Chapter 2

"I don't like the way he was looking at me."

Two men. One calm and collected. He was the mastermind. He laid the plans. The other was panicky. He was always a little panicky. It worked well because he wouldn't dare squeal but he also, because of his paranoia, occasionally pointed out genuine flaws. He wanted what they were going to get anyway.

"Chayce, you're always so worried. He's never shown the slightest reaction to us when he's seen us before."

"He recognized me, Mike! I'm sure he did. There was something weird about the way he was looking at me."

"He's the one we want."

"Why? Why do we need him? Why not just hire someone? We can get lists of people who would do it for not too much...if this is what we have to do."

"Because I keep my ears open and I've noticed things about him that no one else really seems to realize. First, he was shot in the head and he's still traumatized by it. Can't even shoot a gun without having some kind of a meltdown. That gives us an easy way of controlling him."

"How do you know that?"

"I have my sources. Second, you know the FBI has been ticked off at how easily he's doing work by himself that they can't do with a whole team of people. Something about how that bullet rearranged his brains and he's some kind of wunderkind with computers now. The FBI would take him in a second if they could, but he doesn't want to leave NCIS and Director Vance isn't likely to let him go without a fight. We're just snatching him from the action...to help us."

"But he has friends! He's with them all the time!"

"Only during the day."

"He has a dog! And it's a big one!"

"Only at home. We just have to get him between home and work. He's not allowed to drive. We can tail him if we need to. He takes the Metro."

"Where will we put him? It's not like we can just keep him here."

"Why not? No one is using it right now. If we do this right, I think we can take him multiple times without anyone realizing it."

"What? Are you out of your mind? He'll tell them!"

"And will they believe him?"

The panicker paused and his brow furrowed.

"What do you mean? They're his friends. They work with him. Why wouldn't they believe him if he tells them that he was abducted?"

"If we make him unsure of it, he might mention it, but they could easily assume that he's talking about a dream...and we could also threaten him...with a gun."

"You're way too sure about this. I don't like it!"

"I've been watching him...and I've been watching them. They're still not sure of him all the time. If he came to them and said point-blank that he had been taken during the night, they'd believe him. Absolutely, but if we just make him afraid of it...he'll be afraid to say anything and even if he does, he'll be more likely to be tentative...because he'll be afraid of getting shot again."

"What if you're wrong?"

"We have a safety net. He won't know where he was at or who we are."

"Do you think they'll actually support us if it comes to that?"

"If we have results, you bet they will."

"And how long will it take for us to get results?"

"Do you remember that hacker the FBI was tracking a couple of months ago?"

"Sure. Everyone knows about that."

"Do you remember how many people they had on it?"

"A whole team. They worked for days."

"And then, what happened? They gave the case to Agent McGee...two hours later, they had a location. I shouldn't need to remind you how much they were fuming about it. He can do this and he can do it fast if he needs to...and we'll make him think he does need to. We'll make him think that his life depends on it, and we'll make him think that even talking about it would be fatal."

"It won't actually be fatal, will it?"

"Only if absolutely necessary. Once we're done with him, that's it...but we can't let him talk about us, either. It might be worth taking him one last time and leaving him someplace where he can be lost. He's not good with directions anymore."

"I don't like killing someone. It's bad karma...and it's not what we're supposed to be about."

"If we could go through regular channels, this wouldn't be an issue. We can't. So we're going through irregular channels and that might mean that we have to get our hands dirty. If you want to be a cook, you have to break a few eggs."

"Is this guy really the only way to do this?"

"It's the only way we can be sure of success...if success is even possible."

"I don't like it."

"So noted."

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

He stared across the lawn and saw the bullet as it came at him. He was frozen, unable to move to avoid it. Nothing he could do. It hit him. The world exploded and...

Tim jolted awake, sat up and looked around, momentarily disoriented.

Jethro was beside him in a second, whining and licking at his face. It grounded him and reminded him where he was.

Home.

It was morning.

He'd had yet another nightmare.

"Good morning, Jethro," he said and then fell back to the pillow and stared up at the ceiling.

As had been normal for him since being shot, or rather since recovering from being shot, there were small pockets of glittering matter in his view. He'd mentioned them to Dr. Khalid and he said that they were due to the scar tissue in his visual cortex. They'd probably never go away. Tim didn't mind. They moved around, showed him patterns that he'd never seen before. When he stared at a blank wall or a ceiling...or the empty sky, he could see them glittering there, a private show just for him, something he could enjoy. And it was something that seemed to guide his mind to the places he needed to go. He'd learned to look past the glitter when he was working, but sometimes, sometimes the glittering motes swirled in patterns the revealed the direction he needed to go when he was working. How could he ever explain something so beautiful and complex to anyone who didn't actually experience it? It was impossible; so he didn't bother trying. He didn't even mention it.

Still, he hated the nightmares. They always made him forget where he was...and who he was for a second when he woke up. Jethro always managed to help him remember. That contact from something outside of himself anchored him in the real world and kept him from slipping away.

He had never forgotten that feeling of being tilted and spun and flung off the world. When he first woke up in the morning, that feeling was incredibly pronounced and the couple of times that Jethro hadn't been there to ground him, he had felt completely lost...to the point that he'd actually had to call someone and have them help him remember where he was.

