Characters belong to DP Bellisario A Big Mistake
Part One
I couldn't help it. I just couldn't stop myself. I took out the gun from his bedside drawer, loaded the magazine and held it in my hand. I suppose it was curiosity. It was heavier than it looked. He never made it look heavy when he took it from his desk drawer and put it in his holster. I'd seen him do it a hundred times. It looked light as a feather. He was obviously used to holding it.
I could never be.
But in this instance, it seemed like a toy, not a weapon. The things I could do with this. I had power, all the power in the world with this small item I held. Tim must have felt that power whenever he held it. It was intoxicating.
I heard him flush the toilet. He'd excused himself for a moment while we were at the computer. Playing games all evening and consuming a bottle of wine was our idea of a good night in – our first date. To be honest I didn't understand much of what the computer game was about. Just spending time with Tim was all it had been about for me. He laughed in all the right places when I cracked a joke about the game. I laughed when he did too. Just to see him smile was enough for me.
I couldn't believe he asked me over. I know I sat the other side of the partition from him and I saw the odd once or twice he caught my eye, but him asking me out was a boon! Tony had tried more than once but he just wasn't my type. Over-confident never was. I like men to be geeky, slightly insecure, certainly not in-your-face sexed up. Tim wasn't like that and I didn't think he ever could be.
I wasn't a special agent like him. My job was office-based and slightly dull but seeing him every day made it a great job to have. From my corner of the office I'd seen him euphoric, depressed but mostly logical and placid. He was a good guy in a bad world.
I held the gun in my now sweaty and shaking hand predicting I had about two seconds to get it back into his drawer in time before he caught me. Too late! The bathroom door opened and Tim's silhouette stood in the doorway with the bathroom light around him like an aura. He looked like an angel. Standing there in his MIT T-shirt and joggers, he froze to the spot. I thought at first he would be angry to know why I was standing in his bedroom going through his personal things instead of being back at the computer where he left me.
"Ah, what's going on?" he asked, staring at the item in my hands.
"I …er…I." I wanted to tell him I was just curious but I sounded like a stuttering freak. Maybe the wine had taken more of an effect than I realised. He took a step forwards, cautiously, as though I was going to use the gun even though I wasn't pointing it anywhere specific. I began to tremble more. "I was just…."
What was it with me? Why couldn't I just finish the sentence? It was perfectly innocent. Wasn't it? I looked down at the gun again and swallowed. Now my legs were shaking in my jeans and it moved through my body under the thin jumper I was wearing. I was shaking all over. Because I had been caught out? I wondered. Or perhaps it was because now I actually had the gun in my hands, I could use it.
On myself. Wasn't that what I had been thinking about for a long time now?
If I was honest, it was. The thought had been locked away in my subconscious, sure, but it was there. It was the only way out of the nightmare in which I'd been living. The nightmare that I'd hidden so deep inside my mind, I had almost forgotten it happened. But nothing could take away what happened that night. Nothing. I hadn't told another living soul. The only two people who knew were me and…
"Emily," he said softly, trying to gauge my mood. His voice was one of the things that drew me to him in the first place. It was soft, gentle, like honey dripping off a hot spoon. I found it seductive. Why they all used him as the butt of their jokes in the office was beyond me. He was a geek, they said. Well, what of it? Geeks are people too. "Why don't you put down the gun?" He edged nearer.
It was dark in the bedroom, save for the light from the bathroom and the computer lamp in the den. Both lights gelled together in the bedroom to form some kind of subtle illumination that wouldn't have looked out of place in a cinema. But this was fast turning into less of entertainment than I could imagine. Part of me wanted to put it down and part of me wanted to use it there and then. I could feel Tim sensing there was more to this than met the eye.
"I want to use it," I told him. I didn't even realise my voice had spoken until it did. It was as much of a surprise to me as it seemed to him.
"What?"
"I said I want to use it." From the level of my voice, it was obvious I wasn't talking about going to a shooting range. I was thinking more personally than that.
"On who exactly?"
I looked around at him and tried to smile but my eyes filled up with tears instead preventing me instantly.
"Me."
He took another step forwards. He was now three feet from me. He leaned in and extended his arm. I looked back at the gun and turned it around so the barrel faced me.
"Emily," his voice was stronger now and urgent at my movement. He sounded scared. "Give it to me, please."
I looked down the barrel. It was a simple black tube, nothing too scary in that. If I squeezed my thumb now it would all be over and my nightmare would go away in a flash. I smiled. How easy it could all be.
Tim took another step forwards and it seemed like he was moving fast and slow at the same time. I looked at his feet, covered in dark socks, and smiled. I often wondered what he lolled about in when he was home. He looked cute, informal. Different to the Tim McGee that worked wonders in the office. That one wore suits, a tie, dark shiny shoes and almost always carried a cell phone, PDA or a digital camera. I loved that look. It was formal and authoritative and certainly got my interest.
