Chapter 10

Over and in, last call for sin
While everyone's lost, the battle is won
With all these things that I've done
All these things that I've done

(Time, Truth and Hearts)

If you can, hold on
If you can, hold on

"All These Things That I've Done", The Killers

They'd been driving since very early that morning. Calleigh had woken him up before it was even light out and they'd left just as the sun was beginning to peek up through the clouds. Horatio had told him late last night what had happened, sounding very glad everything was over. Calleigh seemed less certain about that, but seemed less strained. It was just him who wasn't relieved.

He had the now familiar off balance feeling that happened when he'd come through a panic attack to the other side. He hated it. Hated all of it. And it wasn't getting any better.

/It won't, you know/

The voice. The calm one. It was back. What do you mean?

/You don't listen, do you? This is going to kill you, you know./

I don't understand…no, wait…oh. He did understand. Eric. Eric had come and told him…Oh.

/Yes/

I don't know if I can.

/You can. You have to. Let go of all of it, Tim. It's poison. Only one way to deal with it. Get it out./

I can't

/You can. You must. It's time, Tim. Just go on ahead/

He shook his head. His head ached. "The thing is…I…you see…" The words bubbled up and spilled out of his mouth before he was even aware he was talking.

"What?" Calleigh asked, startled by his sudden outburst.

"I…can't." he said, shaking his head. His brain was screaming, it was all swirling together and he couldn't find the words.

"Yeah, you can," Horatio said, from the back seat as he unbuckled his seatbelt and slid forward between the seats to look at Speed. "I know you can".

He shook his head, but took a deep shuddering breath. "It's my fault, I killed him," he said in a shaking voice.

"You mean the guy at the scene?" Calleigh asked. "Tim, you were…"

"No!" he shouted.

"Well, Eric, then? You didn't kill Eric, honey," she said, confused.

"Not Eric," Horatio said, calmly, putting his hand on Tim's shoulder.

He shook his head. "My friend. I killed him" His voice broke and he was nearly sobbing as he tried to pull away from Horatio's grasp.

"Tell us," Horatio said. "Tell us what happened. It's the only way."

And so, crying, Tim choked out the story he had kept hidden away for twelve long years.

vvvvv

January 16, 1991

"You want a go, Tim?" Jason asked as they stood watching their classmates take turns on the snowmobiles.

"I dunno," he shrugged.

"Oh, come on. You take a turn driving. You'll be fine", Jason coaxed.

He bit his lip as he watched a pair of girls take their turn. It wasn't that he was scared of the snowmobile, exactly- he'd ridden on the back of one when it had been Jason's turn to drive. But Jason was nearly two years older than him. Everyone was. Tim had skipped a grade and had a summer birthday, which made him the very youngest in the class. He'd just gotten his driver's license a few months ago. Everyone else had been driving for nearly two years already. He wasn't sure he could control the snowmobile well enough.

Jason laughed when he said as much. "It's not like a car, really. And you drive just fine, anyway. Come on, have a go. I'll be there the whole time. It'll be fun!"

Jason was always pushing him to try stuff. And usually he was right. Tim was fine and he did have a good time. "Oh, all right," he sighed. "But I'm stopping if I don't like it." The usual caveat against feeling out of his depth. He hated that feeling.

"Of course, no problem," Jason replied.

When they got on the snowmobile, Tim hesitated. "I don't know about this," he said.

"You can do this, Tim. Come on already," Jason said.

He sighed again and turned the key. They started out a bit jerky as he got used to the controls, but the ride smoothed out fairly quickly.

"See, I told you!" Jason yelled from behind him.

Tim relaxed a little and was almost starting to enjoy himself when the snowmobile lurched under them as they hit a bump. He swore and pulled at the controls in an effort to keep control, but they skidded on a patch of ice and hit a larger bump. Tim screamed as he lost control and the next thing he knew, everything was dark.

"Hey Little Man, open your eyes for me," The familiar voice trickled down through the darkness and Tim dragged his eyes open with a gasp. "Easy there, kiddo, easy. It's ok. I'm here, Little Man."

