Chapter 29

Ducky was awake fairly early. Ever since being told that they knew where Tim was, that they were there with him, that he was still in a terrible straits, Ducky had been thinking about the past. It wasn't healthy to dwell on something that couldn't be changed, but Ducky himself just wanted to think back and determine if they all could have done something to keep Tim from breaking down in that moment.

And honestly, the more he thought about it, the more remote he considered that possibility. With all that had happened to Tim before Abby's death, he had likely been overloaded already. It was possible that even he had not been aware of just how bad off he was.

Of course, it was also possible that he had been aware but simply assumed that he had to bear it alone because that's what the tough guys did. He could have pushed each event away, feeling the growing pressure but not feeling free to express his own struggles.

And that would make a lot of sense, given what Gibbs had told him about Tim actually reaching out when they had realized that the two men had been killed in the same way as in his book. Tim had been on shaky ground knowing about two complete strangers being killed that way and his attempt to get help had been rejected. Not just ignored, outright rejected. Then, when Abby had been the next victim (and probably even when Tim had shot Landon), it had been the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. Tim's mind had shattered in that moment. Ducky had spoken to Tony and Ziva about Tim's reactions that night. ...or the lack of Tim's reactions. He'd said nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The mental breakdown had been nearly complete. Perhaps they should count themselves fortunate that his breakdown hadn't been psychotic. Tim might have turned his own gun on himself in that situation.

But it seemed nearly inevitable given the events. Without changing a lot in the year before that night, Tim's breakdown was going to happen. They couldn't have stopped it from happening.

But they could have stopped him from thinking he had to leave, had to give up his life, had to punish himself for not being able to write the end of that horrible story. Even though he would still have needed help. They could have got him that help before he ran away.

And Ducky couldn't fully excuse himself either. While he hadn't been there to see Tim that night, he really had done nothing other than call him. If they had gone that first night or even the morning after, Tim would still have been doing what he needed to do to disappear. They could have found him then.

Maybe.

Ducky sighed. Perhaps it had been too late from the moment Abby died. Tim's initial breakdown had been utterly silent. None of the reactions that would automatically clue others into his situation. From what Ducky knew, he had just stood there. He'd said nothing. He hadn't reached out that time. He hadn't done anything. And what was happening beneath that surface nothingness was the crumbling of Tim's mind. Shock and grief had hit them all, but Tim had collapsed beneath the weight of more than grief. It was the guilt as well. It was just that no one had realized it.

He wished that there was something he could do.

And then, a thought came to him and it made him smile a little. Perhaps there was nothing he could do right at this moment, but he could make some plans that might help Tim ease back into his life here, something that would allow him to see that the people here cared deeply about him and that they could all move on, given time.

He just prayed that Tim could recover from it all.

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

Over the next couple of days, there was an uneasy rhythm to life. Tim slept in until the sun woke him up. Then, someone would come over to talk to him. He had a break and then someone else came. He really wasn't sure how he felt about it. There was still a desire to run away from all these new complications in a life he's tried to completely empty, but at the same time, it was Gibbs. It was his family. He couldn't run away from them now.

He was sitting in the living room, wondering what he was supposed to be doing when there was a knock on the door. Tim took a deep breath and walked over to open it.

"Good morning, Tim. Did I beat all of your adoring fans here today?"

"Hi, Harris," Tim said, unable to muster up any enthusiasm.

"Bad morning?" Harris asked as he came inside.

Tim didn't say anything.

"Tim?"

"What am I supposed to be doing?" Tim asked.

"In what respect?"

Tim walked back and sat on the couch with a thump. Harris followed him over and sat down as well.

"Tim, what's this about?"

Tim sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. I... My family is here. Gibbs is here. I know they're expecting me to say I want to come back, but..."

"That's not what you want?" Harris asked.

"I don't know!" Tim said. He felt antsy and got up to pace. "I'm still trying to believe that I can want anything at all. I don't know how to decide what to do. I don't know what to put into my life. I know it's empty. I know that and I know that you're all telling me it doesn't have to be, but... what if you're wrong? I'm so sure that I'm right about what I've been doing but you keep telling me I'm wrong. What if it's backwards and I really am right about it?"

Harris was quiet for a moment.

"Tim, come and sit down."

Tim did although he didn't really want to.

"What if it is? Then, what?" Harris asked.

"Huh?"

"Let's say that the whole world is wrong about you, Tim. The world is wrong about what you deserve and you're right. You're the only person who thinks that you deserve punishment for this. Then, what?"

"Then, if I'm honest, then, I have to pay for what I did. And what I did was take a life."

"Now, Tim, if you're honest, then, be honest now," Harris said, leaning forward with a slight smile on his face. "Do you really trust your own judgment so thoroughly that you think that you could possibly be right and the whole rest of the world is wrong? Because, quite frankly, I'm skeptical, given the way you've talked about yourself."

