Chapter 14
Gibbs didn't bring up the scene in the bathroom. Neither did Tim but he sat hunched over his plate waiting for the question. The problem was that he couldn't give an answer. All he knew was that he had been seized by a desire, no a need to get rid of all the blood. He still felt dirty, contaminated, but he didn't have to give in. After dinner, Tim picked up his plate and headed to the kitchen; Gibbs followed. Both were still silent. Tim knew he should try to explain himself, but he was at a loss for words, and Gibbs wasn't giving him any help in how to start. His emotional turmoil hadn't ebbed a jot during the awkward meal. It was consuming his every thought. What amazed him was how normal he sounded (to himself) when he spoke. He felt he should be gibbering unintelligibly in the corner or something like that.
"I'll wash the dishes, Boss," Tim offered.
"You don't have to, McGee."
"I know. Just-just let me do it."
Gibbs regarded him for a moment. "Okay. The soap is under the sink. I'll be working on my boat if you need anything."
Tim nodded and Gibbs disappeared into the basement. He sighed with relief at the absence of Gibbs' embarrassing presence. He just couldn't feel comfortable around him, especially now. He always felt that Gibbs was weighing him and finding him wanting somehow. It was too much pressure. It was all too much. He wasn't the one who should have survived this. As harried and out-of-control as his thoughts had been, he had never wanted anyone to die besides himself and the man. As he dried the dishes, Tim knew there was only one way to make things right. He wasn't sure if he had the guts. He never could do things right. He finished the dishes and looked toward the basement. If Gibbs' house had seemed imposing, the basement was even more so: it was the inner sanctum. Tim was curious about the boat. He was probably the only one who hadn't seen one of the iterations, but he wouldn't dream of stepping down there without express permission. Instead, he wandered outside to the patio and sat on the steps. At first, he just looked around, taking in the relative serenity of the location. There were trees masking its proximity to Washington DC. It was a far cry from the chaos of the morning hours. Tim dropped his head into his hands. It just wasn't fair.
Why did this happen to me? he thought desperately. There are thousands of federal agents living in this city. I'm not very high up in the rankings. I'm not even a doctor at the Naval Hospital. I'm just a big nobody... and yet... I'm the one he chose to be his unwilling accomplice. Why? Why did all those people die? It should have been me. Everyone thinks so. The police, the nurses, the families... everyone... even me. I should have died. It's not fair!
Gibbs quietly came up from the basement and watched his agent sitting on the patio. On the surface, this was a simple problem. Tim had been in a car accident. Thousands of them happened every day. They were traumatic but not necessarily life-ending experiences. However, this was Tim, who blamed himself for every mistake he had ever made. Gibbs had tried for four years to get him out of this mind set, but every time they made some headway, something would happen to ruin Tim's self-confidence.
He knew that technically, in the eyes of the law, he could forcibly take Tim to the hospital and have him put on suicide watch, but he also knew that Tim was more likely to open up if he didn't feel pressured to do so. Tim was also one of those people who wouldn't believe something unless he could work through it himself. No matter how many people had told him that that undercover cop's death was not his fault, Tim still insisted on taking the blame for it because he thought he was to blame and no amount of persuasion could convince him otherwise. Gibbs thought briefly of calling Abby. He knew she would drop everything if she thought Tim needed her, but Gibbs wondered if this might not be beyond even Abby's ability to mend. Gibbs shook his head in frustration. He hated waiting, but right now that's what had to happen. Unnoticed, he walked back into the house to continue his observations from a less conspicuous vantage point.