Chapter 16

Ziva smiled as she watched Oliver working in his office. He was so focused when he was working on a particular task. The rest of the world may as well not exist. Teresa had already left for the day, so she could sit and wait without interruption.

The review had gone well, but now, he was having to fill out a number of reports, responding to all the information in the review, and Oliver had been working on that task for days, almost to the exclusion of everything else. Teresa had even secretly admitted to Ziva that she hadn't realized just how many things Oliver did until he wasn't doing them. Her workload had increased dramatically, and she claimed that she'd never complain that Oliver just sat in his office and did nothing again. Clearly, he did way more than she'd known.

Watching him work, she was suddenly reminded of Tim. It had been her first year working at NCIS, when Abby still didn't like her on principle and Tim was the most accepting and friendly. They had been searching for a kidnapped commander, and she had retreated to Tim's side while they were working to find something new.

Ziva laughed at the memory of Tim trying to politely get her to leave him alone while he was working on something she could not help with and she was having nothing of it. She was just enjoying being there with him and, quite frankly, enjoying how easy it was to make Tim blush. What would he be like when they found him? Would he have changed so much that this would only ever be a memory? She hoped not, but she was afraid that Tim would be in a terrible situation when they found him. When. She still refused to accept that they wouldn't ever find him.

She refocused on Oliver. He had spent so much time trying to find Tim. Ziva knew that it was mostly because Oliver knew how much she hoped for it and how much she wanted to find Tim, but he was also very thorough and he hated giving things up before they were done.

Suddenly, he looked up from his work and saw her standing there. He smiled and then looked at the time and smacked himself on the forehead. He stood up, stretching, and walked out of the office.

"Ziva, why didn't you interrupt me?"

She smiled. "I was enjoying watching you."

Oliver smiled but looked a little self-conscious. For all his usual confidence, he played down his appearance very frequently. It was as if he felt that he wasn't worth looking at, but Ziva disagreed. While he was no movie star, she found him very pleasant to look at.

"Well, sorry I didn't notice the time passing. I'll be so glad when this is done."

"So will Teresa," Ziva said.

"I know. I've had to pass off a lot of the work to her while I'm doing these reports. I'd rather be doing what she's doing, but the buck stops with me."

"Are you ready to go or would you prefer to relax for the evening?"

"I'd like to relax, but I'd love to have you join me," Oliver said. "Would you be too disappointed if we just ordered some takeout or maybe delivery and watched a movie at my place?"

"Not at all. That sounds lovely," Ziva said.

"Great. Then, I can really relax and enjoy myself. Let me shut everything down and we can go."

"All right."

Oliver went back into his office and did some last typing on the computer and then, Ziva watched as he went through his usual ritual for shutting everything down. She'd watched the process often enough to know that he did everything in the same order every time. She didn't know if it was actually necessary that he do it that way or if he just liked the routine.

Then, he came out and they left together.

Oliver's home was a small row house, and it was extremely organized, but at the same time, he didn't hesitate to drop stuff on the floor when they came in. She had asked him about that once, and he had just said that being organized meant that he could be sloppy occasionally and get it cleaned up easily when he was ready for it.

Oliver had admitted to her that one thing he could not do was cook. Everything he'd attempted, he'd ruined somehow. He tended to cook out of boxes and he ate out way too much. She often teased him, but tonight, Ziva didn't give him any grief about it. As he was looking through his large stack of takeout menus, she suddenly had a thought.

"Oliver?"

He looked up.

"Yeah?"

"Are you serious about this?" she asked.

Oliver sat there for a few seconds and then put down the pile.

"I take it you're not asking about the dinner menu."

"No."

He paused for a moment and then took a breath. "Is this your way of politely and gently trying to break up?"

"No."

"Okay... could you say more than one word at a time, then?" Oliver asked. "What's this about?"

"Our lives are very different. You do not know just how different our lives are... because I have never told you."

"Beyond just the fact that you're a Mossad officer and could kill me with paper clips?" he asked, smiling a little bit.

Ziva couldn't help but smile in return.

"I do not know if I like that Tony is now comfortable with you and Teresa," she said. "He tells you too many things."

Oliver laughed, but his eyes were still serious.

"So...more than that?"

"Yes."

Oliver walked over from the counter to the couch where Ziva was sitting. He sat down beside her and took her hands.

"Is what you haven't told me serious?"

"Yes."

He nodded for a moment and then smiled. "Okay. How about this? I still think we should just relax tonight. Have dinner and watch a movie. Then, on our next date, we can make it a serious one and talk about this...because, Ziva, it would have to be pretty bad to drive me away."

