"Is he all right?"
"No, Duck, he's not.
I got it. Tell the others, will ya? Tell them to work cold cases."
"Certainly. And Jethro, I am so sorry. "
"Not your fault, Ducky. Don't worry about it."
"Jethro. I will I want to come by and check him over before the day is out."
"I'll get back to you on that."
"All right. I am glad you have found him, Jethro. I only wish…"
"No. Ducky. Don't. Let's just figure out where to go from here."
"Yes, I suppose you're right. Do keep me informed."
"Will do."
Ending the call, the Team Leader returned to Tim's bedroom with the obviously distraught young man, Gibbs slid down the wall to the floor, so that he was directly opposite Tim and could look directly at him as they spoke; whenever that would be. After waiting for as many as ten minutes for the silence to be broken, for Tim to acknowledge his presence, the end result was no different. Gibbs had to wonder if the young man would even stir if a fire were to break out in his apartment.
Unwilling to let him sit in the state he was in any longer, the boss got himself up off the floor, and grasped his agent under the elbow and pulled him up off the floor. There was no resistance from Tim whatsoever and his eyes remained unfocused and clouded over. Without giving it a second thought, Gibbs propelled Tim out to his living room and gently guided him to the chair and pushed him down into it. Wordlessly, he then headed to the kitchen to make some coffee for the both of them.
Once the coffee was done, Gibbs fixed them both a cup and went back to the living room and set them both down on the far end of the coffee table. Coming back around to where Tim sat, still hiding behind the fog that had overtaken him, and sat down on the coffee table directly in front of him.
"McGee." Starting out with his normal tone of voice, Gibbs found he was still without any results in the matter. Taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, he readied himself to get stern in order to break through this crap that seemed to have swallowed this kid almost completely. "MCGEE!"
As Tim's eyes finally blinked and shifted, the boss felt a sliver of relief run through him. His relief was short-lived, however, when no further sign of progress was made. "McGee! Talk to me!"
As his stern 'take no prisoner's" tone bounced off the walls and came back to him, Tim suddenly lurched to his feet and plodded his way back to his room, only to come back momentarily with one of the balled up pieces of paper from his bedroom floor in his hand. Silently, he handed the paper to Gibbs and sat back down in his chair.
While completely taken by surprise, Gibbs was also worried. This was just so completely not like the Tim McGee he'd come to know and thought he understood. Keeping an eye on Tim with part of his vision, he applied himself to flattening and uncrinkling the piece of paper. Taking one last glance at his agent, he felt it necessary to ask for permission, even though it had technically been given to him as soon as Tim had handed it to him in the first place.
"McGee. You sure you want me to read this?"
Only the years of making the gesture himself prepared Gibbs for noticing the tiniest of nods that came from his agent at the question he'd just voiced. It was enough. Looking down, Gibbs began to read the paper.
My dearest Tim:
First off, let me say, that if you are reading this, then my worst fear has come true and I have left this world before I was ready to be taken from yours and your sister's or your mother's lives.
Gibbs felt like he'd been stabbed in the heart. McGee's father had died and the kid had told no one? Why would he have gone through that pain and loss alone?
Looking over at Tim now, he could see tears were beginning to slide their way down his face but still he had yet to let go of that lost look in his eyes. Knowing this young man needed him to read the rest of this, or he would have just told him about it, Gibbs put his eyes back to the paper and took up where he'd left off reading:
You know I have always loved you deeply and unconditionally. You were my son; despite the fact that you were, in fact, not my son.
Once again, Gibbs was shocked into stillness as he felt his heart wrenched painfully for the young man sitting before him. Oh, Tim! Unable to stop himself, he slid a look of concern and abject sympathy over to the young man, still too self –enclosed to even see it, before returning his eyes and his mind to what he had yet to finish reading.
Yes, you read it correctly. You were not my child. I loved you as if you were. But, biologic ties were the one thing in life I could not give you. I am so sorry. Your mother and I agreed not to tell you so long as I was alive because my relationship with you was much too precious to me. I also saw no reason to take that away from you.
Now that I am gone, you deserve to know the truth. With genetic lines and medical history being somewhat important in things these days, the truth needs to be laid out there for you to understand and have the chance to deal with; even if it is hard for you to accept.
But, now that I am no longer able to be here for you. I fear your mother won't be able to go through with giving you the truth; your true family history. She fears losing you for not telling you sooner.
Whatever you do, son, please do not let this turn you against your mother. That, I beg of you. That is my final request of you. My last wish. I know I can trust you to do this for me. Keep your relationship with your mother as strong now as it has been all this time. And please continue to take care of your sister, as you always have.
The enclosed paternity tests are real and accurate. Your real father's name is at the bottom of the paper.
Always remember, son. I loved you unconditionally. Completely. Always.
And I have been so proud of you, in everything you have done.
Dad.
