Chapter 17

Gibbs heard the door to the patio slide open. For just a moment, he tensed wondering who was breaking into his house; then, he remembered: McGee. That brought him no sense of relief, however. He stood and looked out the window. Tim was sitting on the patio, holding his own gun. How did he get that without me noticing? Gibbs asked himself. Then, he realized that he'd seen Tim pick it up as they left his apartment, along with his badge. He hadn't thought twice about it. Tim was a field agent; of course, he'd have a gun. Gibbs cursed himself for his thoughtlessness and ran to the door, afraid. For the first time, he was afraid that he'd be too late.

By the time he got there, Gibbs saw that Tim had already brought the gun up to his head. He stopped. The seconds ticked by. Tim seemed frozen. His finger on the trigger, the muzzle of the gun tight against his temple. He didn't appear to have heard Gibbs' approach although he must have. The patio door wasn't silent by any stretch of the imagination. Gibbs noticed the tremor in Tim's hand. So Tim was afraid as well. He decided to walk over and just sit down by Tim. It was certainly unorthodox, but Gibbs had always prided himself on not toeing the line; he just did what was necessary.

Tim didn't move. His eyes opened and stared straight ahead like a deer caught in the headlights, his finger still on the trigger. Gibbs sat there silently for a few seconds, outwardly calm, inwardly fearing that Tim would actually do it. Finally, after an eternity of silence that both men were waiting to be broken by gunfire, Gibbs reached out. Slowly, ever so slowly, he reached his hand toward the gun. Tim didn't react.

Gibbs touched Tim's hand first, relaxing his hold on the trigger. He pulled down Tim's hand and took the gun from his now-unresisting fingers. He put the safety back on and set it down beside him. Only then, did he risk saying anything. All he could do was ask the question.

"Why, Tim?"

For a long while, Tim didn't respond. To answer one question meant to answer them all, to let everything out. Gibbs just waited; there was no pushing, no condemnation, just patience.

Fighting back the tears, the emotions that threatened to strangle him, Tim asked a question in return. "Why did they have to die?"

"I don't know," Gibbs answered quietly.

"Why did I have to survive?"

"I don't know, Tim."

"Why did he make me choose?"

"Because he knew that you were a good person. He thought he knew how you would respond."

"I'm not! I'm not..." Tim trailed off and slumped forward from the ramrod posture he'd been adopting before.

Gibbs hesitated. If this had been Abby sitting here, he would have had no trouble comforting her. Why was it that he felt so much more awkward around Tim, more than any other member of his team? His usual method of rough sympathy wouldn't work here. Tim was obviously teetering on the edge of a total meltdown. Slowly, Gibbs put his hand on Tim's shoulder and gripped it tightly.

"You are, Tim."

That was enough. Tim broke down crying, loud gasping sobs that he couldn't hold back anymore. "No," he whispered, the words almost lost amidst the sound of his tortured sobbing. "If I were, they wouldn't be dead. I killed them. I killed them, Boss." Suddenly, Tim stood up and shouted, "I killed two people who didn't deserve to die!" He wasn't looking at Gibbs. He wasn't really even speaking to him. He was shouting to the world at large, the world he felt didn't want or need him in it anymore. He was endorsing the world's rejection.

Gibbs stood and turned Tim toward him. "Yes, Tim. Three people died because of a decision you made." He held Tim's shoulders tightly to make sure he didn't reject what he was trying to get through to him. "You want to take that back, but you can't. You also can't take all the blame for what happened. You weren't the only person in that car. You told me yourself that he grabbed the wheel..."

Tim interrupted, still shouting, "But I made the decision. I chose that course. I did it!"

Gibbs never raised his voice. His words were calmed and measured. "You made the first decision, Tim. You didn't make his decision."

Tim tried to pull away from Gibbs' grip but found himself unable to move. He was still crying as he shouted again, "It doesn't matter! My decision led to his!" Abruptly, his voice dropped back to a whisper, yet sounded more anguished. "My decision killed that-that little girl. My decision killed that college student. I tore families apart. My decision did that. And I did it to...to..."

"To save your family. To save a stranger," Gibbs finished when Tim fell silent. "You did both those things, Tim."

Tim shook his head. That wasn't it. "But at what cost? I took three lives to save two."

