Chapter 2

Two hours earlier...

"Come on!" Tim shouted. "This is ridiculous. So much for being early...or even on time." He looked at the sea of brake lights ahead of him and knew that this was going to be, in the immortal words of Judith Viorst, a "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day." His phone rang. He looked at the display. If it was Tony or Gibbs, he wasn't going to answer. It would not make this morning any better. It wasn't either one; so he answered. "Hey, Ziva. I hope you're not on the same road I am."

"Why is that?" she asked, amusement coloring her tone.

"Because I am currently in the middle of a traffic jam. If you want to get to work on time, you'll avoid it."

Ziva was less than sympathetic, but she took his advice and promised to take a different road...and to tell Gibbs that Tim would make it...eventually. Tim just didn't feel like confronting Gibbs at this point in a day that was steadily going downhill. Gibbs would stare at him all day, punish him with stupid things like not getting to sit in his own chair, having to work with Tony, stuff like that. Tony would allow himself to take teasing to a whole new level of annoyance. Ziva would laugh.

"I should just call in sick. I'm definitely not in a good mood now."

Fifteen minutes later, the cars started to move...but not very far and Tim sighed loudly and covered his face.

"I am going to be in such big trouble."

Another twenty minutes passed. Tim's phone rang...and Tony's name came up. "Nope, not talking to you, Tony," he said to his phone. "I am not in the mood for ribbing. I'll be getting enough of it later on."

Another fifteen minutes and the cars finally began to move...without stopping. The progress was slow, but steady. That was better than nothing and Tim felt some of his tension ease. He'd make it...a little later than planned, but since he'd left early, he should be right on time.

When he reached the Navy Yard, he was getting on edge again. It had taken too long to get there. Gibbs was surely already there...and Tony...and Ziva. He would definitely be getting the patented Gibbs stare and he'd probably get a couple of head slaps as well. How much worse could this day possibly get?

"Hey, McGee!"

He had just turned onto Sicard and rolled down his window. The voice took him by surprise and he put on his brakes. He leaned out and saw Lara Miller walking down the sidewalk. She waved.

"You're going to be late, McGee! Agent Gibbs is going to–"

"Don't remind me!" Tim shouted back.

"Well, don't bother trying to park on the street. All full up. You'll have to make do with the parking lot...and take the first spot you find, no matter where it is."

Tim rolled his eyes and smiled. "This is turning out to be a terrible day."

"It's not even eight o'clock yet, McGee," Lara said, smiling. "How bad could it be?"

"Don't ask."

"You want to tell me about it after work? Grab something to eat?"

Tim grinned. "Are you asking me out, Lara?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe...depends on whether or not you're accepting."

"Sure!"

"Great. If Gibbs leaves you alive, I'll see you tonight."

"All right." Tim leaned back in and began to drive forward.

"McGee!"

"What?"

"The parking lot! You missed the turnoff!"

Tim shook his head and blushed a little. "See what I mean?"

"Just park your car. The day will end well, no matter how bad it gets."

"You have a lot of confidence in your charm."

Lara started to walk again, this time swinging her hips seductively. Then, she shouted back over her shoulder, "That's because I've seen it work!" She winked at him and continued on her way.

Tim put his car into reverse and backed up until the entrance to the parking lot loomed ahead of him. Then, he turned in, searching for an elusive parking space. He finally found one near the cannons in the park. He took a deep breath and looked toward the building. Lara was already inside, the door closing after her. Would he survive the day? He hoped so. Dinner sounded great. One more deep breath and Tim got out of the car. He thought about running, but what was the point, really? He would be in trouble, regardless.

I might as well take my time.

He was at the sidewalk when he felt it. He didn't hear. He didn't see. He felt the rumble. It was like an earthquake and time slowed down. As if in slow motion, he watched the building begin to explode outward, the rumble turning into a roar. The windows rippled and exploded into a million shards of glass. Then, it all hit him at once: the shock wave throwing him backward, the glass cutting his face, his hands, his clothes...pieces of the building smashing into him as he flew back. He hit the ground hard...and had just enough time to notice that it was asphalt he hit, not concrete, before he blacked out...

...Like a cold engine, the world slowly restarted, time revving up toward normal flow. There was screaming. Smoke...fire...chaos. Utter chaos. Around him and inside him. What in the world had happened? Tim tried to move and felt a stabbing pain and a heavy weight. He groaned. There was something on top of him. A lot of somethings. Tim pushed at them and felt them fall away. As he sat up, he tried to ignore the pain. He felt like he'd been cut to ribbons, but as he slowly found his feet, his attention was all on the destruction in front of him.