"Daddy," he croaked through his dry and sore throat.

"Yup. I'm here. It's ok, you're going to be fine," his dad said as he brushed back Tim's hair.

"What happened?" Tim whispered.

"Well, you lost control of the snowmobile and it flipped over. You got caught underneath it and the impact broke your kneecap. They've done surgery to repair it, and you're going to be some time recovering, but you're going to be fine in the end," his dad explained.

"Mom?" he asked.

"Your Mom is at the hotel with Matt. He was too little to come up, so she took him to the hotel and we'll trade places later on, ok? But she's here, don't worry."

He nodded slightly, but frowned. "Jason!" he exclaimed.

His dad took a deep breath. "Well, kiddo. Here's the thing. Jason hit his head very badly and hurt his neck. The doctors aren't sure yet what's going to happen with him. He's in the ICU, in critical condition. Now, listen. There's hope yet, ok? Nothing's final yet. And the doctors feel pretty sure that he's not going to die, at least they did earlier today. So there's still a possibility that he's going to be fine. We just don't know yet," he said, gently.

"My fault," Tim croaked.

"It's not. It's really not. No one thinks it's your fault, Timmy. Lisa and George are here and they said specially to tell you it's not your fault. You couldn't have known there was a patch of ice there- there was no way to tell. It was an accident," his dad reassured him.

Tim shook his head, mute. His dad sighed and smoothed his hair back again. "Right now, Little Man, you need to rest and concentrate on getting better. Ok? We'll deal with the rest when it comes. But you need to rest now."

Tim tried to protest, but his eyes were too heavy. "Daddy?" he asked, barely awake.

"Yes?"

"Where's Marianne?" He wanted his mom, but he wanted Marianne too.

His dad paused and frowned. "She's in France, kiddo. You know that. I called her and she said she'd call you later tonight, ok?"

He frowned, but sleep claimed him before he could protest again.

vvvvv

"That's what happened to your knee?" Calleigh asked.

"Yeah," he said, softly. "The kneecap shattered. I don't know what it hit. They put a plate and some screws in there to hold my knee together. The problem was, though, that I wasn't quite done growing- I was only 16. So they had to do some revisions as I got taller. But then, well, I sort of dropped out on everyone, and I grew three inches and missed when they would have done the third revision, so it didn't happen on schedule, and they couldn't fix it entirely," he admitted.

"Which is why you limp," Calleigh said, nodding.

He nodded. "They'll probably have to replace it altogether at some point, but not until I'm…done being a CSI. I wouldn't be able to pass the physical with a knee replacement. I can now."

"What happened to Jason?" Calleigh asked.

"He…he was paralyzed from the shoulders down," Tim replied, quietly. "It was…not good." Understatement. Some days he didn't seem to be able to say anything other than understatements. It was too hard to describe things accurately. Too hard to find the exact words that would tell the real truth of a situation. Horrible didn't quite cover it, so well, bad would have to do.

"What do you mean you dropped out on everyone?" Horatio asked, finally, when it became clear that Tim wasn't going to say anything further without prompting.

"Uh, yeah. That." He looked at his hands, all twisted around in his lap. "That's…well, it's the long part."

"We've got time," Horatio said.

"Yeah, I know," he said. "Um, well, ok," he said, relenting.

vvvvv

September 14, 1992

"Yo, Speedle."

"What?" Tim asked distractedly, not glancing up at the exasperated tone of his roommate's voice. It was clear that Gary had been trying to get his attention for awhile.

"You've got a phone call."

"I'll call back," he mumbled, assuming it was his parents.

"No, they said it's important. Something about an opportunity for adventure and…chaos theory?" Gary replied.

Tim's head jerked up. "Yeah, ok," he said, pushing away from his lab report. That could only be Jason. "Hello?" he said, taking the phone.

"What are you doing?" Jason asked without preamble.

"Writing a lab report, why?" he said.

"Guess where I am?"