Everyone's phone numbers were in his phone and posted by the fridge. He had been told numerous times to call, day or night, if he had a problem. Thankfully, that hadn't been necessary very often, but it was good to know that he could...because Tim didn't want to give up his independence, but he knew that there were times when it was...not dangerous, exactly, but a little bit risky for him to be alone.

Jethro nudged at him again and whined a little, reminding him that he had responsibilities to perform. Quickly, Tim got up and headed for his closet to get his shoes. His morning shoes were first in the line. His work shoes were next. Then, he had his weekend shoes and his slippers. He needed the routine and the clarity of organization. In fact, his entire closet was obsessively organized. It helped.

He put on his shoes, grabbed the leash from Jethro's mouth, clipped it to his collar and led them outside into the world. As always, he was disoriented by the distractions all around him, but Jethro had become a kind of guide dog for him. He hadn't been trained for it, but the German shepherd was apparently smart enough to see when his master needed a bit of help. He never let Tim wander off the sidewalk until they got to the park. He never let him cross the street without the light (although they rarely walked anywhere that it was necessary). First thing in the morning, Tim was more easily distracted than any other time and he needed someone to keep him from losing his grip on the world.

Jethro did that for him. They now took care of each other, and Tim appreciated it.

After Jethro did his business, Tim went back to his apartment and went through his routine to get ready to go to work.

Work. It was so different for him now. Days passed for him in dollops, usually. Hours that he just didn't notice. He didn't mind it, but he remembered what his life had been like before and it was not at all the same. He knew he was really different than he had been, and he was grateful that his friends had accepted that...and that they were willing to work within the bounds his injury had set up.

And what strange bounds they were sometimes.

Tim got under the shower and as the water cascaded over him, he felt a growing sense of calm. For some reason, the sound and sensation of the water when he showered got rid of the vestiges of his nightmares, leaving him feeling almost normal. He didn't know why, but he was glad of it. It braced him for the commute to work on the Metro. When the disorientation was too much, he took a taxi, but he preferred taking the Metro because it was cheaper and because it showed that he could handle the world, that he didn't need to be completely isolated from it. Still, the dizzying stimuli of the buses, of the subway...sometimes, it took all his concentration just to make that trip. Some mornings, Ziva would just happen to come by and she'd ride the Metro in with him. He liked that when it happened, but he didn't want it to happen all the time.

"Okay, Jethro...what am I forgetting?"

Jethro barked at him once.

"Oh, yeah. Breakfast. You need yours, too, don't you."

Jethro barked again, more excitedly. Tim smiled at his dog's antics and fed him. Then, he got some cereal out for himself and ate it. After that, he carefully washed the bowl, dried it and put it away again. Nothing out of place, everything controlled to the extent that he could.

Tim looked around the apartment, satisfied that it was ready for him to leave it. He looked at himself, made sure that he had his badge, his bag, his keys, his phone and his Metro card. Then, he left, ready to face the world again.

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

The subway broke down on the way to work. Tim didn't like it when that happened, but he resigned himself to waiting...and decided to let himself look around at the other people on the train. He generally didn't do that because it was too distracting and he'd miss his stop...but he'd feel the jolt when the train started moving again.

So he started looking at people. He moderated his gaze so that it didn't bother them. He kept himself from lingering on some faces as he'd like to. Most of these people rode the same train every morning. They weren't always on the same car as Tim, but he saw them...just in passing, and he remembered them.

...like he remembered the man who was sitting halfway down the car from him, looking nervous. He had seen him...a lot. All over the place.

Tim's glance became a long gaze.

Yes, he had seen this man often. Not in NCIS itself. Other places, though. Around the Yard, on the subway, on the sidewalk. This man was in a lot of places Tim was also in.

The train jolted into motion again and Tim forced himself to fix his gaze on the top of the car so that he could listen to the voice telling him what stop was coming up next.

Finally, he heard it.

"Navy Yard - Ballpark."

That was it. He moved to the door, waited for them to open, got off and got himself out of the station as quickly as he could. Once out on the sidewalk, he started to walk. It was a short distance from the Yard entrance, but he wouldn't be outside for a long time and he needed to be out sometimes. So he generally made a point of walking from the Metro station to the Yard entrance.

He walked along until he got to the entrance and stepped in to show his ID.

"Morning, Agent McGee. Right on schedule. I think I could set my watch by you," the guard said.

Tim smiled. "Not today. I know I'm four minutes and twenty seconds later than usual. The Metro broke down."

"Which line?"

"Red line, of course."

"Of course."

The guard checked his ID, handed it back and Tim stepped aboard the Navy Yard. He was always glad to be here. It felt like a gift every time he realized how blessed he was to have even a small part of his former life.

He got to NCIS and stepped inside, knowing he wouldn't be out again until lunchtime, at the earliest.

"Good morning, Henry," he said.

"Running a little late this morning, Agent McGee?" the old security guard asked.

"Metro stopped."

"Ah. That explains it. See you later on."

Tim nodded and smiled. Henry always noticed when Tim was a little late or a little early. He didn't know why, but he appreciated that Henry was that astute...or that caring.

Tim took the stairs as he always did now and walked through the bullpen, bidding Tony and Ziva good morning before heading to his office. Some mornings he went down to see Abby first, but not today. Today, it was right to work.

...but when he got into his office, he pulled open the drawer and pulled out the gun.

He pointed it at his own head for as long as he could stand it and then quickly hid it away again.

...and then, it was time to work.