Chapter 19

They stood in a motionless tableau. Tim seemed to have lost all power of independent movement. Gibbs was racking his brain trying to decide what he should do next.

"Tim, come with me."

"Where?" Tim asked, still looking at some point in the distance.

"Just come."

"Yes, Boss." Tim followed docilely as Gibbs led him back into the house. He paused when he realized they were headed to the basement.

Gibbs turned at the head of the stairs and saw him standing. He looked afraid. "This isn't holy ground, McGee. Come on."

Tim just nodded and followed Gibbs down the steps. In spite of himself, he looked curiously at the latest boat. It was a beauty, even to Tim's untrained eye. He sat down on a stool facing the boat while Gibbs dug through a pile of junk.

"What's her name, Boss?" Tim asked softly.

Gibbs looked up, surprised that Tim had said anything. "I haven't decided yet."

Maybe he was imagining it, but Gibbs could have sworn that a small smile flashed across Tim's face. His mouth formed a word, a name: Hollis. Gibbs turned away so that he wouldn't give himself away. Tim was usually so oblivious. Why had he turned out so astute in this case? He remembered when he had shame-facedly admitted to giving his Tibbs character a love interest, a lieutenant colonel.

"She's beautiful, Boss."

"Thanks." Gibbs found the file he'd been looking for and dumped it onto Tim's lap.

"What's this?"

"Read it, McGee," Gibbs said and walked to the boat and started to work on it, appearing to ignore Tim's presence.

His curiosity piqued, Tim opened the file. It contained photos, a series of newspaper articles, and a case report. It was all about an unsolved murder of a drug dealer. There were obvious surveillance photos and a case photo of his dead body, shot through the head. Then, there were articles about the dealer's various crimes, including the suspicion of murder of a woman and her daughter... who had been killed while her husband was serving in Desert Storm. Tim's eyes focused on the last name: Gibbs. He had known about the death of Gibbs' wife and daughter, but this was something else. "What is this, Boss?"

"You're an intelligent man, McGee. What do you think?" Gibbs said without turning around.

McGee looked down, trying to deny what his eyes were showing him, what his mind was telling him. "Why are you showing me this? Does everyone else know?"

"What do you think?" Gibbs asked again. He paused, then answered the second question, "A few people, not everyone."

"Why are you showing this to me?"

This time Gibbs turned around and stared hard at Tim. "Did you read it?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I don't know."

"You're lying, McGee. It's one of those things I don't think you'll ever get good at. What do you get from that file?"

Tim's mouth opened and closed without making a sound.

"You're an NCIS agent, McGee. I'm your boss. Tell me what you surmise from that file."

"Uh..." Tim knew exactly what this file meant, but he didn't want to say it.

"Now, McGee!" Gibbs ordered, never moving his eyes from Tim's face.

Tim swallowed hard and said hesitantly, "There was a drug dealer in Mexico."

"Yes? And?"

"He was suspected of-of murder."

"The murder of whom? I know what's there, McGee. It's not a surprise to me."

Tim swallowed again. "The murder of K-Kelly and Shannon Gibbs. He was found murdered, a sniper shot right through the head. The case is still unsolved."

"Who did it?"

"There's no indication of it in that file."

"Come on, McGee. Act like an agent. The file is in the possession of the husband of Shannon and Kelly Gibbs."

"Circumstantial evidence," Tim said desperately.

Gibbs walked past Tim and unlocked a cabinet. Inside was a sniper rifle. "No longer circumstantial. Say it, Tim. You know what the file means."

Finally, Tim blurted out, "You killed the man who killed your wife and daughter. You tracked him down and killed him. They never found you because you know too well how to hide your tracks. He was a despicable excuse for a human being and no one really cared that he was dead. The case went cold quickly and no one knows... or at least no one knows who cares to reveal it."

"Do you know why I did it, McGee?"

Tim was silent.

"Why, McGee? Say it."

"Revenge," Tim whispered.

"Not justice?"

Unconsciously, Tim backed away. "No. If you had wanted justice, you would have found the way to arrest him. It might have been hard. It might have taken a long time, but you could have done it. You wanted revenge."

Gibbs nodded. "You're right. I was just like you, McGee. I killed a man in anger, but it was worse than what you did. My anger was cold and calculating. I didn't find him right away. I had... some help, but it took time to get to him. The fiery anger that followed my grief had hardened. I wasn't out of control. I knew exactly what I was doing, and I did it anyway."

"Why...?"

"McGee, you did what you did in desperation. It was out of anger, yes. I agree with you that it was your anger informing some of your actions, but it was desperation. Your family wasn't dead yet, but you had seen Sarah in a position of helplessness. You were afraid and you hated the man that had made you feel that way. Am I right so far?"

Tim just nodded, his face drained of color.

"I'm not going to pretend that what happened wasn't at least partially your fault. I can't and be honest, but you cannot, in good conscience, take all the blame onto yourself."

"I..." Tim began.

"No, McGee. You can't. It's wrong and it's unjust. It's foolish of you to continue blaming yourself for it. You are too smart to refuse to see what's true when it is staring you in the face."

"I should have waited."

"Yes, you should have done this. You could have done that. If you had known, you would have. All the hindsight in the world can't change what happened in the moment. Do you remember what you did when you took too much time to think after the undercover cop was killed?"

"I-I hesitated. I almost got you killed."

"You were afraid to kill someone who might be innocent, even if it was a million to one chance. Did you hesitate this time?"

"No. I knew what he was and what he could do."

"Good. You learned something."

"But look what happened because of it!" Tim protested.

"I am, McGee. I'm not forgetting the people who died. I know you aren't either. I can't change it, and neither can you, but you can try to finish it and work through it."

Tim sunk back onto the stool. "I don't know if I can."

"Will you try?"

Tim looked into Gibbs' eyes. He had expected censure or condemnation, but all he saw was sympathy. Slowly, he nodded, as tears escaped his eyes.

"Good. Tony and Ziva will be needing your help in the morning, but for now, hand me those nails."

"What?"

"Nails, McGee. Behind you on the work bench."

Tim looked over his shoulder and picked up the nails and handed a few to Gibbs.

"Thanks." Gibbs began to work on his boat.

"Boss?"

"Yes, McGee?"

Tim was staring at the gun Gibbs had put down on the bench.

"I think you should move that gun."

Gibbs turned at looked at Tim. He was in earnest; Gibbs could see it in his eyes that the temptation and the desire to end it all was still there. He nodded, picked it up, unloaded it and put it in his cabinet. Then, he went back to work. Tim sat quietly watching and occasionally handing Gibbs tools. Neither spoke. Gibbs kept working until he heard Tim's breathing deepen. Finally, he looked back and saw him leaning on the work bench, his head pillowed in his hands. He smiled and eased Tim onto a mattress he kept for the occasions when he didn't feel like going upstairs. Then, he settled himself on the stairs and grabbed a few hours sleep.