"Um…home?" He really hoped the answer was home. Jason had been in the hospital twice this year already, once with pneumonia and once with a kidney infection.

"Nope. I'm at Mt. Sinai," Jason said, happily.

"Wait, what? What's wrong, what happened? You're in New York?" he asked, panicked.

"Calm down, it's fine, it's good, Tim. Really. Yes, I'm in New York. No, nothing is particularly wrong. There's a specialist here that Doc Anderson brought up last month, remember?" Jason asked.

"Um, yeah, I think so. A neurosurgeon?" he replied, racking his brain to remember.

"Right. Well, the guy reviewed the case and he thinks I'm a good candidate for this surgery he does. So we're in New York! Listen, Mom is on her way over to get you, they said you can stay the weekend here with me. So throw some stuff in a bag and meet her out by the gates. She'll probably be there in like five minutes," Jason said.

"Right, ok," Tim said, already reaching to kick his closet door open to find his duffle bag. "I'll get down there as quick as I can."

"Great. Oh, and Tim," Jason said, as he was about to hang up.

"What?" Tim said.

"No homework."

"Jase, I've got a lab report due Monday," he whined.

"Ok, you can bring the lab report then. But nothing else. I'm serious, you don't have enough fun," Jason said.

"I have plenty of fun," Tim grumbled.

"Tim. Pack now, argue later. I'm hanging up," Jason said, laughing.

"Right," Tim said, hanging up. He tossed his pajamas and a couple of clean shirts into his duffle bag and scooped up the lab report materials and shoved them back into his backpack. Picking up both bags and snagging his jacket from the back of the door, he ducked out of the room. Gary was standing in the doorway of the room across the hall. "Hey, I'm gone for the weekend," he said, tapping him on the shoulder.

"Yeah?" Gary asked, half incredulous. Tim nodded. "Well, all right then. See ya."

He nodded again and headed for the stairs. He had a feeling that Gary cursed the luck of room draw that stuck him with the 18 year old kid. It wasn't his fault he was younger than everyone, he grumbled to himself as he hurried across campus to the main gates.

Lisa honked at him as soon as he came into her view. He smiled and ran over to the car. "Hey, kiddo, how's life," she said, as he slid into the passenger seat.

"Fine," he said, letting her drag him closer for a kiss on the cheek.

"That's from your mama. Who says to tell you not to work so hard. I've got your last paycheck from the summer in my purse, too, that I'm supposed to give you," she said.

"Ok, thanks," he said. "What's going on?"

She sighed. "Well, honey, I don't quite know yet. This neurologist came up to see Jason in August, and he thinks there's a surgery he can do that would help him. It's not a cure," she warned. "The best case scenario is that Jason might get his arms back, at least enough to do most self-care, possibly enough to type. Enough to make him somewhat independent, and maybe even enough to let him do some school. They're making strides with adaptive technology, you know. The computers now…"

"Right," Tim said, nodding. "But even that…"

"Even that would be a miracle," Lisa said, softly.

"What's the most likely?" Tim said. "If that's the best case, what's the most likely case?"

"That's hard to say. Maybe some arm movement. Some improvement that would allow for some gross motor skills," she replied.

Tim nodded. "Does he know?"

"Yeah," she said. "I…we're trying not to get our hopes up, but in 18 months, this is the most promising thing we've come across, you know?"

"Oh, I know," Tim said, nodding. "I do."

"I know you do, honey. You more than anyone," Lisa said. "You've worked so hard, and we're all so proud of you. Maybe, if this works, then there's hope for the rest of it."

"Or hope for more improvement later," Tim said. "What's the success rate?"

"About 60 of the patients in the previous trial had some improvement. Probably 35 total had the best recovery rate. That 35 is probably something like half of the 60. I don't know the science as well as you two, but I have to admit it sounds pretty decent to me," Lisa said.

Tim nodded. "Those are pretty decent odds."

