Chapter 27

"It's amazing how much damage one bullet can do," Abby said, sounding almost excited.

Tim watched as they all bent over the body, looking at it with interest while he himself felt a vague horror at knowing this was something he had done.

"Definitely the kill shot," Ducky said.

Then, suddenly, Jimmy looked over and saw him. Tim tried to smile a little, but he couldn't even get halfway there. Instead, he just stood there.

"Uh..." Jimmy said.

Ducky glanced up. "Something wrong?" Then, he followed Jimmy's gaze and his expression became sympathetic. "I am sorry, Timothy. That was not meant for your ears."

"Not a problem, Ducky," Tim lied. "I was hoping when I woke up this morning that it was all a nightmare."

Abby ran over to him.

"Somebody needs a hug."

It was nice of her, but really, it didn't help at all.

Tim woke up the next morning, and it was obviously much later than usual. The sun was clearly up and Tim lay on the bed, wondering what was going to happen that day. His family was here. Gibbs was here. What would they do? He lay there, unmoving, unsure of how he even felt about the fact that there were so many people here who knew him and wanted him to go back.

How can I ever go back? How can I see all of that and know that Abby won't ever be there because of me? Tim asked himself.

Finally, he sat up, but he didn't get out of bed. There was no reason, really. He had nothing. No responsibilities, no plans, no real future. His life was utterly empty...but there were people trying to fill it again and he didn't know how he felt about it. A desire to have something was still warring with the feeling that he didn't deserve to have anything. He sat there for a few minutes, staring into the ether.

Then, a knock on the door, startled him.

"Come in," he said, knowing that Mark would come in even if Tim told him not to.

The door opened and Mark came in.

"Good. You're finally up."

"Finally?" Tim asked. He turned at looked at the clock. He still mostly ignored the passage of time as much as he could. It was actually after nine. Much later than he had thought. "Oh."

"Yep, finally."

"Shouldn't you be at your store?" Tim asked, feeling a little uncomfortable.

"Oh, I've already been there. I got everything set and now, Tricia is manning it. I'll check on things but this isn't really a busy day typically," Mark said. "I can stay right here and bug you all day long."

"Oh."

"So for now, I'm going to bug you to eat breakfast. You need regular meals and you spent far too long not getting them. So are you ready to have something to eat?"

"I guess."

"Don't sound so excited, Tim. You still need to have breakfast and it may not be exciting but it's important."

Tim sighed and got out of bed. He followed Mark to the kitchen and sat down. He would offer to help but Mark had already rejected his help with cooking more than once. Tim had tried to say that, even if he hadn't been cooking much lately, he did know how, but it didn't matter. Mark insisted on cooking for him.

Today, it was pancakes.

"Mark, you don't have to go to all this trouble. I mean, I get that you feel like you do, but you really don't. I can do with a lot less. I did even before my life imploded."

"You can but you don't need to, and I know my pancakes are good. So there."

Tim found he could smile at that. He sat obediently at the table and waited while Mark made pancakes. They smelled wonderful and he had to fight against the feeling that he shouldn't let himself enjoy anything.

Mark turned around finally with a plate of pancakes and set them on the table.

"There you go. Have as many as you want, but you'd better take some."

Tim took a breath and let it out slowly. He looked at the pancakes.

"Part of me feels like I shouldn't take any of them."

"Why not?"

"Because they look good," Tim said and forced a smile.

"You deserve to have good things, Tim," Mark said, gently.

"Maybe."

"Definitely. And start out by eating some pancakes."

Tim laughed softly and took a couple of pancakes.

"Good job."

Tim put some butter on the pancakes and then poured the maple syrup over them. He didn't look up but he started eating them. They were good. He felt a little guilty but he enjoyed them.

When he finished eating, he took his plate to the sink and washed it. He could feel Mark watching him, and he didn't want to get into it.

"Tim..."

There was a knock on the door and Tim wondered if it would be yet another person who had tracked him down. He didn't turn away from the sink, even as he heard Mark leave the room and open the door.

In fact, Tim turned the water back on just to cover up any talking that might go on. He didn't think he wanted to know who was there. If it was someone to see Mark, it didn't affect Tim at all. If it was someone to see Tim himself... well, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

He stayed at the sink, studiously scrubbing at his plate which was probably completely sanitized after all the wiping he'd done.

Then, he heard Mark coming up behind him.

"Tim, someone is here to see you," Mark said.

"Who?"

"Your boss."

"Oh."

Tim stayed where he was, wondering if he could just refuse to see Gibbs at all.

"You want to talk to him?"

The answer was no, but Tim was pretty sure he had to say yes. He couldn't imagine what else Gibbs might have to say to him. He stood there for a few more seconds, staring at his plate, his extremely clean plate. Then, he put it on the counter and turned around.

"Okay."

Mark raised an eyebrow at him. Tim just shrugged and walked to the door. Gibbs was standing on the porch. He hadn't come inside.

"What do you want?" Tim asked.

"Will you come with me?"

"Where?"

"To your place."

"Why?"

"To talk."

"Why?" Tim asked again.

"Will you come?" Gibbs asked again.

Tim wanted to say no. He wanted to go back to the bedroom and close the door and hide away from all this stuff. But at the same time, it was Gibbs. Even though he'd quit, even though Gibbs hadn't been his boss for a year, Tim didn't feel like he could say no.

He looked over his shoulder and saw Mark. He knew that Mark would force Gibbs out, probably literally, if Tim asked him to. But he also knew that he shouldn't.

