Chapter 15

"Tim, you really don't seem very happy," Abby said.

"I'm fine, Abbs," Tim said, trying to focus on the computer and ignore her concern.

"No. Ever since Jim..."

"I'd rather not talk about that," Tim said. The funeral had been on the weekend and it had been really hard.

"I know, but maybe you should."

"We have work to do, Abby. That doesn't stop just because I had a bad day."

"So it is a bad day?"

Tim stopped typing. Abby just couldn't be put off when she was determined to find something. She hugged him from behind.

"Tim, it's okay to be sad about it. Just because some people here don't ever admit it and think they're tough doesn't mean that they're right about it."

Tim patted her hands.

"You mean Gibbs?" he asked.

Abby laughed. "He's definitely one of them, and even the mighty Gibbs can be wrong."

"I think that might be blasphemy in this place."

"Good. I like being a little blasphemous," Abby said. She squeezed him for another moment and then let him go. "It's better to admit that things are bad sometimes than to pretend that everything is fine."

"Not always."

"Always, Tim. And I'll always be here to remind you of it."

The front door closed, startling Tim out of his painful thoughts. He'd been lying on the bed, lost in a miasma of memories. It was almost a relief to escape them. He stood up and walked to the door of the bedroom. Then, he stopped. He didn't want to leave the bedroom and have to deal with the world, but a question Harris had asked him the week before had taken up residence in his brain. He'd been trying to ignore it, but he couldn't.

He was becoming curious.

It was like with the snowshoes, only less desperation. There was still some, but not as much.

He took a breath and opened the door.

"Hey, Tim. How are you feeling today?" Mark asked.

Tim shrugged.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"Well... I live here," Mark said.

"No. In Maine."

"Oh. I grew up here, actually."

"Really?"

Mark smiled. "I have no reason to lie to you."

"I know."

Mark started into the kitchen, and Tim found himself following behind.

"Did you ever leave?"

"Sure. Went to college and everything."

"So why come back?" Tim asked.

Mark started pulling things out of the cupboards. Clearly, preparing to make dinner. Tim persisted.

"Why?"

"Lots of reasons. None of them reasons I liked at first."

"What were they?"

Tim knew he was pushing where he had no right to push. He'd never done anything to deserve asking questions that could be painful and were, at the least, private. But he couldn't get Harris' question out of his mind and he had to keep it up.

Suddenly, Mark turned around and had a strange look on his face. There was still Mark's natural good humor, but there was a little streak of pain. This wasn't something he necessarily enjoyed discussing. Tim almost took it back, but Mark started talking.

"I've lifted weights pretty much all my life. A lot of people lift. It's no big deal, but lifting was what I liked. I didn't do it to get stronger or to train or to exercise. I just liked to lift. I liked to see how far I could go. How many plates could I put on that bar and still get it up in the air? That was what I cared about. I went to college and I kept lifting. I started going to competitions and I was pretty good at it. I studied business in school, but what defined me was that I lifted weights. I'm naturally a big guy and so I look intimidating, too." He laughed. "Well, at a competition, there was an accident during one of my lifts. I won't get into the exquisitely painful details, but at the end of it, my shoulder was torn to shreds. I had surgery to fix the worst of it, but it didn't heal fully and I'll never be able to lift like I did again."

"Did you come here to recover?"

"No. I came here because my dad asked me to. I was justifiably depressed by what had happened, especially when I realized that this thing I was so good at and had enjoyed to the exclusion of pretty much every other hobby was now out the window. But I wasn't going to come home because of it. But even though I'd never really considered trying to earn a living with it, I still didn't know what to do with my life when I couldn't lift. It sounds melodramatic and it is, but at the time, that was how I felt. I felt aimless. I finished college but then, I didn't know what to do."

"So why did you come back?"

"My parents were worried about me. They wanted me to come home so that they could keep their eye on me for a while. But then, Dad got early-onset Alzheimer's. It progressed too fast for us, and someone needed to take over the store. Mom had her hands full taking care of Dad, and my sister is married with four kids. She lives in Florida. Never did like the cold. So I took over the store. I'd worked there when I was a kid. I knew how to run it, but it was always going to be temporary. I was never going to stay here. But temporary got longer and longer. By the time Dad died, temporary had become permanent. I realized that I didn't want to give it up, even though I'd never wanted it before."