"They sure are," she said, turning into the hospital parking garage. "So, we came down early so Jason could get some time away before the surgery. We've got tickets to a baseball game for tomorrow- don't give me that look, you're not paying for anything," she said at Tim's pained look. "One of George's coworkers has a brother who has season tickets and they're out of town this weekend. So don't worry about it."

"Sorry," he said.

"It's all right, Timmy. I know plenty well what it's like to be a starving student in the city, huh?" she said with a smile as they walked into the hospital.

"There you are!" Jason said, happily as Tim and Lisa entered his room. "Isn't this great?"

"Yeah, it's great," Tim said, dumping his bag in the corner.

"I'm going to go get you boys some food. What would you like?" Lisa said.

"Can we have Italian?" Jason asked.

"Sure, honey. You want chicken parmigan?"

"Please," Jason said.

"All right, Tim, what do you want?" Lisa asked.

"Um…Carbonara?" he asked.

"Sounds good. Don't get into too much trouble, now," she said, teasingly.

"Don't worry, Mom, I'll look after the baby," Jason said. Tim just sighed. When Lisa had left, Jason asked, "Did Mom tell you about the surgery?"

"Yeah. It sounds pretty good," Tim said. "Those are pretty good success rates."

"I know. I was thinking, if I can, you know, type and stuff, and go to school, maybe by then you'll be done with your degree and we can both go somewhere for you to get your masters. Or your MD, whichever you're thinking of," Jason said. "And I can get my bachelors and it'll be almost like we'd planned."

Tim swallowed. He still got very upset when people brought up The Plan. "Masters. I don't think I want the MD."

"Masters, then. You can always get the MD later if you like," Jason reminded him.

"I know. I don't want to be a doctor. Too many people," he shrugged.

"Too much competition," Jason said, knowingly. "You never did like to compete."

"No. That's your job." Tim fiddled with his shoelaces. "Jase?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you scared?" He was. But then, he was scared most of the time anymore. He'd never been the confident one, never been the stable one. The crash had taken away what little confidence he'd possessed. New York City was bidding fair to eat the rest of it away. The unrelenting crowds and the claustrophobic pressure of the tall buildings wore him down.

"A little, maybe" Jason said. "But this is the best choice we've been given, so we've got to make the most of it, you know?"

"Yeah," Tim said.

"Don't be such a fussbudget!" Jason said. "Seriously, Tim, It's going to be fine."

"You know, you sound like my grandmother when you use words like fussbudget, right?" Tim said, looking up at his friend.

"Of course I do. That's the point," Jason replied.

"To sound like my grandmother?"

"To get you to laugh, silly. You don't have enough fun." Jason said. "College is supposed to be fun, Tim. You can't feel guilty all the time that you're here. And you work too damn hard."

"I do not work too hard," he said. "I work just enough, thank you."

"You don't have any friends," Jason pointed out.

"Now you sound like my mom," Tim muttered. "Jason, it's hard to have friends when you're like two years younger than everyone else. Half of the guys on my floor are old enough to go drinking already. And they do. I'm barely old enough to get into an all ages. And I hate clubs anyway."

"There are more people here than just the guys on your floor, who, granted, sound like jerks from what your mom tells me," Jason said. "And so what if you're a sophomore? Go make friends with the freshmen. They're the same age as you. Although, I don't understand why that matters all of a sudden. It never seemed to at home."

"It did matter at home. It just mattered less, because there were people like you who didn't care. And because by the time we were old enough for it to really make a difference, everyone was used to it," Tim pointed out. "Besides, I don't make friends, friends make me."

"I know," Jason said. "What I'm saying is that you could try anyway."

"Wow, Mom, you've changed your hair. That color looks really good on you," Tim said, sarcastically.

"Tim…"

"Jason, I'm fine. Really. I go to class, I do my work, I like it that way. I'm here to learn, right? So, I'm learning," he said.

"Fine," Jason sighed. "But I'm serious- don't put your life on hold because of me. I've been telling you that for almost two years, when is it going to sink in?"

"When it does," Tim shrugged. "You know that."

Jason sighed again. "You, Timothy Daniel Speedle, are the most stubborn person I know."