He sighed.

"Okay. I need to get my shoes."

"I'll wait."

"Yeah, I know," Tim said. He sighed again and walked back toward the bedroom.

Mark followed him over.

"You don't have to talk to him, you know."

"Yeah, I do."

"Why?"

Tim managed to smile a little.

"He's my boss."

Then, he took a breath and grabbed his shoes and his coat and walked back to the door.

"Okay," he said.

"Let's go," Gibbs said.

Tim nodded and followed him out to the obvious rental. He got into the passenger side and then sat and said pretty much nothing. Gibbs wasn't much of a talker, either, so he didn't say anything as he drove. Tim looked out the window and was surprised to realize that he felt a little bit of dread at returning to the place he'd spent all those months punishing himself. He'd been wanting to go back there, but now that he really was...

Finally, though, they pulled up to the house in the same heavy silence.

"Why did you pick this place?" Gibbs asked.

"It was available. I could afford it. It was isolated," Tim said, forcing himself to reveal no emotion.

"But why here in Maine?"

"No one would think to look for me here," Tim said, dully. "I've never been here before. Never expressed any interest. Never had any interest. No one thinks of me as an outdoors guy. It was perfect."

"Come on," Gibbs said.

"Why? I know what's in there, Gibbs."

"I know."

Gibbs opened the car door and Tim reluctantly followed suit. Then, they climbed up the hill to the small house.

Tim noticed that the doorknob was damaged. He looked at Gibbs.

"I broke in," he said.

"Why?"

"Thought you might be dead," Gibbs said.

And then, it was Gibbs' turn to look away. Tim saw that he seemed uncomfortable with admitting that.

"Would it really have mattered to you if I was?" Tim asked.

"Yeah."

"Why? I know you blamed me."

"Maybe. For a little while. Not for months," Gibbs said.

They walked into the house and Tim looked at the typewriter. He hadn't used it for weeks. Ever since Mark had forced him to go to the hospital for the first time. He walked over to it and sat down, running his fingers lightly over the keys, feeling the smoothness, hearing the soft clicking.

"This was my murder weapon, Gibbs," Tim said. "It was involuntary, but it was murder. I didn't know I was doing it, but I was killing people with this thing."

"So you were trying to kill yourself?"

"Maybe," Tim said, softly. "Maybe not. I wasn't very good at it if I was."

"Yeah, you were."

"I'm still alive," Tim said, staring at the typewriter. "That doesn't seem very successful."

"You did everything but stop living, Tim. You tried to destroy your whole life and you almost did it."

"Did I?"

"Yeah."

"Abby is dead," Tim said. Then, perversely, he turned around to face Gibbs so he could see what affect that statement had on him. "Abby is dead."

He could see the pain Gibbs still felt about that.

"I did that to you," Tim said.

"Landon did that, not you."

Tim stood up, shaking his head. "No. I did it. I didn't want Abby to die, but I still did it. Boss, you can't change that. Landon only went after her because of what I wrote."

"No."

"Yes. I know it. You know it. Everyone knows it."

"No," Gibbs said again.

"Come on, Gibbs," Tim said, feeling suddenly angry. "I lost it, but you don't have to lie to me. I wrote the words that pushed Landon to think he had to commit murder! He was..." His voice caught in his throat for a moment. "He was... trying to help me. He said it himself. That's why Abby is dead. And you lost someone you cared about. And you still aren't over it. And that's my fault. You can't make that go away. You can't..."

"I forgive you," Gibbs said, his voice very soft.

Tim almost missed what he said.

"What?"

"I forgive you," Gibbs said again, still in that same soft voice.

It was like someone doused him in ice water, instantly cooling his anger. Tim stood there, staring at Gibbs, unable to comprehend what he had just said.

"What?" he asked again.

"I forgive you," Gibbs repeated for a third time in the exact same way. Not even a hint of annoyance, frustration or insincerity.

For a long time, there was silence in the house. Tim was standing there, staring at Gibbs who was just standing there, staring back at him.

"Why?" Tim asked after a few seconds.

"Why shouldn't I?" Gibbs asked.

"I told you."

"So? I don't agree."

"I killed Abby," Tim said, almost desperate to make Gibbs take back what he'd said.

Gibbs walked over to him and took him gently by the shoulders, forcing Tim to look him in the eye.

"No, you didn't. Everyone knows that. Including you, if you'd admit it. Any blame you deserve, I don't care. I forgive you, Tim. For all of it, if I need to, but for whatever blame you actually deserve. I forgive you."

Tim stood there, staring at Gibbs. He tried once more.

"Abby's dead," he said.

"And I forgive you," Gibbs said again.

Tim stepped back from Gibbs, breathing loudly. Then, no matter how much he did not want to cry yet again, he started crying. He collapsed back onto the chair and starting crying. He closed his eyes, but he heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor. Then, before he realized it, Gibbs was sitting beside him, putting an arm around his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," Tim whispered. "I'm so... I'm so sorry."

"It's all right, Tim," Gibbs said, still in the same soft voice.

For a long time, Tim just sat there and cried with Gibbs sitting beside him. If he thought about it too much, this was a very strange situation. Gibbs was not comforting, not to Tim anyway. He wasn't patient, not with Tim anyway.

And yet, there he was, sitting there and being patient and comforting.

And something started to change. Just a little.

Something loosened inside him.

Somehow, things felt like they could maybe become better.