Tim hadn't really thought about it like that, but as he did, he could admit that it seemed silly to do that when he had such major lapses in judgment.

Before he could really get going on that train of thought, Harris caught his attention again.

"Now, before you go where I know you're going to go, don't. All your decisions and choices are not suspect simply because I pointed out an inconsistency in your current point of view. Tim, I'm trying to get you to think, not just react emotionally. You're just starting to recover from a major psychological assault and mental breakdown. Plus, it had time to fester, to intensify. This is more difficult than it would have been had you got the help you needed a year ago."

Tim felt himself tense a little at the word help. He still didn't like to hear it applied to him.

Harris noticed.

"Help is not a bad word, Tim. It's not a negative thing. The year you've had to cement all these thoughts you've had about yourself and your situation is making your recovery slow and more painful for you, but it's beginning. Don't let yourself fall back into the trap of thinking that help is going to lead to death or pain. Don't let that man's psychosis torture you any more than it already has. What he said to you does not have to be the truth outside of his mind. Certainly, he believed it, but that doesn't mean that you have to."

"But it was still my writing that did it!" Tim said, seizing hold of something that still made sense to him.

"No, Tim. Your writing was merely the outlet for a pre-existing psychosis. You did not create the psychosis. If it hadn't been your book, it would have been something else. And you can argue all day long that if you hadn't written your book, this wouldn't have happened and you're probably right. Those two men and your friend wouldn't have been targeted by him. But what if their deaths saved someone else's life?"

"It's still people dying! One person's life isn't more valuable than another."

Harris caught his eye again and nodded.

"That's right, Tim," he said, speaking slowly and deliberately. "One person's life isn't more valuable than another. So your life is just as valuable and it shouldn't be lost."

Tim felt his lower lip quivering. He tried to stop it. He hated that it was so easy to bring him to tears lately. He looked down, his breath shaky.

Harris shifted over so he could sit beside Tim.

"You can cry, Tim."

"No. I've done it too much already," Tim whispered. "I h-h-hate it."

"Maybe it feels like too much because you're doing it a lot now, but you have nearly a year of suppressing it and if it's all coming out now, then, it's going to feel overdone," Harris said, his voice gentle. "It's still allowed. In fact, you should cry if that's how you're feeling. If the idea that you have value overwhelms you, that's okay. But you do have value, Tim. Your life matters."

"Does it?" Tim asked softly.

"Yes, and you know it now. You're just afraid to let it out. You're afraid of what it might lead to if you admit that your life matters... and, Tim, all it will lead to... is a better life. It doesn't have to mean that someone will die. It doesn't mean that someone else will suffer in your place. So, Tim, it's time to admit it. It's time to admit that your life is valuable."

Tim stiffened and shook his head.

"No."

"Yes, Tim. You need to take this step, no matter how frightening it is. You need to say it and see that it's not going to be the horrific nightmare you think it is."

"No," Tim said again.

"Yes. Say it, Tim. Don't be afraid to say it. Your life is valuable. You matter. Just say that much. Say that you matter."

Tim shook his head.

"Tim, you've now had ample evidence that you do matter to others. Including your boss who also cared for your friend who was killed. They care about you. You matter to them. They want you to heal. They want you to be happy." Harris actually laughed a little. "Tim, you matter to someone who simply met you through the grocery store. The guy who sold you bread thinks you matter."

Tim couldn't help but laugh at that.

"You matter so much that someone who shouldn't have even given you a second thought has spent months trying to help you. Don't be afraid of that word. Don't be afraid of people caring about you. Say it, Tim."

Tim really didn't want to. He really didn't want to, but at the same time, he did. He wanted to matter. He wanted to have a real life again. He wanted a life that had meaning. But he still couldn't rid himself of the feeling that he was terrible for wanting it and saying that he mattered would be like spitting on the people who had died.

"What about Abby?" he whispered.

"She died, Tim. And you've already admitted that she wouldn't want you to be this way. Is it better to honor her memory by destroying yourself which you know she wouldn't want or to honor her memory by living the best life you can and remembering her?"

Tim swallowed and took a breath. Every objection he raised was being overruled.

"Come on, Tim. You can do it. It won't make anyone's world end. Just say you matter."

Silence.

"You can do this, Tim. It's scary right now, but it doesn't have to be. You don't have to be so frightened of it." Harris' voice was gently cajoling. "Say it."

Tim took a deep breath and let it out.

Then, he took another deep breath.

And let it out.

"I matter," he whispered. It was barely audible, even to his own ears, but it was terrifying to say it.

"Say it again," Harris said, softly.

"I matter."

"That's right. You do," Harris said.

And Tim let himself cry.