"And you love me anyway," Tim said.

"Yes, damnit, I do. This is why I'm telling you this. You understand that, right?" Jason asked.

Tim shrugged. "Sure."

"All right, then. Enough. We're supposed to have fun this weekend, remember?" Jason said, firmly. "I don't want to spend the whole time bickering about this."

"Fine," he shrugged.

"Dinner!" Lisa caroled as she came back into the room. "Tim, can you take these?" She held out the bags for him to grab and put on the table. They settled in to eat, without any more mention of Tim and Jason's prior conversation.

After a long, but very fun weekend, Tim sat with Lisa and George and Jason's sister Katie in the surgical waiting room. No one talked, but they were all aware that the longer they went without news, the better things were going. The surgery was projected to take about 8 hours. Hearing anything prior to that would mean that things were not going well. Tim tried to distract himself with his calculus homework, but it was slow-going. He sat with his head resting on his arm, looking sidelong at the paper, but not really seeing it. The whole day, he'd had this feeling that something was horribly, terribly wrong. He didn't say anything, because what could he say? What good would it do? He was probably wrong anyway.

He wasn't. The surgeon came out to see them at 3pm, a good two hours before surgery should have ended.

"Mr. and Mrs. Mackey, I'm so very sorry to have to tell you…" the surgeon said, after herding them all into a small room off of the waiting room.

"What happened?" George asked.

"Jason's heart stopped beating about an hour ago. We did everything we could to revive him, but we just couldn't. I'm afraid he's gone," the surgeon said softly.

Tim couldn't move. Couldn't think. Just stood there as Lisa, George and Katie all cried. He spun on his heel and walked out of the room, out of the hospital, where he finally fetched up against a bus stop bench and sat down.

Katie found him, maybe an hour later. "Timmy," she said, softly. He turned and looked at her with eyes red and swollen from crying. "Mom and Dad say you're to come home with us tonight. We're taking the train back. Dad says he'll take you back to school and get your stuff, and he'll go with you to talk to your professors, if you like."

He nodded, and let Katie lead him back to the hospital where George was waiting.

vvvvv

"I don't understand, how exactly was this your fault?" Calleigh asked, finally.

"It…it just is," he said. "I was the one driving. I flipped the snowmobile. I was supposed to fix it. You fix things you break," he said. "You just do. It's your responsibility."

"Tim…" Calleigh sighed.

"I may not be to blame, but I am responsible," he said.

"Ok, fine, but responsible doesn't mean…oh, never mind," she said, getting a look at his face.

"What happened then?" Horatio asked.

"Then…then, I dropped out," he sighed.

vvvvv

September 22, 1992

Everyone had wanted him to stay in Syracuse a little while longer. His parents said he needed time. What he really needed was to get away from them all. So after the funeral, he boarded the train back to New York.

He dragged back into the dorm around 5:30. Gary was nowhere to be found. The hallways were quiet. Dinner, he realized. He wasn't hungry. He dumped his duffle bag on his bed and looked around. He'd take the laundry to Marianne's, he decided. He didn't want to stay in the room.

He hauled the laundry basket from under the bed and dumped it into the larger duffle bag he used to transport the laundry. For the cost of subway fare, he could take all his laundry to Marianne's apartment, where she had a washer and dryer. It was cheaper than the dorm laundry room and also gave him some space. Marianne wasn't there- she was on a six month job in Europe. But she always told him to use whatever he needed from her apartment, even if she wasn't there. He had access to the building anyway, since his car was parked there. He dragged the duffle back down the stairs and out the door.

"Hello there, Mr. Speedle," the doorman said, politely as he hauled himself into the lobby of Marianne's building.

"Hi," he said, vaguely uncomfortable at being referred to as Mr. Speedle. "Does she have any packages or anything?" Every so often, Marianne would send things back to her apartment, knowing that at some point he'd be over to do laundry or use the computer and he could pick them up.

"Nope. Nothing this week," the doorman said. "You have a good night."

