Chapter 12

"What do you want me to say, Tim?" Gibbs asked, finally. "That it's your fault? That you should have done something different? Do you want me to tell you that you could have done something different and changed what happened? I can't do that. I can't tell you why or how this happened or why you weren't inside before the bombs went off." He pulled a chair over and sat down on the other side of Tony's bed.

"For that matter," Ducky interjected, "why was it that they chose the day I was home with my mother?"

"Why was I down with Abby instead of up with Ziva?" Tony asked, his voice very soft.

"I don't know! That's the problem! I don't know!" Tim said, standing abruptly and walking to the window. "I just don't know," he whispered.

"What don't you know, Timothy?" Ducky asked gently.

"I don't know anything anymore. There's nothing to know, really. Everything...it's all gone."

"It's not gone."

"Look at how many people have died. Look at the building. Look at it all. Destroyed. Ruined."

"Tim," Gibbs said, "you were wrong."

"About what?"

"About Agent Lee. She's not dead."

That forced Tim to turn around. "What? But I saw–"

"She was dead, but just before they called time of death, her heart started again on its own." Gibbs was rewarded with a small spark of interest in Tim's dull eyes. Tony, if he had been able, would have been sitting up. As it was, his mouth was open at this unexpected blessing. "They don't know how much permanent damage was done, but she's alive."

"Michelle is alive?"

"Yeah. Her parents are with her right now."

The spark looked like it might grow before it sputtered and died. "But Ziva's still dead?" Tim asked.

"Yes. She is."

"I saw her hand," Tim said, staring at his own.

"I know."

"I couldn't even stay to see them pull her out. I ran away. She was there and I left her."

Locked in a cycle was a good way of describing Tim's thought processes. Every time there seemed to be some progress, just a bit of movement toward seeing the world as it really was and not as evidence of every little thing Tim had done wrong, the wheel would turn again and Tim would be back into the rut of seeing himself as worthless, the world as empty, and life as not worth living. In normal circumstances, it would just be ego, but now, that was compounded with Tim's tendency to think the worst of himself anyway.

"Probie, she was dead! It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter?" Tim asked incredulously. "I didn't know she was dead! I didn't even know it was her! I left because I...I was too weak to see who else had died. I was afraid to see and I ran away!"

"I didn't want to be there, either, Tim," Gibbs said. "I didn't want to be there when I saw them pull out Jenny's body, when they found Cynthia."

"You didn't want to...but you still did it, Boss. I didn't. I let everyone else just do it on their own." Tim's head was hanging, his shoulders hunched in shame. "And I still want to. I want to run and not have to see any of this. I want to run and forget it even happened."

"So do I, Probie," Tony said. "I can't even remember most of it...and I don't want it to have happened."

"No one wants this to have happened, Timothy," Ducky said. "But it has happened. We have to accept it and rebuild...not give in."

Tim looked from one man to the next.

"I don't see anything worth rebuilding," Tim said finally. Then, he turned and walked out of the room.

"You were saying, Duck?" Gibbs asked.

"He's bad, Ducky...really bad. I didn't realize."

Ducky shook his head. "I will bring him back. It's not going to be solved all at once, Jethro, as you well know." He sighed. "Wait for us." Then, he followed Tim out of the room.

Luckily, as he'd hoped, Tim hadn't gone very far once he'd left...only as far as the nearest waiting room. Tim was sitting on one of the benches, his hands covering his face. Ducky came and sat down beside him.

"You left rather abruptly, Timothy," Ducky said kindly.

"I'm sorry, Ducky. I shouldn't have left, but I just..."

"Felt overwhelmed?" Ducky asked, rubbing his back.

"I guess."

"Timothy, sit up, please. Sit up and look at me. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing."

Tim did not sit up. "But I keep running away. It's all I can think of to do."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of. Now, sit up, please."

Tim did so, obviously reluctantly.

"What do you see when you think of what has happened, Timothy?"

Tim was silent for a few minutes and Ducky didn't push. He just waited, wishing that he could forcibly get Tim to see the truth...because the truth was bad enough without a skewed perspective.