His dark ruck-sack always had me curious. I often watched him grab it just before the team left for some case. I imagined he had all kinds in there right down to his lunch!
His left hand closed in now. His watch caught the light from behind him and the flash distracted me for a moment. I thought for a second it was the gun. Had I squeezed the trigger already? I thought I had more time than that. I tipped my head backward to take in the commotion and saw Tim remove the weapon from my hand so quickly I was stunned. It was like a blur.
He released the magazine and held both pieces in each hand. "Thank God!" he sighed hard. I looked at him, tears streaming down my face. "What the hell happened while I was in there," he gestured to the bathroom.
I didn't respond. I tried to lick my lips but my mouth had grown dry. I wiped my hands together, trying to remove the perspiration, but it was no good. I was growing cold too now. Shock did that. I guess I must have been in shock for months then.
"I wanted out," I said simply.
"Why?" His voice was laced with a mixture of confusion, sympathy and frustration. "What's wrong?"
I looked up at his face, his beautiful angelic features. It was the only thing keeping me sane all this time. That and the fact I was able to look at him sitting at his desk.
He put the gun into a different drawer and the magazine beneath it in another and cupped my face.
"You want to talk?" he asked.
I wanted to talk for the longest time but the words just wouldn't come out. I shook my head and began to let out the tears. He put his arm around me pulling me closer until my cheek rested against his T shirt. I could feel his warmth beneath and smell the remains of his aftershave. It was masculine, comforting and, what I needed most right now, made me feel protected. We sat together on the end of the bed while he cradled me in his arms. I trembled and cried until I barely remembered falling asleep. I awoke hours later to hear his voice talking softly on the phone next to his computer.
"Thanks, Abby," I heard him say. Abby was the forensics girl. She was the coolest woman I'd ever seen. I'd met her only once when I was asked to deliver a box down to her lab. She smiled and asked me if I had a tattoo. I told her I didn't but if I ever did, I'd ask her advice as to what she recommended. She seemed to like me. "I'll see you soon. Bye." He put down the phone and I heard his footsteps get nearer. I thought about closing my eyes and pretending I was still asleep but I wanted to explain about earlier, at least apologise. I felt I owed him that much.
"You're awake?" he asked with a gentle smile. "You want a cup of coffee?"
I'd fantasised often about waking up in Tim's bed but I never twigged it for being after I'd made the biggest mistake of my life and attempting to commit suicide there. What must he thought of me. He wouldn't be asking me out again, that was for sure.
"That'd be great," I nodded, "thanks".
I must have looked interesting to say the least. My mascara was definitely not 'Outdoor Girl' so was likely in dried streaks down my cheeks. Tim, being a total gentleman, didn't say a word over my appearance.
"Want to come with?" he asked, gesturing to the kitchen. I understood. It didn't take two people to make coffee but leaving me alone in a room which contained a gun now I was awake wasn't a good idea. I suppose he was right.
"Sure," I moved off the bed and walked towards him. "Tim," I began, "I owe you an explanation."
"When you're ready," he told me. We walked into the kitchen where I watched him fill two mugs with coffee and hand one to me. It wasn't until I noticed the clock on the cooker, I realised it was almost two-thirty in the morning.
"Abby must think a lot of you," I said. Tim regarded me with confusion. "You were just on the phone with her, right?" He nodded. "It's pretty late."
"She's coming over. I hope you don't mind."
"Now?" I stared at him with my mouth open. "Oh," I was suddenly embarrassed. I'd heard the office gossip but I didn't think anything was set in stone. "You and her are…oh, I didn't realise…I thought when you asked me out….oh, I'm sorry!"
Tim held my shoulders in his hands. "No, you don't understand. She's a friend is all. She's a good listener."
I stared into his grey-green eyes in the fluorescent kitchen lighting. It was very sobering. It was for me that he asked her to come over.
"What makes you think she'll listen to me?"
"What make you think she won't? I can't tell you how many times she's been a good friend to me."
"Maybe I don't need a good girl-friend right now," I shrugged. "Maybe it's a good guy-friend I need."
"Well, I figured you needed to talk to someone."
"Can't I talk to you?"
"I don't know," he peered into my eyes searching for the answer. "Can you?"
Tears welled again. I wanted to tell him what this was all about but words failed me yet again. I'd tried so many times to begin speaking about it but when I took the breath to speak to people, there was just a blank space left.
"I don't know what to say."
"I figured," Tim nodded sympathetically. "Maybe you need to see someone, you know, a psychiatrist."
I stepped back and looked at him in disgust. "You think I need a shrink?"