"Thanks," Tim said, heading for the elevators.

He unlocked the door to Marianne's apartment and tossed his laundry down by the doors to the laundry closet. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it at a kitchen chair, then dumped his laundry into the washing machine and wandered out into the living room.

The computer sat in the corner and he went over and sat down in front of it. One of the best benefits of having Marianne's apartment was getting to use the computer. He even had some computer games to play. But tonight, he didn't care about any of it. There was a file folder with some of his thesis research sitting next to the computer where he'd left it the last time he'd been over, a couple weeks ago. He bit his lip, and reached out to pick it up, but stopped. The research didn't matter anymore. The reason for it was gone. He closed his eyes and tried to will his brain to stop spinning. Jason didn't exist anymore.

The sudden lack of noise from the washer startled him into getting up to switch the laundry. Once up, he couldn't sit back down. He wandered from room to room, pacing around the small apartment. A fundamental fact of his life was no longer valid. Since he was 8 years old, Jason had been a constant. Jason, in fact, had been the major reason why life in Syracuse had been at all bearable. He stood up for Tim, made sure people didn't push him around. His parents let Tim escape to their house when things got tense and wearisome at his home. It was an open secret that Lisa would phone his parents if he ran away to Jason's house, and there was a tacit agreement among all parties that Tim was permitted to stay as long as he needed to. His parents figured it beat not knowing where he was. Lisa and George figured it was better to give him a safe place to go than to just let him roam the streets, like he tended to do. None of that was true anymore.

The buzzer on the dryer startled him again and he folded his clothes with shaky hands. He didn't think he could stand New York without a purpose. The only reason he'd gone to Columbia was because some of the best biochemistry researchers taught there. And because it was just a train ride home. He could have gone to Berkeley- he would have, if Jason had been able to go with him. New York was too hard. The city ate you. He was afraid if he stayed, there wouldn't be anything left of him.

So, go, get out, his brain chorused. He could leave. The car was here. He had his paycheck from the summer in his jacket pocket. There was money in his savings account. He could finally really run away, something he'd been half trying to do since he was four. He was 18, they couldn't stop him anymore. That thought stopped him in his tracks. He was 18. He was an adult. No one could stop him anymore. They couldn't even make him come home if they did find him. He'd only been 18 for just about three months. He hadn't even done anything with it yet. He could go and not look back.

He paced another tight circle around the living room, thinking hard. This time was different. Maybe…maybe just for a little while. New York buzzed around him, and he couldn't think here. Syracuse hurt too much. Leaving would be good, he decided.

Once decided, he moved quickly. He grabbed the laundry basket of clothes and his duffle bag. He tossed the handful of books he had left over here into the duffle bag. His hands hesitated over the research papers, bringing him to a stand-still. He never wanted to look at the data again. "I could throw it off a bridge," he said, startling himself with his voice in the silent apartment. Yes, he could throw it off a bridge. Or off a cliff. Or into the ocean. Something, somewhere. He could leave it all behind. The file folder got crammed into the duffle bag, too.

Without further hesitation, he pulled his jacket on and locked up the apartment. He took the elevator to the garage and got into the car, putting the basket and the duffle in the backseat. He turned on the ignition and didn't look back.

vvvvv

"Where did you go?" Calleigh asked.

He shook his head. "Honestly, I don't really remember. I don't…most of what happened after that is a complete blur. I just sort of drifted around. At the time, I really did believe I'd go throw the folder off a cliff somewhere and turn around and go home."

"But you didn't," Horatio said.

"No." He was quiet a long moment. "At some point, I got it in my head that a good place to go would be California. I don't know, maybe because we'd thought about Berkeley? It had been Jason's first choice. I didn't care, so long as it wasn't Syracuse. So I went to California. But by the time I got there, I didn't know what to do anymore. California might have been scarier than New York. I remember standing in the ocean and just staring at the horizon."

"Did you throw the folder away?" Calleigh asked.

He almost smiled. "No. Somehow, it got buried in the bottom of the laundry basket. And it seemed less important after the first day or so. I never threw it away. It's still in the bottom of my dresser."

