Chapter 31

How can I go back and pick up where I left off? It's not possible, but the more Gibbs pushes me to think about it, the more my family tells me that they care about me, the more I keep thinking about it. I'm starting to think about going back. I'm starting to think about where I am and where I could be. But I can't fathom life being the same as it was.

Tim sat back and sighed. In the days since Gibbs had brought his typewriter here, he'd begun typing, not as a story, but as a way of expressing himself, of thinking through things in a way that he still struggled with. He was meeting with Harris every other day, and his family and Gibbs were still coming by, and he was finding that his outlook was changing, but even so, he wasn't sure how he could go back...which was why he was still here, even though he had admitted to wanting to leave. He just couldn't believe that life could go on as it had been before after what had happened.

He took a deep breath and pushed himself away from the table. Then, he walked over to the couch and sat down with another sigh. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling, letting his mind roam back through the memories.

Abby grinned. "He wasn't a late bloomer like you, McGee. Oh, he's so cute!"

Tim looked at her, wondering if he should feel insulted or not. How did Abby manage to compliment him and insult at the same time like that so often?

"You think so?" he asked, a little stiffly.

"Oh... well, not cuter than you."

Tim still wasn't sure about that and he tried to focus on work instead. After all, he technically wasn't really supposed to be here. His boss back at Norfolk could easily toss him out on his ear, even if he was doing NCIS work.

Abby came up behind him and hugged him tightly.

"Abbs, I'm trying to work," Tim said, even though he couldn't suppress a smile.

Abby let him go. "Sorry."

"No, I like it. It's just that I can't concentrate," Tim said, blushing a little.

Abby walked away from him.

"Okay. What if I watch from way over here?"

And she bumped into Gibbs who was in a bad mood.

The front door opened, jarring Tim out of the memory. He wasn't sure if he was glad about that or not. He didn't shift his gaze away from the ceiling.

"No one else here, Tim?" Mark asked.

"Not at the moment," Tim said.

"What are you doing?"

Tim sighed again. "Remembering."

He heard Mark walk over and sit down.

"Remembering what?"

"Abby."

"In a good way or a bad way?"

"I don't know."

"What were you remembering about her?"

"Just... a time when we were together."

"Working or dating?"

Tim found he could smile. "Both... kind of."

"What do you mean?"

"We were dating at the time. She was flirting...sort of, but we were supposed to be working. We got in trouble for it but neither of us cared."

"Sounds good. Why aren't you sure about whether it is or not? Or is it just because you also remember that she died?"

"Abby wasn't perfect," Tim said.

"No one is."

Tim shook his head. "Even when we were dating, there were times that she'd hurt my feelings and then turn it around so that it was my fault for being upset. She always apologized but it was still my fault. When we broke up, it was because I wanted a serious relationship and she didn't. It was her idea to break up but stay friends... but she'd still flirt with me all the time. It was so confusing. ...but she was there when I really needed her." Tim sighed for a fourth time. "And now, I don't know what to do. How can I go back there where she was? How can I see the lab without her there? How can I go to DC and know that she'll never be there?" He closed his eyes. "How I can forget seeing her die?"

"I don't think you can," Mark said.

Tim finally looked away from the ceiling and saw Mark looking sympathetic.

"I don't, either," he said and looked back at the ceiling.

"But I'm only talking about the last one," Mark said. "I don't think you are."

Tim looked back at Mark again. "Huh?"

"I don't think you'll ever be able to forget what happened, Tim. It was too big a thing, but it won't always be such a road block for you. You'll be able to see around it. As for the other stuff... well, I think you can adjust, and really, as you adjust to one thing, I think the rest of it will get easier, too. Why don't you go and try it?"

Tim felt himself tense up at the overt suggestion that he go back to DC, even though that was what he wanted. He just also wanted to be able to go back in time, and that wasn't possible.

"Tim, if it's too hard for you, you can always come back here. After all, you own a house here."

"Yeah, I do."

"And that doesn't go away, unless you decide to sell it. You're not stuck there if that's what's scaring you. But you should go back and find out, not just stay here and be scared of it."