"Where's your mom?" Tim asked.

Mark did laugh this time.

"She stayed about a year after Dad died and then, she decided that she didn't like the cold anymore, either, and she moved down to Florida. So I stayed up here. She suggested that I sell the store and move closer to the rest of the family, but I only ever got as far as asking a realtor what I could sell it for. I can't give it up now. So I'm still here. I'll usually go down to visit a few times during the year, and they'll come up once or twice in the summer when it gets insanely hot down there."

Then, there was a moment of silence. Mark smiled and turned back to the counter.

"You're... still pretty big."

Mark nodded but he didn't turn around.

"That's because I can lift a little, and I do other work. I just can't push myself anymore... unless I want to destroy any possibility of moving my arm. I keep myself in good shape and that's enough."

"So you really could bench press me."

That seemed to surprise Mark enough that he looked back and laughed.

"Probably. I haven't really ever tried bench-pressing a person before, but you're pretty scrawny still. I don't think it would be too hard." He reached into a cupboard and turned around once more. "Here. Make yourself useful. Set the table."

Tim was so surprised that he didn't even react at first. Then, Mark raised an eyebrow at him.

"I hope you're familiar with the concept, Tim."

That made him a little embarrassed at his reaction and he took the plates, knowing that his face was red.

At the same time, he couldn't believe how normal setting the table felt, even if he was doing it in a house that wasn't his, with someone he barely knew.

It was a flash of something normal in a time when he hadn't even allowed things to be normal.

And while he felt guilty for it, he could admit that he was happy to have it.

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

Tony and Ziva were out doing interviews in their latest case, and Gibbs was sitting at his desk, looking at the elevator. He still hadn't gone down to the lab. He still hadn't seen it devoid of Abby's presence. But it was time. Now, when no one else would see him fumbling his way through something that shouldn't be so difficult.

Finally, he stood up and strode to the elevator without looking anywhere else. No checking to see if anyone noticed and knew what he was doing. He got on the elevator and rode it down to the lab.

He stepped off the elevator when it opened, mostly because he didn't want to go through the ignominy of having the doors open back up at the bullpen level with him still aboard.

But then, he stood in the hall and looked toward Abby's lab. For a moment it was still Abby's lab. But she wouldn't be there, and he knew it. He could survive it. It was no longer Abby's lab. It never would be again. He squared his shoulders and walked into the lab, noting the distinct lack of loud music. The music he'd always hated but would give anything to hear again in this room.

"Oh... Agent Gibbs. Hello."

Gibbs turned and saw Teresa standing there, looking, frankly, shocked at his presence. He nodded to her.

"I'm working on the samples Ducky sent up, but they're not done yet." Then, a machine behind her beeped and she turned. "Oh, it's done."

"What did you find?" Gibbs asked.

Teresa seemed more than a little flustered by his presence. He knew why. Right now, though, he had to focus on being professional. Being encouraging had never been his strong suit anyway.

Still, she brought up the test results.

"The bullet has no known striations. It's not from any registered weapon, but the casings we found are really dirty."

"A suppressor?"

Teresa nodded. "Probably. So it's definitely not your run-of-the-mill killer."

Gibbs nodded. Then, he took a breath and looked back to the office. Oliver was sitting in there working on something. Not Abby.

"Agent Gibbs?"

He looked back.

"I just wanted to say that I know you're probably still missing her, but we're not trying to do anything but our jobs. We aren't making any requirement that you treat us the way you did Abby."

"I know." He smiled a little ruefully. "Not your fault that I don't accept changes."

Teresa smiled, too. "Well, it's hardly just a change. But I hope you'll feel free to come down here. We really do know what we're doing."

"Never questioned that," Gibbs said.

There was a soft whoosh from behind and Gibbs turned around.

"Agent Gibbs, I'm more than surprised to see you down here," Oliver said.

"I was just giving him the results from the bullets and casings," Teresa said.

"Oh? I didn't know they were done."

"They finished right when he got here."

"Good timing," Oliver said. "Anything else you need, Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs could admit that he appreciated that Oliver was simply being professional. There was no attempt at camaraderie, just acceptance.

"Anything new about McGee?"

"Actually, maybe."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "Maybe?"

"Well, I've been calling in favors up in New York to see if we can figure out where Tim went after he got the money from his investments. The problem is how long it's been. A lot of places don't keep their security videos."