"It may be."

"Well, I hope you'll let me make that decision for myself."

"I will try."

"Good. Now, can you just set that aside for now?"

Ziva could see that Oliver really did want a break from his work stress and she nodded.

"Yes, I can do that."

"Good. Then, let's decide where to order dinner from and then fight about what movie to watch. How do you feel about going Indian tonight?"

"As long as you will let us get something other than plain naan."

Oliver chuckled. "Okay, okay. You win on that one."

He went to get his pile of menus and sort out the Indian restaurants. Ziva took a breath and hoped that telling him all about her life wouldn't drive him away from her. She really cared for him and she didn't want to end this relationship. But because she cared about him, she had to let him know what he was getting into.

But it wasn't foregone. She would try to do what Oliver asked and set it aside until they talked about it.

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

"What happened?" Tim asked, in shock.

"Get the chair!" Gibbs ordered angrily.

"I almost bought the farm, McGee!" Abby said, coughing. "I saw that old lady telling me to run to the light."

"Boss, my back was only turned for a few seconds," Tim said.

"A few more seconds, McGee, she'd be dead."

Tim opened his eyes, breathing heavily. He sat up in the dark room and buried his head in his hands.

A few more seconds.

A few seconds. If he had known, he could have taken the bullet himself rather than let Landon shoot Abby.

Then, he let himself fall back onto the bed and he stared up at the ceiling, those moments playing through his head over and over again. He just couldn't escape them.

And no matter what anyone else said, he felt he didn't deserve to, but right now, he just didn't care about what he deserved. He wanted an escape. Any escape.

Maybe he could find the wine Mark had hidden from him.

He got up and walked out of the spare room and into the kitchen. He started searching through the cupboards, one after another.

"I was only trying to help."

The pain of that sentence stabbed into his heart. He couldn't bear it. He felt like he was bleeding to death, even though he knew he wasn't.

His search became more desperate. He needed to get away from this feeling, away from the pain of what he had and had not done. And right now, he didn't care what anyone else wanted for him. He knew what he wanted for himself. Long term, it couldn't work, but he didn't care one bit about that.

There was the sound of a door opening.

"Who's in there? What are you doing?" Mark demanded.

Tim didn't answer.

The light went on.

"Oh... Tim," Mark said. "I thought it was someone breaking in. What are you doing?"

Tim turned around and he saw Mark's expression change from questioning to concerned.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"I want to forget," Tim said. "I don't care about doing things right. I just want to forget it for tonight."

"By drinking," Mark said.

"I don't care how. I know drinking will work."

Mark shook his head.

"No. I'm sorry. I'm not going to help you do that anymore, Tim."

"Please," Tim begged. "I just don't want to think."

"No. Drinking yourself into an alcoholic coma isn't going to help you."

"I don't care!" Tim shouted.

"Well, I do."

Tim turned around and was possessed of a desire to break all of Mark's glasses in the cupboard he'd just opened.

"I don't want you to care," he whispered.

"Yes, you do."

"No. Just stop caring about me."

"Sorry. Can't."

Tim's knees gave out and he slumped over the counter and started to cry. He hated that he was crying again. He tried not to. He tried to stop himself, but he couldn't. He was overwhelmed again and Mark still wasn't giving him the outlet he'd chosen.

He heard Mark walk up behind him and then, to Tim's surprise, Mark physically lifted him off the floor and almost dragged him out of the kitchen and into the living room. Then, he set Tim down on the couch.

"Talk about it, Tim. Instead of trying to bury it until the next time it takes over, just talk about it."

"I don't want to."

"Try it."

Tim resisted, but again, there was that part of him that really just wanted to stop feeling like this, and if Mark's way would help, that part of him was willing to try it. But he just didn't want to.

"Come on, Tim. You've been doing it your way for months and it's been a dismal failure. Try it my way."

Tim forced himself to shake his head, while he was really almost ready to let it all burst out of him. Mark sat down across from him and actually smiled at him. Smiled encouragingly instead of being angry or disappointed.

"Come on, Tim. Give it a try," he said again.

Tim sighed and dropped his head into his hands again. For a while, there was silence, but then, he sighed again.

"It'd been a bad year," he whispered. "I messed up so many times... and people died... or almost died."

"More than this last thing?"

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

Tim just took a deep breath as the events washed over him again. He shook his head.

"What happened, Tim?"

"It... It mostly started when my sister almost got raped. She was drugged and her ex-boyfriend was killed and she came to me for help. I almost quit. ...well, I did, but Gibbs didn't let me. And everyone found out about my book. And they hated me for it."

"Why?"