"I see Lara," Tim said finally, staring at his hands rather than Ducky. "I could only tell it was her because of her clothes...she was...torn apart."

"I see Jimmy," Ducky said, frankly. "Since learning of his death, I have imagined his last moments, what he must have felt, what he saw...but do you know what the difference is between you and me, Timothy?"

Tim swallowed and laughed. "About thirty years?"

Ducky smiled at the attempt. "Well, yes, but more than mere age, I can see past the explosion. Can you?"

Tears dripped from Tim's eyes onto his hands. "I wish I could, Ducky. I've tried. I just can't. I can't see anything good. All I can see is...death and destruction. I don't know why. I just can't."

"Do you trust me, Timothy?"

"Yes." The answer was immediate.

"And Jethro?"

"Of course." The agreement came just as quickly.

"And Tony?" Ducky raised his eyebrows.

"Even Tony," Tim said, a small smile on his face.

"Then...if you can't see it for yourself, will you trust us that there is something more?"

"I don't understand."

"Children often rely on their parents for truth when they are young. They learn that the world is round, that they should not take candy from strangers, that they should share and be kind. They don't learn the reasons why. Most of our core beliefs are formed as children, Timothy. We learn the things that most define us when we are too young to verify the axioms taught to us empirically. We trust that our parents know what they are talking about. Do you think you can trust us in the same way?"

Tim looked at Ducky fully and didn't answer.

"I will not try to force you to see the possibilities of the future, Timothy. For one thing, I doubt I would succeed against such a stubborn mind as you possess. But if you could just try to trust us..."

"If I do...what does that mean?" Tim asked. The darkness was still present in his eyes, but there was a hope burning faintly in the darkness. It was a desire to believe. He didn't want to feel this way, but he couldn't, at the moment, fathom any other way to feel. It was better because he hadn't given up, just lost his way...hopefully, temporarily.

"It does mean quite a bit of effort on your part, I'm afraid, but seeing as you are a hard worker in any case, work shouldn't be the problem."

"What do I need to do?"

"You have to act like you believe it."

Tim sagged, the hope dying in his eyes. "I can't, Ducky. I've tried!"

"No, Timothy. You have tried to pretend that your problems aren't really problems, that they are actually a sign of your weakness. What you need to do is do the kinds of things you would do if you did believe there was a chance for things to get better. You don't have to deny your feelings. You shouldn't, in fact, because that will only make things worse. We all know that it is hard for you. ...and that is not weakness. No one knows how they will react to such an event until it happens. And for many, it never does."

"How come you can be so calm, Ducky?"

"This is not the first time I have lost comrades, Timothy. As you say, I have at least thirty years on you. I have faced things like this before. I also deal with death on a daily basis. I am much better equipped to be calm." Ducky now smiled sadly. "Just don't mistake my calm for a lack of grief. I am grieving deeply. As deeply as you in my own way...as are we all."

Tim took a deep breath. "What do I have to do?"

"Come back to Tony's room with me and allow us to be with you. Then, go and see Abby...and tell her about something beautiful."

"Something beautiful?"

"Yes. Abby would love to hear something like that from you. You haven't told her everything, I'm sure. Tell her about something beautiful you have seen. It need not be recent."

"Why?" Tim asked, looking nothing less than pitiful, as if Ducky had asked him to write a dissertation on the subject.

"Just trust me, as I asked."

"Okay. Okay, Ducky. I'll try."

"Good. Now, let's return to our friends."

"Okay." Tim stood up and looked down at Ducky. "I don't feel like..."

"You're worth the effort, Timothy. Every human being is."

Tim's eyes filled with tears and Ducky knew he was seeing the loss of human life again in his head.

"Take a moment, Timothy. Come in when you're ready," Ducky said and walked back to Tony's room. When he stepped inside, he saw Tony leaning back, his eyes heavy-lidded, nearly asleep, and Gibbs talking softly to him.

"What did I miss?" Ducky asked, keeping his voice soft so as not to startle them.

"We were talking about making sure Ziva got back to Israel."

"Are you sure she wished to go?" Ducky asked.

