A/N: This story is a bit of a departure for me since Tony is the main character, although Tim is still a secondary character. A way back, more than 10 years ago, I read an unfinished story (still unfinished) called Running Empty by Amokina. I found the story intriguing but it was never finished. I would go back and check every so often but nothing. So I always had in the back of my mind that I wanted to write a story starring Tony that would make up for this one I never was able to finish reading. The plots are not the same, although we both used the same overall trope. My story is organized into three parts, each with a Billy Joel song as the title. It was written for the LJ NCIS Big Bang exchange.

Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or Billy Joel. :) I'm not making any money off this story.

The Piano Man
by Enthusiastic Fish

Part I: The Stranger

Chapter 1

There was a heavy thump and he opened his eyes, blearily looking around, unsure of where he was.

"You're pretty trusting."

"Huh?" he asked.

He sat up and rubbed his face.

"I said you're pretty trusting. I've never had a hitchhiker sleep so soundly in my truck before. So should I be worried?"

He laughed. "No. I'm tired. I'd been walking for a few days. It's nice to have a ride."

"What's your final destination?"

"California."

"Got a ways to go."

"Yep. That's why I'm glad for the ride."

"Well, I'm not going that far."

"That's okay. Any distance I cover without walking is... a distance I cover without walking."

"What's in California?"

"Fame and fortune."

"Or poverty and ruin?"

He laughed. "Thanks for the encouragement."

"Seen a lot of people want to make it."

"Well, if I don't make the fame part, maybe I can make enough to live on. That would be fine, too."

"Doing what?"

"Music. I'm a musician."

"I don't see an instrument."

"Hard to carry a piano around."

"Guess so."

There was silence, except for the radio.

"So you sing?"

"Yep. Sing and play."

"Okay, so sing me something."

"Why?" he asked. "We've already got the radio."

The driver reached over and turned off the radio.

"Sing me something."

"Um... okay." He tried to think and was moderately surprised that there were options in his head. It had to be something simple since he was doing it a cappella.

"I'm waiting."

He smiled. "Okay." He cleared his throat and heard the tune in his head. Billy Joel, of course. He wished he had a piano with him right at the moment. He felt better with that extra support. Oh, well. His ride was insisting on a performance. He should get used to performing, no matter the situation.

He took a breath and started to sing, trying to listen to his own voice and figure out just how good it was.

"A picture postcard
A folded stub
A program of the play
File away your photographs
Of your holiday

And your mementos
Will turn to dust
But that's the price you pay
For every year's a souvenir
That slowly fades away
Every year's a souvenir
That slowly fades away."

Another moment of silence.

"Kind of melancholy, isn't it?"

"Yeah. A lot of life is," he said. He paused. "What do you think?"

"Well, I think you could stand to be a bit more upbeat, but you sing pretty good."

"Thanks."

He looked out the window as the driver turned the radio back on. As he did, he caught his reflection in the window and suppressed a grimace at what he saw there.

He rode on the truck for another couple of hours before the driver said he was stopping for the night at a truck stop. So he got off and started walking again. As he walked, he was careful about getting rides. So far, focusing on semis had worked out pretty well. They didn't necessarily go where he wanted to go, but there was no set schedule and he had often got at least one meal out of it.

He'd been making his way across the country for days now. He couldn't quite remember where it was that he'd started, but the man who had rescued him from whatever had happened had urged him to leave based on what he'd seen. There was nothing tying him to whatever city he'd been in and California had seemed really important. So with nothing more than a need to get to California and a knowledge of music, he had started on his way, feeling wary of everyone he met but needing to rely on them to get him further along.

After another hour or two of walking, he reached a gas station and went in to use the bathroom. He lucked out that it was a single toilet, not a bank of them. He went into the bathroom and did his business, but then, he looked in the mirror and grimaced. He focused on his head, on the side of it where a deep gash was closed with stitches. He prodded at it and winced as he tried to force himself to remember how it had happened.

He failed.