"Is it the numbers that really are bothering you, Tim?"

Abruptly, Tim began to shout again. "No! It's not the numbers! Three or three thousand, it doesn't matter. They were innocent. They weren't even involved! They didn't choose what happened to them! I did. I did it..." Tim sagged in Gibbs' grip. "...and I'm still alive."

"Yes, you are. You are alive, and they are dead. You can't change that, Tim," Gibbs said firmly.

"I could..."

"Even if you had pulled that trigger, even if you had killed yourself, they would still be dead. You wouldn't have changed the facts. You would just have hidden yourself from the consequences."

"No. It would have been justice, but I couldn't even do that."

"It wouldn't have been justice. It would have been the murder of an innocent victim. You would have killed someone who didn't deserve to die," Gibbs said, deliberately using Tim's own words.

Tim shook his head, denying Gibbs' assertion. "I'm not the victim. I'm the killer."

"Were you in that car of your own free will?" Gibbs asked.

"No, but..."

"Were you planning on driving to Bethesda today?"

"No, but..."

Mercilessly, Gibbs interrupted Tim again. "Would your sister be dead if you hadn't been in that car?"

"Probably, but..."

"Would you have gone through all that just for yourself?"

"No..."

"Do you think your plan would have worked if he hadn't grabbed the wheel?"

"Yes..." Tim whispered.

Gibbs looked carefully at Tim as he asked, "Did you want to die, too?"

Tim didn't answer right away. He thought back to those chaotic moments that had seemed to take forever and yet had been over so quickly. "I don't... know. It would have been a fair trade. It would have been worth it."

"What did you think would happen?"

"I hoped he'd be thrown out the windshield or at least tossed into the dashboard." When Gibbs didn't interrupt, he continued, "My car might have been knocked back into traffic, but a direct hit against the barriers would have kept it from spinning too far. At worst, my car might have flipped forward and tipped onto the shoulder. Cars might have had to swerve away, but I figured fender-benders would be the most serious problem. Then, when he grabbed the wheel, I couldn't think what else to do."

"Why not?"

"I knew that I was dead if I gave up, that he probably would have killed me and then gone back to my place. I couldn't let him get back into control, but I wasn't in control either. I wasn't thinking. I was just reacting. I felt so helpless." The tears still slid down his cheeks. Tim didn't look at Gibbs as he spoke. "But that isn't it. Even when I hit the other cars, the only emotion I remember feeling is... anger."

"Why?"

Tim's face crumpled. "I hated him. I can't remember hating anyone more. He threatened Sarah. He hurt her. I had to stand there and watch him hit my sister. He made me tape her up so that she couldn't move. He didn't care. It was all a job to him, and I couldn't think clearly through how angry I was." Tim stopped again, ashamed.

"What, Tim?"

"I wanted him dead. I didn't just want him unconscious. I wanted to kill him." For the first time, Tim looked into Gibbs' eyes, and Gibbs was surprised at the loathing he saw in them. "I've never wanted anyone to die before. I've never felt that, not even about Ari or the guy who killed Erin. And I did." Tim said the words, but he still couldn't believe it. "I killed someone because I wanted to, not because I felt I had to."

"You didn't really have many options, you know."

"I know, Boss, but don't you see? Even if I had been able to do something differently, I didn't want to. I wanted to kill him. I didn't want to arrest him or lead him into a trap. I didn't want justice. I wanted him dead. Even now, I know that he's dead like those other people, but I don't feel guilty about him, and I should. I don't know which is worse, that I killed those people or that I'm glad he's dead."

Gibbs waited.

Tim whispered, "If he was standing in front of me right now, I'd still kill him. It was my hate that killed those people."

Gibbs was surprised; he thought he was so good at reading people, but Tim had managed to surprise him. He didn't think Tim could possibly have that strength of emotion in him. He dropped his hands from Tim's shoulders. Now, he saw the real source of Tim's misery. Gibbs had been trying to get Tim to see that he had really succeeded. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that he had succeeded. The problem was that in his success he felt he had destroyed every ideal he held dear. Gibbs stared at Tim in silence wondering what in the world he could say. Tim was looking away from Gibbs, toward the road wondering what he should do now.