Chapter 12

Tony hoped that no one would see him right away...at least no one who wasn't Ducky. He wanted to ask about some things without feeling more guilty than he already did about not liking the way Tim was. He decided to walk around to the back entrance where Ducky and Jimmy rolled the bodies right into Autopsy.

He crept inside and was relieved to see that Ducky was sitting alone in his office. He didn't appear to be working on anything, even.

"Hey...Ducky?" he asked.

Ducky looked up in surprise.

"Oh, Anthony, I didn't hear you come in. What are you doing down here?"

"Abby was right about Jethro. When Tim woke up, he was...mostly...awake."

"You don't seem too happy about it."

"I'm glad he's awake...but...but, Ducky, he was..."

"Not completely himself."

Tony turned around and walked back into the main part of Autopsy.

"I thought it was hard seeing him in the little office, not noticing the time passing, not being able to pay attention to more than one thing at a time. I thought it was hard when he would stare up at the sky and see something none of the rest of us could see. It was hard knowing he'd changed. This is worse. This is a lot worse. When he woke up, he started talking about guns and shooting and he almost lost it again. I didn't know what to do to help! I just wanted someone else to come in and...and I felt so helpless."

"What did you do?" Ducky asked.

"At first, I was just trying to remind him that he was safe. I was trying to keep him from thinking about it, but it didn't help. That's all he could think about."

"At first?"

"Then...remember how Tim's mom would sometimes massage his head, where the scar is, and he'd calm down?"

"Of course."

"I didn't massage his head, but I covered up the scar. It seemed to work a little bit, but he didn't really...get it. He just didn't have another meltdown."

"That's important, Anthony. It's a major breakthrough."

"But...Ducky, he's..."

"Not what you want him to be."

Tony leaned against one of the autopsy tables and nodded.

"Anthony, some of the damage to Timothy's brain was permanent."

"I know that. We all know that."

"Part of that is an inability to comprehend the difference between being shot at and being shot."

"Ducky, before all this, I caught him pointing his gun at his own head! He wasn't having a meltdown then!" He laughed a little. "I did that. He just got mad at me for not understanding him."

Ducky smiled sympathetically.

"But he wasn't shooting the gun and it was in his own control. Anthony, what would your reaction have been to being caught in a fire fight of some kind?"

"I'd freak out a little after it was over, but if I didn't get hurt, I'd be fine."

"Timothy can't make that distinction any longer. His therapist has worked with him on that problem for months and he hasn't been able to get Timothy to see the difference. The last time he was shot, he almost died, thought he was dead, and tried to kill himself to stop his pain and confusion. This is too much for him to take in, to understand. That you were able to keep him connected in spite of his fear is admirable. It was an important first step...but it is only the first."

"Somehow...I just told myself that once he woke up he'd be back to the new normal. ...but he's not. I'm afraid he won't be, that we'll have to adjust to another new normal, one that's worse than it was before," Tony said and sighed.

"I understand your fears and, to a degree, I share them, but I don't think that you need to worry that much at this point. From what little we know, Timothy lost his routine and that put him off balance. Then, the gunfire made him lose his balance completely. He's now safe again. That means we can re-establish his stability. Don't lose hope, Anthony. Let yourself be encouraged...and don't let yourself discount what you did for him. More than anything else, at this point, he needs comfort, and you gave that to him."

"Not much."

"Obviously, it was enough."

"But was it? What about the next time he wakes up?"

"It will be enough. Timothy didn't suffer more physical damage. The mental damage will be temporary. Once he's able to think more clearly, he'll hear what's being said to him."

"I want him to be okay, Ducky. I really do...whatever that means for him. I know I'm the one who's had the most trouble accepting the way he changed, but...but I really..."

"Anthony, I do understand. Timothy is different. He's changed. That is something that can't be ignored. He knows it and so does everyone else. But it doesn't have to be the negative that you sometimes make it out to be. The biggest difficulty is what we've seen this time. He can't tolerate the stress, the mental stress, and his mind breaks under the pressure, but I don't believe the break is permanent. If we're patient and support him as he recovers, he will recover. Keep your hopes up. You've helped with the first step. There will be more."