"How much money did you have?" Horatio asked.

"Not a lot. Just barely enough to get me to California, but not enough to get back even if I'd wanted to. I didn't want to. I bussed tables for enough money to put gas in the car and keep going. I did that a lot. I'd go until I was out of money and then I'd find someplace that would pay me under the table. It's not hard to do, really. Most of the places were small, truck stop type places. No one notices you, no one pays attention, and no one blinks if you're there one day and gone the next," he shrugged.

"How long…how long were you out there?" Calleigh asked.

He sighed. "I'm not entirely sure. More than a year, I know that, but I've never added it up. I remember a summer, I think. And then I remember heading south again when it got cold, so that would have been at least a year. It was September when I left New York. I'm sort of thinking it was February when I got to Miami, but I don't know for sure. So…" He counted on his fingers, frowning. "17 months? 18 months? Something like that? Alexx would know. She doesn't know what happened, I never told her, but she was there when I got to Miami. She probably knows what month that was. Megan would know, too."

"You met Megan in Miami, then," Horatio said.

"I met Sean. He took me to Megan," he said, nodding. "Who pretty much handed me to Alexx, for lack of a better idea."

"How did that happen?" Calleigh asked.

He sighed. "Most of it is foggy," he warned. "But I was getting tired, I think. I don't know that I would have let him catch me, otherwise."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He laughed, but the laughter was more than half bitter. "I was working at a bar, illegally, mind you, and it happened to be one that Sean and some of his friends frequented after work. Maybe the third time he came in while I was there, I caught him staring at me outright, like he was trying to decide if I was underage or not. That made me nervous, because I was. I'd about made up my mind that it was time to move on, anyway, so when the bartender paid me that night, I planned to just skip town. Especially if someone who was probably a cop was checking me out. I hadn't been caught yet, and I didn't plan to be. But Sean was waiting for me when I stepped outside…."

vvvvv

February, 1994

He stepped out into the brighter alley and blinked a moment to catch his bearings. The car was parked in a store parking lot a couple of blocks from here. He was pretty sure that no one had noticed him leaving, which was a relief. He started walking towards the street, and didn't even notice the man standing at the mouth of the alley until a hand reached out and grabbed his arm. He was so startled he didn't even shout.

"Hey, it's ok, I'm not going to hurt you," the man said. "Really. I just want to know something."

Tim looked at him warily. It was the guy he'd pegged as a cop from the end of the bar. He thought about trying to twist away, but was afraid that the cop might hurt him for resisting arrest or something. "You're a cop?" he asked.

"Well, yes, I am. I'll show you my badge if you promise you won't run," the man replied.

Tim didn't reply for a moment. "I won't run if you won't arrest me," he said, finally.

"Why would I arrest you? You have to have a reason, you know," the man said, in a reasonable tone. Tim glanced back at the alleyway. "Working under the table doesn't count, kid. How do I know you're not going to pay your taxes? Besides, I'm not the IRS. And I didn't see you steal anything on the way out. I've got no cause to search you, so if you've got drugs on you, I can't touch them anyway, unless you're stupid enough to show them to me, and I somehow doubt you are. I didn't see you drink anything, so I can't even get you on underage drinking."

"How do you know I'm underage?" Tim countered.

"Lucky guess," the man said, sardonically, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously, though, you're not under arrest. I just want to ask you a question. I ask, you answer, and that's the end of it, if you want."

Tim thought about it a moment. "Ok," he said finally. "What's the question?"

"Are you Tim Speedle?"

Of all the questions, it was the one he was least expecting. He just blinked, feeling the color drain from his face. "How…"

"Apparently, yes," the man nodded. "I'm Sean Donner, by the way," he said, tightening his hold on Tim's arm as Tim felt his knees buckling underneath him. "Look, why don't we sit down on this bench here," he said, steering Tim towards the bench.

"How in the hell do you know my name?" Tim demanded as he found his voice again.

