Chapter 19
It was late in the evening and everyone had left. Tim had insisted on finishing his report before leaving. He had also insisted that no one wait for him. For once, he thought a little cynically, they had actually listened to him. He finished his report and sent it to the printer. Gibbs might find mistakes in it, but now he wouldn't have to think about it for a couple of days. Maybe by then he'd be back to normal. He looked around the darkened office. No one around. He sighed and dropped his head into his hands.
"Still here, McGee?" Gibbs said as he appeared out of nowhere.
Tim looked up quickly. "Yes, boss. Just finishing my report."
"You could have done that on Monday."
"I know." Tim stood up and walked to the printer. He picked up his completed report and handed it to Gibbs.
"I won't be reading this until Monday, McGee."
Tim smiled. "Good. Then, I won't be either." He paused and then hurriedly added, "Boss."
Gibbs just grunted.
Tim picked up his bag and started to leave. Then, he stopped.
"Boss?"
"What, McGee?"
Tim hesitated, then let the words out in a rush, "How do you deal with it?"
"With what?" Gibbs looked up at him.
"With what happened to your family."
Gibbs' face froze. He just stared at Tim as if he hadn't understood the question.
Immediately, Tim was abashed. "I'm sorry, boss. That was out of line. It's personal. I shouldn't have–"
Gibbs interrupted, "Why are you asking, McGee?" His voice didn't sound angry.
"I-it's just that it doesn't seem to affect you anymore. I mean," he smiled wanly, "everyone's seen how well I dealt with my father's death. It's been fifteen years and I still haven't..." he trailed off, not knowing how to explain it.
Gibbs said nothing. He put the report down on the desk, turned out his light and walked over to Tim. Involuntarily, Tim tensed, expecting a head slap.
Gibbs just said, "Not a day goes by that I don't think about them."
"Then, how–?"
Gibbs actually smiled at him. "Our situations are very different, McGee. I was able to get closure, awful as it was. You can't, not in the same way."
Tim looked away.
"Here's the thing, though, McGee: I don't focus on their deaths anymore. I remember their lives."
Tim looked back. "How do I do that?" he asked, earnestly. It was easier to talk to Gibbs in the half light of the office. It never occurred to him that Gibbs preferred it as well.
"That I don't know, McGee."
Tim nodded, with resignation. "Thanks." He looked much the same as Liz Rivens had earlier that day when he told her what had happened to her husband.
Tim started to walk to the elevator and was surprised when Gibbs put his hand on his shoulder.
"One question, McGee: What image comes into your head when you think of your father?"
Tim closed his eyes. Unbidden, the image that had been seared into his brain so many years ago welled up. He felt the all-too-familiar tears prick his eyes.
Even though he didn't answer, Gibbs said, "As long as that's what you see, McGee, you'll never get past it."
Tim nodded and didn't resist as Gibbs moved him to the elevator.