"But how many?" Tony asked.

"As many as it takes...as I've told Timothy himself."

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

Gibbs watched Tim as he slept. It had been nice to be able to talk to him, to have him talk back and make sense. However, the intensity of his fear from whatever had happened in the safehouse was worrying.

What was more worrying for Gibbs was that it looked like, for the moment, Tim was the only person who knew what had happened. He was the only one who knew who had been shooting, who had killed the FBI agents. He was the only one who knew why. That might mean that Tim himself was in danger from the killer.

If he was being logical, he should wake Tim up and make him tell what he knew. If it pushed him a bit far, at least they'd know who the guilty party was and Tim would be safe to recover from what would likely be an intense experience. However, he couldn't be logical about Tim, and all he wanted was to help him find his way back to sanity. He had seen Tim at the farthest reaches of insanity and if he could avoid ever seeing that again, he would do it. If Tim couldn't calmly tell them what he had seen and what he knew at this point, then, Gibbs would wait until he could. That was all he cared about...even if Fornell was wanting to find out who was responsible for the deaths of his agents. Gibbs cared more about Tim's well-being.

There was a soft knock on the door. Gibbs looked back.

Speak of the devil.

He gestured and Fornell came inside. Gibbs kept his hand on Tim's shoulder.

"What do you want, Fornell?" he asked softly.

"How's he doing, Jethro?" Fornell asked.

Gibbs relented. There was concern. This wasn't necessarily an official visit.

"He woke up...really woke up, but he's not okay. Not yet."

"How not okay is he?"

Gibbs pulled his hand away from Tim's shoulder and Tim instantly twitched and started to tense up. He put his hand back and Tim calmed.

"That much."

Fornell looked concerned, but about more than Tim's sanity, of course.

"How long will it take?"

"I don't know, Tobias. You can't force him to be okay. Not after how we found him."

"There's a time limit on finding whoever it was, Gibbs. You know that."

Gibbs glared at Fornell.

"Look. I'm not saying I don't sympathize, but two people were killed! ...and we don't know who did it."

"It wasn't Tim."

"I'm not saying it was, but he knows. He must. He was there."

Suddenly, Gibbs felt Tim tense beneath his hand. He looked back and Tim's eyes opened quickly. Awake, aware...and terrified. Jethro woke up and whined a little.

"It's all right, Tim. You're safe," Gibbs said.

Tim looked around and his eyes fell on Fornell. Then, they moved to Gibbs. Then, to Jethro. He sat up slowly and put his arms around Jethro, burying his face in the dog's fur. Gibbs looked at Fornell, almost daring him to try and force Tim to say something when it was clear, from the terror in his eyes, that he was only barely keeping himself calm.

Fornell said nothing.

But Tim sat up after about a minute and looked at Gibbs.

"Ask me," he whispered, his voice shaking.

"Ask you what, Tim?" Gibbs asked.

"Ask me," he said again, afraid still.

"About what happened?"

Tim nodded.

"From the beginning?"

Tim shook his head.

"No. No..." He started to breathe more quickly.

"Okay. Not from the beginning."

"Ask me."

Tim closed his eyes and waited.

Gibbs stared at him, uncertain of what Tim meant, but he seemed unable to elaborate...because he was too afraid.

Then, he got it. Tim wanted him to ask a question, just one. He couldn't tolerate more. Only one question, the most important one. The most important question was easy to decide on, but asking it...knowing how Tim was likely to react to it... Gibbs didn't want to ask it. However, with Tim pushing to be helped to say what needed to be said, and Fornell looking on, he knew he had to ask.

"Tim...who shot at you? Who had the gun?"

At the moment he said the word gun, Tim actually whimpered. Gibbs tightened his grip on Tim's shoulder.

"You're all right. You're safe. Who was it?"

"Guns. There were guns, Boss," Tim said.

"I know. Who was it? Just the one question. That's all."

Tim opened his eyes and looked at Gibbs and Fornell, so afraid that it was amazing his mind hadn't collapsed yet again.

"Shooting at me."

"I know. They're not now. Who?"