NCIS...it was gone. The building was in ruins. The center of the building was completely gutted out...the sides were still standing...slightly. As he stared, there was a secondary explosion and the west side of the building disappeared in a cloud of dust and debris. A blast of heat washed over Tim as he watched in a daze. The remnants of the east side of the building looked highly unstable. The trees were gone. There had been trees in front of the building. They were gone. Where were the trees? The cars that were usually there...what had happened to them?

He heard shouts behind him, to the side. He couldn't move. He couldn't shift his gaze, not even when the east side crumbled. He didn't even flinch. Everything was gone. Everything...

Tim felt like he could never move again. How many people were inside?

Why aren't I?

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Present...

"How in the world can you tell who she is? She's got no face!"

One of the other firemen smacked his colleague on the arm at the expression on Tim's face. Tim closed his eyes, trying to block out the remains of a friend...she hadn't been a close friend, but he had known her, had talked to her. They had gone out for drinks a couple of times after work.

They'd had plans.

"It's Lara...Lara Miller...on Lovitz' team," he whispered. "She's just across the divider...we talked sometimes. She was...walking in when I got here. I...I went to...park my car and...she went inside. She was...she was wearing...she...was wearing...that...shirt."

The same hands that had been holding him back before, now were holding him up.

"Tim, come on. Come back to the ambulance. We need to get you checked out at a hospital."

Tim started to cry, covering his eyes with a bleeding hand...not that it mattered. The image of Lara's body was indelibly imprinted in his head.

"She was alive...she was alive. Now, she's dead. Who else is inside?"

"Come on, Tim. They'll find out. You can't do anything right now. Just come with me."

Tim finally acquiesced to be led away. He couldn't look at anything other than the building, however. He wasn't really listening to whomever was leading him. All he could see was NCIS Headquarters...exploding...Lara, going inside. Lara...dead. He didn't notice when his knees buckled, when he fell to the ground, when whoever was with him began calling for help. Over and over, he replayed what had happened in his mind.

As he fell rapidly toward unconsciousness, he asked one question: "Why did this happen?"

He didn't hear the answer.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Sir? Sir!"

"His name is Tim."

"Tim, can you hear me?"

A light flashed in his eyes. The right eye, then the left.

"Pupils are slightly dilated."

There was no dust...no dust in the air. It was much quieter, too.

"Is he on any medication?"

"Not that I know of."

"Any allergies?"

"I...I don't know."

"Tim? Squeeze my hand."

The hand was warm...but covered in a glove. His own hands were freezing.

"Tim, you don't have to speak. If you can hear me, squeeze my hand."

It took a lot of effort, but Tim decided that was an okay thing to do. He squeezed the gloved hand.

"Good. Okay, Tim. We're going to do an ultrasound to check for internal bleeding. You're going to be just fine."

"He's hypotensive and tachy."

"We hardly need the ultrasound."

"Let's use it anyway."

There was a feeling of cold on his abdomen and he flinched away.

"There's some guarding."

"He from the explosion?"

"Yeah."

"Inside?"

"No. Just outside."

"He's lucky."

He hated that word. He wasn't lucky.

"Okay, we've got some bleeding here, upper right quadrant. Let's get him up to the OR."

"Is he going to be all right?"

"He should be fine. The bleeding is fairly minor, but we want to get it under control."

"Why isn't he awake?"

"He is...sort of."

"Sort of. That's medical terminology, is it?"

"Close enough. Sir, the surgery won't take long. You can wait and check on him later."

"He's going to be all right, though."

"Yes."

"Then, I'll be back."

"Wait! You're just leaving?"

"He's not the only one who was involved."

Not the only one. Tim tried to sit up, but all he succeeded in doing was hurting himself.

"Tim, calm down!"

He subsided, but that was only because it hurt too much to try to leave again. His eyes opened.

"I have to go," he said, weakly.

"We're taking you to the OR, Tim. You have some internal bleeding."

"No...I have to go...back...I have...to..."

"Where is he?"

"He left."

"He left?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Fine. Tim, you're going to be fine. The surgery is routine. Just..."

"No...please...I have to help."

"You can...later. Not now. Let's get him to the OR...Now?"

The ceiling flashed by above his head, making him dizzy.

"Cold."

"I know, Tim. It's all right. Here we go."

Tim faded to unconsciousness once more, but he tried to hold onto the gloved hand. "They died," he whispered. "I think they died. Why didn't I save them?"