"Because the characters were kind of based on them. Mostly the general descriptions. I never thought they'd see it because they didn't care about this stuff and I never thought they'd take it so seriously, but they hated me for a long time. ...but if that had been it... it would have been okay. Sarah got through it, and we found who did it and why. Instead of worrying about my sister, I had to worry about my team. ...but really, it would have been okay."

"But it wasn't."

"No, because then, I almost got Abby killed." He looked up, absurdly wanting Mark to pardon him for this one. "I only had my back turned for a few seconds! I didn't know! But a few seconds and she would have been dead... and all my excuses wouldn't have meant anything. Abby forgave me for it, but..."

"You didn't forgive yourself."

Tim shook his head.

"I don't think Gibbs really did, either. It was like... no, this time, it really was my fault." Tim shook his head and stared at the floor again. "It was my fault before, too. Gibbs sure let me know it. But then... things kind of went back to normal for a while, and I figured my... my streak was done. But it wasn't."

"What happened?"

"Jim died. Gibbs got us off for a weekend and the team who took our place... they were killed. Jim was one of my best friends. We'd been friends ever since FLETC and... and he'd just got married, and he died. Because I wasn't there to die instead. ...and Abby tried to make me feel better about it... but I couldn't. ...and then... right after that..."

"Abby died," Mark said.

Tim nodded, still staring at the floor.

"It was a bad year... and even before that... I shot a cop. I'm a murderer no matter how you try to spin it. ...and... and..." Tim looked up again. "And I just want to forget it all."

"You can't, Tim," Mark said.

"Yes, I could. You're just not letting me."

Mark shook his head. "No, not even then. Heck, one of the times I came over, you were shouting about something but you were so drunk that you didn't even see me. You remember it, only it's worse. You need to deal with it, not drink it away."

"Why? What's the point?"

"So... you can just miss her instead of beating yourself up about it."

Tim didn't respond.

"And, Tim?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"Huh?"

"I'm sorry. It sounds like you really have had a rough time. I'm sorry that you didn't get the help you probably needed before all this with Abby. I'm sorry that you were left feeling that you had to live like this. I'm sorry that you didn't have anyone to tell you what I'm telling you now. I really wish that you hadn't felt you had to come up here. I mean, I love Maine. It's a wonderful place to live, but you came here for the absolute wrong reason."

Tim still kept staring at the floor. He heard Mark get up and then felt the couch shift as he sat down beside Tim and put his hand on Tim's shoulder.

"Look. I haven't ever had to go through the kinds of things you're telling me. The worst that ever happened to me was messing up my shoulder in college and losing my dad to Alzheimer's. My life is pretty ordinary. I can't pretend that I know how it feels to think you're responsible for someone else dying, but I can see how miserable this is for you, and everything I've seen, everything I've read, everything you've actually told me says that you shouldn't be feeling like this. I can see that you do, but I can see that you shouldn't. Tim, you need to let it go and let us help you get out of this."

"Us?"

"Me and Harris."

Tim knew that he'd already said that he'd try, but this request was a bit different. It wasn't just about trying but about letting them actively help him feel better. It was genuinely letting them do something to improve his life. Not just trying to get better but letting other people assist him. Tim could drag his feet as long as he wanted to if he was the only one trying.

"I'm not letting you drink yourself into a stupor anymore, Tim. No matter what your answer is, you're going to have to work very hard to do that again. So even if you say no, I'm still not standing aside. I'm just willing to fight you on it instead of helping you."

Tim managed a weak laugh.

"And you'd win," he whispered.

"You're darn right, I would," Mark said.

There was a pause.

"You need to answer, Tim. I'm starting to see why you're so afraid of getting help, but will you let us help you? You know that we're not like that guy who killed your friend."

"I know."

"Good. So open yourself up to letting people really help you."

It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but Tim nodded.

"Okay."

"Good. Now, you think you can go back to sleep? It's four in the morning, you know."

Tim shook his head. Saying that he'd accept help didn't make anything easier right in that moment.

"Okay. Then, I'm going to sit here with you until you're ready."

"You don't have to. I won't go searching again," Tim said, softly.

"I know I don't have to. I want to. I'm going to sit here and give you the support you need right now. You don't have to talk. You don't have to do anything. I'm just going to be here."

And true to his word, Mark sat there quietly without saying a word. He sat there with his hand on Tim's shoulder as Tim sat on the couch, his mind still relentlessly playing the painful scenes he hated so much.

But as time passed, he actually found himself calming down, relaxing...

...feeling tired.

He leaned back on the couch. Mark was still sitting there.

And finally, his eyes closed and he fell asleep.