To his surprise, Tony nodded firmly. "We were..." he hesitated and looked behind Ducky and then at the ME. Ducky gestured for him to continue. "...we were talking about it just a few days ago. Remember Alvaro Perez? He was from someplace... in Mexico but had become a US citizen. All his family was still there, and because he'd never married, he'd wanted to be buried back there."

"I remember," Tim said. "Ziva said she understood why he felt that way."

Tony nodded, spilling a few tears. "We talked about it after work, about where we'd...want to be buried, if we died. I asked her if she wanted to go back to Israel."

"She wanted that?" Ducky asked when Tony faltered.

"Yes." Tony had to pause again, both for breath and because of his own tears. "She said that Israel was her home. It was in her heart."

Tim nodded silently. "We'll need to...call her...her father."

"I'm going to do that, Tim," Gibbs said, one eye on Tim's hands which were clenched tightly in his lap and his other on Tony lying in his bed. One injured physically, the other mentally. Both in pain...although both were trying to deny it.

A silence fell on the group, full of pain, but not awkward. It was a way of grieving together without words. They stayed that way until Tony fell asleep again. Then, Ducky gave Tim a look and Tim nodded, standing silently and leaving.

"What was that?"

"Just an assignment for our young friend."

"Assignment?"

Ducky looked at Tony, but he was asleep...as he probably should have been before. "There have been many studies supporting the idea that if you smile, even when you are feeling terrible, your mood often improves. I asked Timothy to trust us and to do the kinds of things he would do if he believed, as I do, that there is a future for us all. He has gone to speak to Abigail, to tell her something good. If he can bring his mind around to beautiful things, even from the past, it may give him hope for the future...and, at the very least, it will keep him with us, rather than allowing him to withdraw both physically and mentally."

"I hope you're right, Ducky," Gibbs said, standing up to stretch his legs.

Ducky stood as well. "Trust me, Jethro."

Gibbs walked to Ducky and hugged him. "Thanks, Ducky."

"You're welcome."

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

The room was quiet, and Abby looked as sad and empty and still as ever, but Tim walked in and sat down, Ducky's instructions firmly entrenched in his mind. He reached out with his bandaged hands and picked up one of Abby's equally-damaged hands. Gently, he cradled it before bringing it to his lips and kissing it lightly.

"Abby," he said and his throat closed up, "I remember once when I was young...maybe twelve..." Tears poured down his cheeks. "...Mom and Dad got this idea into their heads that Sarah and I needed to see more of the country. It was Christmas break. Snow everywhere, and Dad decided that we would go on a road trip." Tim laughed through his tears, remembering the past. "I was not happy about it. I wanted to stay home and do regular Christmas things, but Mom and Dad were in agreement. So we packed up and starting driving west. I kept asking where we were going, but Dad wouldn't answer. He just said it was a surprise." Tim stopped and looked at Abby. With one hand, he brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead before continuing. "When we got to Cooke City, I realized we were going to Yellowstone National Park...in the winter! I thought Dad was nuts and I only wanted to go home. We got as far as Mammoth and the road was closed to regular cars. I thought we'd just find somewhere fun, but no, Dad had to keep going. He reserved us seats on these weird snow vans, like big snow machines, and we went down to Old Faithful and saw a bunch of the geysers."

The room was so quiet and Tim was trying so desperately to get to the beautiful moment, but it was taking too long.

"There was...this place...uh...Midway Geyser Basin. It was so...it so beautiful, Abby. The steam from all the geysers and the hot springs was everywhere...and the colors...they were amazing. It was like...like being on another planet. You'd be walking through the steam clouds and suddenly, there was this splash of color, orange and red...yellow, blue...all surrounded by snow. It was so beautiful. I can still see it when I think about it, and it's been twenty years."

Tim wanted to scream in pain, but he didn't.

"It was the best...best vacation ever. Of course, after my dad was paralyzed, things like that were harder to do, but...that was it. I don't know why I never told you about it before." Tim stopped talking and looked at her. Her hand was limp in his. She didn't move. "Can...can you hear me, Abby? Please, hear me, Abby."

But Abby didn't move.