Sean smiled. "I'm Marianne Reiner's step-brother."

Tim frowned, thinking. "Yeah, ok," he said, finally, remembering that Marianne's parents had been divorced. He'd never met any of her family at all that he could remember. She could well have a step-brother named Sean for all he knew. It would be nearly impossible to pull those names out of thin air unless this Sean Donner really did know Marianne, so it was probably legitimate, he decided.

"When you went missing, your family contacted everyone they knew with your description," Sean explained. "I've had it in the back of my brain ever since. When I saw you, I wondered. You look a hell of a lot like Marianne, you know."

He shrugged. "I guess."

"Anyway, there's some people who have been really very worried about you, you know."

He shrugged again. "So?"

"So, maybe you ought to let them know you're alive, at least," Sean shrugged. Tim didn't reply. "Look, tell you what. You look like you could use a hot meal and a good night's sleep. Why don't I take you home with me, and you can at least get that much. If you don't want to call home, you don't have to, for tonight, anyway. We can discuss it more in the morning, ok?"

Tim worried his bottom lip with his teeth. "And if I don't want anyone to know where I am?"

"I won't call anyone tonight," Sean promised. "And if I call after you take off again, it's not like I'm going to be able to tell them where you went, so they still won't know where to find you. The only thing that will be different from now is that your family will know you're ok. And really, I think that's what they want to know the most- that you're alive and you're ok."

"All right," he relented.

"Ok, good," Sean said, sounding relieved. "If you want, we can even take your car, if you have one."

Tim thought about that. "Yeah, ok." He stood up and started walking towards the car. Sean followed, content to let him lead in silence.

vvvvv

"So, that's how you met Sean and Megan," Horatio said, nodding.

"Yeah. We agreed that if I called home, they'd let me stay with them for awhile. I was tired. The car needed some work. And really, I was just done. I didn't know that at the time, but looking back, I was ready to stop."

"What happened then?" Calleigh asked. "I mean, you must have finished school, right?"

Tim nodded. "Alexx and Megan talked me into going back to school- Megan promised if I got my degree, she'd find me a job. They and Marianne and my parents kind of went to bat for me with Columbia and talked them into taking me back with my scholarship money. I already had junior class status, since I had nearly my entire freshman year's worth of credits by the time I finished high school, so it only took about a year to finish. I went back to Miami, went through the limited academy program, and passed my Level 1 about six months after graduation."

"So that's how you graduated early," Calleigh said, referring to a conversation they'd had before.

"That's how I graduated early," he nodded. "Just not in the way you thought I did."

"You worked hard, though," Calleigh said. "I don't know that I could have made Level 1 by the time I was 21."

He shrugged. "I needed something to do."

Horatio nodded. "I remember that."

"I know," Tim said. "You were there."

"I was fraying at the edges, yes," Horatio said, ruefully. "You weren't a complication I was prepared to deal with."

"I didn't know any better," Tim shrugged. "I was used to people misestimating me."

"Still, Megan should never have had me try to train you. She wound up having to do it herself anyway," Horatio replied.

"It worked out," Tim said. "It's fine."

They were all quiet for a moment. "I'm tired," Tim said, finally.

"I bet you are," Calleigh replied. "How does your mouth feel?"

"Hurts, some," he said, shrugging. "My stomach, too," he admitted.

"I'm not surprised, I think that's more than you've talked at one time for months and months. Before you were hurt, even." she said. He nodded. "There's an exit coming up, you want to wait until we get there and can get you something to eat before you take something?" He nodded again. She exchanged a look of agreement with Horatio. "Ok, then. You just relax. It's over now, huh?"

"Yeah. It is." He felt relieved, despite the pain. Things felt lighter, somehow. He could feel that calm place again, the one where everything was quiet inside his head. It was a wonderful feeling. He leaned back and closed his eyes, just enjoying the calmness and quietude.

End.

AN: So, here we are at the end of this long ride. Thanks for reading! I make no promises just yet, but it's entirely possible that there may be further adventures in store for our crew...