"I don't know what you need, Emily," he said more curtly than I ever hoped he'd say to me. "I go into the bathroom, you're playing at the computer. I come out of the bathroom and you're holding my gun. What am I supposed to think?"
I took a sip of the coffee and put it on the counter.
"You're right!" I was hurt at his words but deep down all I knew he wanted was an explanation and I couldn't give him one. "I should leave. You know before she gets here. I don't want her to see me here anyway, you two obviously have a history. I don't know what I was thinking."
I strode to the den, grabbed my jacket and made my way to the door but going back to the door, Tim caught up with me acting as a barrier between me and the door.
"Please move, I want to leave."
"I don't want you to go."
"I think you do."
"I want you to stay, Emily. Please stay."
"I can't!" I cried, unable to keep it in any longer. "I don't know what to do. I can't think about it and I can't not think about it." I fell into his chest again and he held me there stroking my hair. "I just know I can't go on like this! I need help!"
"So talk to me," he pleaded. "Stop torturing yourself and talk about it. Did somebody hurt you?"
Was I that transparent? I stared at him incredulously. Tim closed his eyes for a moment, seemingly understanding my plight.
"My God, they did, didn't they?"
I closed my eyes and saw the face of my attacker in front of me as I had done every night for the past few months.
"I can't talk about it."
"You can. You have to."
"I can't speak about it, Tim! If I talk about it I'll have to re-live the whole damn thing again and I'd rather go back in your bedroom and get the gun than do that."
"You were assaulted, I knew it. You know who did it?" I nodded. "And you could ID him?" I nodded again. "You know him?" I nodded once more. "Who is it, I'm going to kill the bastard!"
I held my hand over my mouth and tried to hold in my sobs but it wasn't working. I'd gotten Tim madder than hell and I couldn't cope with that. He was supposed to be the placid kind. I'd gotten my attacker mad and I knew how that turned out.
"Tim, I'm sorry, okay, don't hurt me," I pleaded.
He stared at me, his brows knitting together and shook his head.
"I would never hurt you, Emily, ever."
Behind him, somebody knocked on the door. It had to be Abby. He opened it and let her in. She was dressed in a black and white striped T shirt and black leather pants. For once her hair was down and she wore no make up. She looked different, good but different.
"What's going on, McGee, I got here as soon as I could." She stared at me as Tim closed the door behind her.
"Emily's needs a friendly ear. I thought it might be a good idea for her to talk to you."
She smiled at me in a concerned kind of way and put her arm around me.
"Sure, what is it, kiddo?"
She walked me to the bedroom and we sat on the edge of the bed. Tim didn't join us, something I had mixed feelings about.
There was something about Abby that made me feel comforted, like I didn't need to be scared anymore. I told her about the gun and she nodded saying McGee mentioned that part already.
"You know death is pretty cool," she said casually with a smile. "But it's pretty final too. I wouldn't go playing around with it."
"But it's the only way out I know," I admitted.
"Only way out?" she asked. "Of what?"
"The nightmare I've been living." I finally opened up and told her everything barring nothing. I don't know what Abby's presence did but it worked. She was non-judgemental and she listened to every word. I told her about the assault, how Tony DiNozzo's friend, Chris Harper, wouldn't take no for an answer. How I got him mad and he went crazy. It was almost three months ago and I hadn't told a soul. There was no evidence and, therefore, no proof. I didn't even keep the clothes I wore that night for forensics. Everything I'd learned in my job, I forgot. The only thing keeping it real was my memory of the incident and that had been tucked away out of sight. Every day I saw Tony I wanted to slap his face, even though it was his friend who hurt me and not him.
Seeing Tim everyday seemed to soften the harshness of my life. I was able to cope around him, he made it all worthwhile.
"So that bastard Chris Harper simply got away with it?" Abby shrugged.
"Because I didn't report it," I told her through my tears. "It was all my fault. I have no proof that it even happened. If I could forget about it in here too," I pointed to my head, "everything would be fine."
Abby hugged me. She really was the coolest.
Just then Tim walked in. He'd been listening and heard everything. Abby looked at him and smiled sympathetically. I watched waiting for someone to say something. Instead, I spoke.
"God, what a lousy first-date I was, huh?"
He suppressed a laugh. "I'm so glad you finally told someone, Emily." He walked up to me and I stood as he hugged me. "You know, it's going to be fine. I will make it fine. I promise."
"How are you going to do that," Abby asked. I was curious to know too. "There's no evidence."
"I'm going to talk to Tony. This Chris Harper was his friend. Those guys are always bragging. Maybe he said something."
Tim released me from the embrace and the look on his face told me he was thinking way too logically for me to cope with.
A moment later, he grabbed his gun, magazine and coat and left the apartment.
15