As Gibbs folded the paper up and gently laid it on the table behind him, he kept his eye on Tim to see what he could of what was going through his mind. The young man's eyes usually gave him away but now, they didn't; probably couldn't. Struggling with what to say to him, Gibbs was startled when Tim once again lurched to his feet and once again walked toward his bedroom; but this time, stopped at his computer and clicked twice on the mouse.
Immediately, the screen came back from power save mode and a video played. As Gibbs watched from where he'd come to stand beside Tim, the scene that played out, of his agent talking with someone who wore the universal uniform of a felon behind bars, the boss felt his heart break for Tim even more:
"Lucas Martin?" Tim asked a scruffy looking man with cold, uncaring eyes, dressed in a prison jumpsuit, sitting across the table from him.
"Who the hell are you?" the man demanded after watching Tim squirm silently for a long minute.
"Well, from what I've been told, there's a real good chance – that I'm your son, Mr. Martin."
"Yeah? So. What? You want something from me because a that?"
"No. I mean. Yes. I'm here to ask if you'd be willing to give me a strand of hair or something that I can use to run a fresh DNA test. The results I've been given are old and I'd really appreciate it if we could run a fresh test –to get valid results with the newer, more capable machinery we have nowadays." Tim explained as he glanced at the man across from him
"So, you think I'm your ole man, huh?"
"That's what I've been told." Tim answered him evasively.
"Well, there's only one way that's possible!" Suddenly, the man's face split into a huge maniacal grin. "Yeah, you can have your hair for your DNA test. I got nothin' to loose. And you got nothin' to gain! Ain't like you're gonna git nothin' from me if I am you're ole man!" The prisoner yanks some hair out of his head and tosses it on the table half way between himself and Tim.
"I won't be asking for anything more from you – even if you are." Tim answers quietly.
"Yeah? What name she saddle you with?"
"Tim."
"Tim, huh? You got a last name?"
"Yes. Yes I do. But, that's not important. I really need to head back. It's a long drive. Thank you. I really appreciate your cooperation." Tim got up from the table, scooped up the hair and placed it in a baggie he'd brought with him and turned to leave.
As Tim reaches the door and puts his hand on the door handle, the prisoner yelled out: "HEY! Don't cha wanna know what I meant when I said there was only one way you could be my kid?"
Tim turns to look at him, silently waiting...
"She was the only one I ever had fun with. And she loved every minute of it no matter how many times she claims she didn't! You should ask her about it sometime."
Tim walks back to the table and angrily asks a question... "Are you saying that you raped her?"
"Well, seein' how you're here sayin' I'm your pa, I guess that would have to be the answer, now, wouldn't it?"
"Wait a minute! The only one? The only one what? You're in here because you've killed 10 women! You're telling me that my mother was supposed to be #11? You tried to kill her?"
"Hey! Whatta ya know? The boy's got a brain in that head! Can't very well be my kid, now can ya? If' I had a brain, I wouldn't a gotten caught."
"You expect me to believe you only raped one woman out of 11?" Tim's voice was stock full of anger.
"Well, yeah, she was the only beautiful one outta all of 'em."
"Why would you admit to a rape and an attempted murder now?"
"Hey, I'm already on death row, what else can they do to me? It aint like I got a whole lotta time left in this joint. I'm sure you already know I got a date with the chair comin' up real soon."
"January 15th."
"Right. This army of guards is in here to make sure I don't miss that date. You know what? Now that you've reminded me, you've given me something to spend my time remembering; reliving; enjoying, over and over again! Thanks, kid!"
Tim turned and headed back toward the door.
"I tole' ya there was only one way you could be my kid! Didn't say you were gonna like it!" The man shouted as he stood up from the table. Tim was already at the door and froze as he heard the words being spoken more than loud enough for him to hear. "Maybe you'll come back for that date! January 15th, kid. And bring your mother, won't you? I bet she'd love to see me again. I know I'd love to see her. Maybe she'll let me have a quickie with her before I die."
Tim left the room, allowing the door to slam behind him as he disappeared out of sight of the camera.
Gibbs clicked the computer mouse and the video froze. He was quick to minimize the screen before he turned away from the computer. As he turned to see where Tim had gone, he found him standing at the window in the living room, looking out at the neighborhood beyond his apartment. With his breaking heart up in his throat, Gibbs took himself over to stand next to Tim, looking at him to see what he could of whatever was rolling through his kid's mind at this point.
This time, Tim's eyes had taken on the look of someone desperate to get away from the pain and as the tears continued to slide down his face, unchecked. Gibbs reacted instinctively, the parental lion within him silently roaring with outrage and hurt for this man whose inner child had just seriously taken a life-altering beating; quickly reaching out, grasping Tim by his shoulders and pulling him into a sympathetic embrace in hopes of grounding him in physical as well as rare emotional support.
That seemed to be all the catalyst Tim had needed as suddenly and silently, he melted into the embrace, his shoulders shaking with the force of his now escaping pain and grief at what he'd just found out about who he really was, Gibbs felt his shirt becoming drenched with the young man's tears. Holding him tight, the older man let it just happen.