For a long moment, it looked like Tim wouldn't be able to respond, wouldn't be able to speak through his abject fear, the fear that had always accompanied any interaction with guns and had somehow intensified with his recent experience.

...but he spoke, finally.

"Russell... A-A-Agent Russell. He was...shooting...and...and..." Tim lost his words and broke down crying again. As Tony had, Gibbs tried to ground Tim with physical contact. In his worst moments, Tim still occasionally felt like he was falling off the world as he'd described it before, and he needed something to keep that from happening.

"Norris Russell?" Fornell asked. "You're saying that he was the one who killed Wheeler and Blair? Why?"

Gibbs glared at Fornell again.

"One question only, Fornell, and he's answered it."

It was questionable whether or not Tim had heard Fornell anyway. He was falling into the fear of being shot again and was mumbling unintelligible things while Jethro's whine started getting louder. The dog began licking Tim's face, trying to comfort him.

"Don't go there, Tim," Gibbs said. "Don't. You don't have to. There's no reason to be this afraid. You don't have be so afraid of him. He's not here. No one is going to shoot you."

For a few minutes, all Tim did was cry. For someone on the outside of all this, Tim's reaction would seem strange. A grown man sobbing because of fear didn't seem right. But for Gibbs, it was now the norm for Tim. The bullet that had almost killed him had removed much of Tim's ability to cope with strong emotions...like fear, like anger. Gibbs himself hadn't realized just how paralyzing Tim's fear could get, but it was just an extension of what they'd all seen up to this point.

Whatever Fornell was thinking of this reaction, he didn't show it...but he didn't leave, either. He was waiting. For what, Gibbs didn't know for sure. But he was definitely waiting. After a little while longer, Tim calmed again.

"I can't think right," he whispered.

It was about the most intelligible sentence he'd spoken since waking up.

"It's all right, Tim. Give it some time."

Suddenly, Tim sat up straight in bed and looked at Gibbs...and then, at Fornell.

"Tim?" Gibbs asked.

"Allen. It's about Allen," Tim said.

For one brief shining moment, Gibbs thought that Tim had suddenly worked through his fear. Sometimes, Tim did things that didn't make sense.

...but then, he covered his eyes.

"I don't want to be shot again. I don't want... I don't..."

"Tim, stop. You're not going to be shot again. You weren't before. You're safe. Calm down."

"Can't think...can't...can't... I can't think. Can't stop...seeing..."

Gibbs pulled Tim's hands away from his eyes.

"Open your eyes, Tim."

Tim shook his head. This was familiar, unfortunately. Tim was afraid of seeing the bullet that had hit him.

"Open your eyes. You know that there's nothing there."

Tim shook his head again.

"Open your eyes," Gibbs said.

Tim was breathing quickly, but he cracked one of his eyes open. Gibbs made sure that he was right there.

"No guns. No bullets, Tim. Just me...and Tobias."

Tim's eyes opened a little wider. He looked at Gibbs and then at Fornell. Then, around the room again.

"I know," he said softly. "I do...I just can't...stop...being afraid of it."

"I know," Gibbs said. "You're safe. Jethro is here with you and we'll keep you safe here."

Tim took a deep breath.

"No more, Tobias," Gibbs said softly. "No more."

Fornell nodded.

"That's enough. We'll see what we can do. Let me know."

Gibbs nodded and watched as Fornell left. He had no idea what Fornell thought about all this, but the fact that Tim managed to answer any questions at all was a major step forward.

After the door closed, Tim took another deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Boss."

"Don't be. We'll be patient."

Another breath.

"Tony was here?"

"Yeah."

"Tell him...thanks...okay?"

"You can tell him. He'll be back."

"My...family?"

"They'll be here soon."

One more breath.

"It's hard to think, Boss. Hard to think right."

"Take some time, Tim. You'll get back there."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"I'm not in trouble?"

Gibbs' heart sank a little at that question that Tim had asked over and over while he was recovering the first time. He desperately hoped that Tim's recovery this time wouldn't take so long as it had last time. He was afraid of the time it might take...but he didn't say that.

"No, Tim. You're not in trouble."

That was all.