"Gibbs keeps saying I can go back. I don't see how that's possible. I quit. I ran away. I'm still not really great, and Director Shepard doesn't really like me at all. I think she's probably glad I'm gone." He went back to staring at the ceiling again. "I know what will happen here."

"Yeah. Nothing," Mark said. "Tim, you're doing a whole lot better than you were, but you need to take that step. You deserve to get back to your life and if you want to keep a summer home here, you won't be the first to do it. This place is beautiful in the summer. You deserve better than nothing. A lot better."

Finally, Tim sat up and looked at Mark directly.

"Why do you care about what happens to me?" he asked. "Why do you care what I choose?"

"You need that," Mark said.

"Yeah, but why did you even pay attention enough to notice?" Tim asked. "Harris said it. The guy who sold me bread paid enough attention to notice that I needed... help." He still hated that word but he was trying not to. "Why?"

Mark looked at him for a long time. Then, he got a strange expression on his face. He got up and walked out of the room and then came back in with a photo album. He opened it and flipped forward through the pages until he got to one. He pulled out a picture and handed it to Tim.

"This is why," he said.

Tim looked at the photo. It was obviously Mark at the height of his weightlifting days. There was another man standing next to him. Another weightlifter, probably, but not nearly as big as Mark was. Tim looked up, knowing that Mark could see the question in his eyes.

"His name is Jerrod," Mark said, looking at the photo himself. "We were best friends for years. We both lifted and we would hang out together all the time. When I first got hurt, he was there for me through all of it. He was such a good guy." Now, it was Mark's turn to sigh. He took the photo back and shook his head as he looked at it. "Jerrod started drinking about halfway through college. He was a frat guy. I never was. Not my scene. The more he drank, the worse things got for him. I didn't realize what was happening to him. By the time we were finished with college, he was a full-blown alcoholic. I tried and tried to get him to stop, to see what he was doing to himself, but he never was willing to acknowledge that he had a problem. After a few years of that, I gave up. I had to. I told him my door was open if he ever wanted to get help, but I wouldn't deal with him the way he was. And another year later, he was dead. Car accident. He'd been driving with his blood alcohol at least twice the legal limit." Mark shook his head again and looked at Tim. "That day when you came in looking for paper, I could see the signs right away. I knew you'd been drinking heavily. I'd seen Jerrod that way often enough. And I decided I wasn't going to stand by this time. I let Jerrod's arguments persuade me to look the other way when he was having hangovers pretty much every day, when I realized that he wasn't getting through a single day without drinking. The problem was that I didn't realize why you were drinking. I figured you were here to get away from things so that you could keep drinking. I didn't realize that drinking was the way you were trying to get away from what had happened. Once I saw that, I decided to do what it took to stop you from going the route that Jerrod did. I was almost too late. You were getting really close to the point of no return, Tim. I couldn't let that happen, not this time."

"I'm sorry," Tim said.

"Not your fault. It happened years ago."

"I'm sorry that I pushed you to tell me. I can tell it still hurts."

"It does, but it doesn't hurt in the same way. It's something sad that happened in the past and I can talk about it without breaking down." Mark paused. "And you can get to that point with what happened to Abby, too. It takes time, and I'll admit that my situation wasn't like yours, but the same priniciple applies. Tim, you can get over it and you should. You deserve the chance to see the world as a good place again. A good place that has room for you."

"Does it?" Tim asked.

"Yeah, it does. I know that because you have all these people from your life here trying to get you to see it."

Tim leaned back again and stared at the ceiling. Mark patted him on the shoulder and then stood up.

"Tim, I'm glad you're getting to the point where you can at least listen to me, but I hope you'll get farther. And you can. You know that now, even if the idea of it scares you."

Tim just sat there, looking at the ceiling.

"I'll get dinner going. You can think some more."

Tim sighed one more time. "I have too much time for thinking," he said.

"Well, you could always talk... and maybe even help me make dinner."

Tim smiled a little as Mark went into the kitchen. Then, he let out a final sigh and got up from the couch.

He went into the kitchen to try and help.