He took a breath and rolled up his sleeve and looked at the bandage on his arm. What was the term the doctor at the clinic had used?

"Through and through," he whispered.

He looked at the bandage and then carefully removed it, trying not to look too closely at the wound the bandage had been covering. The clinic had supplied him with some basics for wound care and he was hoping it would be enough to keep him from needing to go back to any medical establishment of any kind. He was afraid that he'd be found by whoever had done this to him in the first place if he did. Part of him really thought that he could trust the police to help him, but the bigger part of him thought he couldn't really trust anyone to help him.

After cleaning his arm, he put a new bandage on it to keep it protected. Then, he cleaned his head wound as well, wincing as the antiseptic stung in the wound. Once all that was done, he was careful to clean everything up and put the used materials in the trash.

Then, it was back out. He still had some money in the wallet he'd had on him and so he bought some water and some Gatorade (and something told him that there should be another option but he didn't know what it was) and then some cheap snacks. He stowed most of it in his bag and then headed out and back to the road.

He walked for a few more hours, but he was starting to tire and he hadn't found any place that he felt was safe for sleeping.

Finally, though, he reached a truck stop. There were a few semis parked and he could see people talking to each other.

As he had ever since he'd started doing this, he felt a weird dichotomy every time he attempted to get a ride. Part of him was absolutely confident that he could charm his way through. The other part of him was terrified that something would go wrong. Still, he was really getting tired and he needed somewhere to sleep.

A moving vehicle with someone on a schedule seemed like the best option. Some of the truckers had warned him that they weren't supposed to take passengers, but he'd been able to talk a few into letting him come along, even offering to let them search his bag so they could see he wasn't armed or doing drugs and he wouldn't do anything to them.

Okay. Time to try it.

He walked into the restaurant and saw some drivers sitting there, drinking coffee. Aha. Coffee. They weren't going to be sleeping soon, most likely.

He walked up to them and smiled.

"Hey, any chance of getting a ride?" he asked, keeping himself casual and friendly.

"Not supposed to do that," one of them grunted.

"I won't tell," he said.

"Where you headed?" another asked.

"West."

Eyebrow up. That seemed kind of familiar as a reaction, but he didn't know why.

"What you got with you?"

"Just this," he said, holding up his bag. "You can search it if you'd like. The clothes don't even smell too bad yet."

The drivers all chuckled a little at that.

"Well, I'm headed west and I've got to get moving," one of them said.

"Got room for me?"

The man looked at him for a long moment and then, obviously, relented.

"All right. Come on."

"Do I have time to do a quick bathroom break? I've been walking for a few hours."

"You've got two minutes and I'm out of here, with or without you."

He grinned. "Great song. I'll be there. Which truck?"

"Green cab."

"Okay."

He ran to the bathroom, knowing that there was a risk that this would be a way for the driver to leave without him, but he was determined to make sure that he didn't get left behind. He hurried as fast as he could and then ran back out, noticing that the other drivers were chuckling at his haste.

He got out and found the green cab semi. The engine was running. So he ran over to the driver's side.

"Still got room for me?" he asked.

The man jerked his head toward the passenger side. He didn't even hesitate but ran around and climbed in.

"How far west you going?"

"California."

"Well, you're in luck. I'm going all the way to LA. If you don't bug me too much, I'll let you stay."

He grinned. "I can be silent as the grave if I need to be. I'll talk your ear off if you need me to. Whatever it takes."

The driver chuckled reluctantly. "Name's Dave. You?"

"Joel."

"Well, Joel, I prefer quiet to incessant talking."

"Fine by me. If you don't mind, I'm really tired and I wouldn't be opposed to sleeping. I don't think I snore."

"Go right ahead."

"Thanks."

He took a breath and let it out slowly (and quietly). Then, he leaned his head against the window and caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection.

A face he didn't know. The face of a stranger.

He didn't know who the face showed, but for now, all he knew was that it was a stranger's face.

Only it was his own face.