long moment, letting the shock of his vehemence linger for a few seconds. Tony looked more than a little abashed by it. Good. He was really listening. He modified his tone.

"Or you can actually exert yourself to fix what's wrong and then look back a couple of months from now and think about how much better you feel than you have in the last decade. You can look at your relationships and realize that they're much healthier than they have been. You can look at yourself and realize that you don't have the same self-loathing you've been carrying around for so long. ...but you have to do something, Tony. It's going to be hard to start. It always is, and you've made it harder by coasting for so long, but it's not as hard as you think it is. And the reward is absolutely worth it."

There was a long silence, and Dr. Hicks let it go on. He'd made his speech and now, it was time to wait for Tony to do something whether he did leave or he admitted to it. Tony stood where he was for about five minutes. Dr. Hicks made no effort to force him to sit, to talk, to leave. He just waited. Time passed very slowly in silence, but years of experience had taught him the value in it.

Finally, Tony sat down with a sigh. He put his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor.

And then, the silence resumed. For another five minutes.

"Ziva said she loved me," he said finally.

"What was that?"

Tony looked up.

"Ziva said she loved me. ...well, not just outright like that, but... She came to my place and was mad at me for what I've been doing. She said that she'd watched a man she used to love die and she wouldn't do it again."

"Sounds like you're right," Dr. Hicks said. "Do you love her?"

He looked down again. "I haven't let myself think about it for a long time."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not real good at the whole steady, stable relationship thing."

"It's something you could work on if you wanted to."

"It's too complicated."

"It seems like it, but it's really not. Once one part of your life starts to fall into place, other parts will follow. Not without effort, but the more of your life you get in line, the easier it is."

Tony looked up at him, and there was a change in his expression. Something was there that had been missing before.

"I don't know what to do," he said.

Dr. Hicks smiled. "That's why I'm here. To help you...but only if you want it."

Another long pause and then Tony took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I do."

"Okay. Then, let's get started."

"Okay."

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

Gibbs was sitting in his basement, staring at his wood. With the exception of Tim, everyone would be back to work on Monday. He had to admit that he had no idea how it was going to go. He could only hope for the best. That was the case with everything. Too much of it relied, not on him doing something, but on others. He knew that Tim was getting better. He knew that Ziva was struggling but her own strength was helping and Ducky had been supportive. He didn't know what Tony was doing. He could only hope.

Then, to his surprise, he heard the door upstairs open and someone walk to his basement door. Who would it be? He couldn't tell by the tread.

The door opened and he smiled.

"Hey, Tim."

Tim was standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at him. He still didn't look the most stable, but it was better than he had been.

"Hi, Boss," he said, softly.

"Zahara with you?"

He shook his head.

"No. She's at home. My mom drove me over here, but she didn't wait."

That was significant. Tim might not trust himself to drive or to take transit, but he'd come on his own.

"I promised Dr. Hicks I'd get out every day. I hadn't done it yet today. ...it was a bad morning... but I had to do something."

"And?"

Tim came down the stairs.

"Can I build a box?"

"You're better than a box, Tim," Gibbs said.

"Not yet," Tim said. "But maybe soon. For now... a box."

"Only if you make it more than that."

"Like what?"

"A jewelry box?"

"I don't know."

"Just make it bigger for now, and we can work on it."

"Okay."

Tim didn't seem happy, but he walked over to the wood willingly enough.

"What are you going to use?" Gibbs asked.

"Cedar...like our headboard."

"There's enough."

"Good."

For a while, there was only the sound of Tim sorting through the wood. Gibbs was just sitting on a stool, sipping at some bourbon. Watching.

Tim got his wood and carried to the bench. Then, he stopped and turned around.

"This is so hard, Boss," he said. His lip quivered for a just a moment before he mastered the impulse. "I don't know if I can make it."

Gibbs put the bourbon down and walked over. He put his hands on Tim's shoulders and looked him in the eye.

"You can. You're better already. You can make it."

"If I don't... what will I do to..." He stopped talking abruptly.

He didn't need to finish. Gibbs knew.

"You'll make it," he said again.

Then, he gave Tim a hug. He wasn't sure about doing it. For all that Tim had come to his basement to work so often, they really didn't have much physical contact. But Tim hugged him back, just standing there. He needed the support Gibbs was offering and he was accepting it. Then, Gibbs let him go and gently turned him around so he was facing the wood he'd chosen.

"I'll help you with it," he said. "When it's not square, it's sometimes a little hard to get the proportions right. So I'll help you get started."

"Thanks, Boss," Tim whispered.

"Anytime."

Tim ended up staying for three hours to work on the box.