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

Ziva was sitting in her apartment, thinking. Oliver was working late, and so she had decided to go home. She'd had more than one upset message from her father and she had remained firm on her intentions. In fact, she had started the process to become a U.S. citizen, something that had never crossed her mind before. Oliver had recommended that she talk to an immigration lawyer simply because the laws were so complicated, and now, she knew that she was risking losing her only family.

But at the same time, she felt that she'd lost her father years ago. It wasn't that she didn't care for him any longer, but her life was a full and complete life now and she wasn't willing to go back to living as she had for so many years. There had been one attempt by her father to force her to give up her life here. He had tried to threaten to remove her authorization to be in the States working at all, but she had countered that she was marrying Oliver and she was willing to simply move up their wedding date.

Her father still had not said anything about coming here, and Ziva wasn't sure she wanted him to, but if he did come, she'd make sure he behaved himself. ...and he wouldn't be left alone with Oliver. While Oliver wasn't easily intimidated by anyone, he'd never been confronted by the head of Mossad.

Ziva smiled to herself at that thought. A shouting match between Oliver and her father would be interesting to witness but she'd never put Oliver through that.

Her phone rang and when she looked at the number, it came up as a private caller. Normally, that meant a scam of some kind and she was about to ignore it, but then, she remembered that the person who had called Naomi had also been a private caller.

Could it be...?

She answered.

"Hello."

Hi... Ziva."

Ziva was shocked. The voice was familiar, even though it had been a year since she'd last heard it.

"Tim?" she whispered.

"Yeah. Am I interrupting anything?"

Tim sounded timid, afraid and worn, but he was calling her!

"No. Tim... it is so good to hear from you."

"Is it?"

"Yes. Even though I knew that you were in Maine and that Gibbs was there and your family was there, I still wanted to hear you myself. I was afraid for you."

"I'm... okay."

"Are you?"

"Yeah. Not any better than that, but..." There was an audible sigh. "I don't know how to get past it, Ziva. How do you get over something like this?"

"It takes time."

"How long?"

"I do not know, Tim. It is... not something I was taught to do."

"But you know people who died."

Ziva winced at the statement.

"Yes, but I was not taught how to get over it. I was taught how to ignore it, and that is not a good way to live."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Tim?"

"You never used to call me that."

"I know."

"Why do you now?"

"Because I have been spending a lot of time with the people who were hired to work in the lab and they use first names more than last names. Oliver and Teresa helped me a lot when I was looking for you."

"Oh."

"They are very good people, Tim. They spent hours looking for signs of where you had gone. Oliver is the one who first figured out that you were using aliases and he's the one who found the house you bought."

"Oh."

Another pause.

"Tim, I am very happy to hear you, but did you have a reason for calling me?"

"I don't know if I can do it, Ziva."

"Do what?"

"Live my life."

There was yet another pause and Ziva was about to try to say something encouraging when Tim started talking again.

"I... I want to, but I don't know if I can. I don't know if it can work or be like it was."

"It will not be like it was, Tim. If there is one thing I do know about this, it is that life is always changing. You cannot make it the way it was before... but it can still be good. I am making a good life, and I hope you will come and see it... and I hope that you will come and see that your life can be good, too."

"I can't see that... yet."

"You will. Tim, why call me? Why not Tony or Ducky or even Jimmy?"

"Gibbs told me that you were looking for me the whole time. I was afraid to call and have anyone say that I wasn't missed. You seemed least likely to feel that way."

"I definitely do not feel that way. Tim, will you come back to D.C.? Please?"

"I... I'm trying. Thanks, Ziva. Bye."

"Good-bye."

Tim hung up, and Ziva sat back. Tim had called. He still sounded like he had further to go, but he had called. He had reached out on his own. That meant something to Ziva, if he was actually trying, that meant there was some improvement. Tim had not just instantly rejected it. It was hesitant and fearful still, but he hadn't dismissed the idea.

She could still hope, and she looked at her left hand. She really wanted to introduce Tim to Oliver. She thought that, if Tim could not blame Oliver for taking Abby's place, they would get along well. She hoped so.

For now, she would hope for the best because Tim had reached out once. Maybe there could be more.