"You said maybe?"

"Well, I might have found the car he was driving. It's something we could add to the BOLO, and I'm thinking, if you agree, that we should expand the BOLO to a much larger area than just around here. He's clearly not here anymore."

"Clearly?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah. People are actively looking for him. Based on what Tony has said, if Tim was convinced that he had to go, he isn't going to stick around for someone to change his mind." He paused. "What do you think, Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs thought about it, and while he was still questioning his own actions with regard to Tim and whether or not he'd ever understood his agent at all, he could agree that, when Tim was convinced, he rarely took it back unless given a good reason for it. And suddenly, he thought of something he'd told Tim a couple of years ago.

"There's only one time I want you to stop, McGee."

"When you tell me."

"When you're satisfied. When you're satisfied!"

And Tim had kept going until he had run out of things to find. He'd keep doing whatever he was doing now until he was satisfied that he'd done... what?

Then, he remembered something else. Words that Tim had written. The only words he had written to anyone from his team who might have come to check on him.

Nothing is more wretched than the mind of a man conscious of guilt.

Tim thought he was guilty.

He'd stay away until he was satisfied that he'd paid the price of his guilt. What would satisfy him? Gibbs didn't know, but he hoped it wasn't as far as it could be.

"Agent Gibbs?" Oliver asked.

"You're right. What's the car?"

"A gray Chevy Cavalier... if it's the right one. The video isn't completely clear, but shape matches that model. Looks like an '80s version... if we're right."

"Stolen?"

"Do you think Tim would steal a car? Ziva didn't think he would."

"Depends on how much he felt it was necessary. He'll do almost anything if he's convinced it's the right thing to do. Hid his sister from us because he wasn't sure what had happened and was willing to quit to support her," Gibbs said.

"I'd apologize but I know how you feel about that," Tim said.

It had been one of the few times that Tim had been completely unwilling to back down from what he'd been sure of.

"I don't know what my sister did or didn't do, but I know what it looked like. I couldn't take that chance with Sarah. ...she's my sister."

"I think stealing a car might be beyond that...but I'll check it out," Oliver said.

Gibbs nodded. He didn't want to think that Tim would be willing to go that far, but he knew that he could be wrong and he'd rather find out quickly if they could.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"Not right now, Agent Gibbs," Oliver said. "I'll get checking on that. Teresa, how are those partial prints going?"

Teresa went and checked.

"Still running. We may not be able to get anything from them, but it hasn't rejected them yet."

"Okay. That's where we're at. Anything else you need from us?"

"No. Thanks," Gibbs said.

"No problem."

The phone in the office started ringing and Oliver groaned.

"I'll bet I know who that is. Sorry, Agent Gibbs."

Then, he hurried into the office again. Gibbs looked at Teresa with a questioning expression. She smiled.

"This is when I'm glad I'm the assistant and not the one in charge. NCIS is doing a full review of all the forensics labs, and it's our turn this week. He's been really nervous about it because it'll be his first review since coming to work here, and he wants to pass muster. He's been going through every single item we have in here and making sure there are no problems."

And Gibbs hadn't even known about it at all... because it wasn't Abby down here, and she would have insisted that everyone sympathize with her annoyance at having to answer to anyone else.

"But he does his job really well. He doesn't have anything to worry about, but this is the just about the only time he's been nervous since I've known him."

"Good luck," Gibbs said.

Teresa smiled. "I'll be fine. Oliver will be fine, too, but he's the one who has to worry."

Gibbs found himself smiling back and then he left the lab. As soon as he was out in the hall, he took a breath and let it out. Relatively painless, but still awkward and hard.

He could see what Tony had seen. What Ziva had seen far sooner than either of them. Oliver and Teresa were good people who were doing a good job. Abby would have liked them. ...even if she would have resented having anyone else muscling in on her territory. He could also see what Ziva liked. Oliver wasn't typically handsome but he had confidence and inner strength that Ziva would need in order to respect a man.

Even though he knew his opinion didn't matter in the least, he approved of Ziva's relationship.

For now, there was work to be done, and every step he took edged him back toward normal and away from the pit he'd only reluctantly climbed out of. It was good, and Hollis was helping him, as was work.

He hoped that Tim was getting that, but he was more than a little worried that he wasn't.