A/N: This is the ninth story in my CIA series. After the eighth story, I knew I wanted to write another part to this series. I knew that another story was needed, but I wasn't sure I could come up with the right one. However, I came up with a story that has burgeoned to be one of my longest stories which is saying something. I hope that you enjoy it.

This story starts up about 3 years after CIA VIII and Tim is still struggling to regain his life. He is trying and everyone is trying to help him, but it seems to be an insurmountable obstacle.

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS. I don't claim any of the NCIS characters. However, I do claim my OCs, and there are a few of them. I'm not making money off this anyway.

The War Is in the Eyes
by Enthusiastic Fish

The dream you are living is your creation. It is your perception of reality that you can change at any time.
You have the power to create hell, and you have the power to create heaven.
Why not dream a different dream? Why not use your mind, your imagination, and your emotions to dream heaven?
Miguel Angel Ruiz

Chapter 1

Tim sat back and tried to remind himself that there was no reason to think this would go badly. They had gone to Morocco the year before and nothing had happened. If they were careful and cautious (as they always were), there was no reason to expect the worst.

...except that he always expected the worst now.

Over two years after his last abduction, Tim still struggled with having a rather dismal outlook on his life. Dr. Hicks had been trying to help him see things in a better light, but so far, Tim just couldn't take that view again. He was much more aggressive in dealing with problems, actively surveying the hidden corners of the internet, making sure that people didn't mistake his passivity for weakness. He had started to insist on knowing when there were plans that were thwarted. Thankfully, those had declined dramatically over the last two years as well. It was a relief to know that his efforts had some positive effect. It wasn't enough, but...

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

Zahara sat down beside him and put her arms around him.

"If you don't wish to go to al-Qahira, we do not have to go. Ahmed has come here before and he could do so again."

Tim took a breath and shook his head.

"No, I want to go. I really do." He looked at her and smiled weakly. "I'm just worried, like I always am. Now."

Zahara tightened her grip on him, and Tim had to admit that he liked the feeling of her strength. She always supported him, although he knew that she didn't like his darker side. While not hiding it from her, he did try to keep it away from his family as much as he could. That more ruthless part of him had been channeled elsewhere, which allowed him to relax more at home, knowing that he was doing everything he could to keep his family safe. He leaned his head on her shoulder.

"No, I have no regrets," she said, softly and with some amusement.

Tim chuckled. "How did you know I was going to ask?"

"Because you still apologize far too much," Zahara said. "I was hoping to stop you in advance. Has it worked?"

"Maybe this time. I'll need to show our plan to Roy and make sure he doesn't have any major objections."

"Of course, but you have planned very well. Now that Ahmed knows of those problems, he will not complain about where to go and what to do while we are there. And he will not be upset about the CIA watching us, if he even notices them."

"Yeah," he said and took a breath.

"Tim, do you want to go to visit Ahmed?" Zahara asked. "Please, be honest. Ahmed could come here again. He has said so himself."

Tim looked at her and smiled. "Yes, I do want to go. Part of me is excited... I just can't be... completely excited. I don't know if I'll ever really be able to stop worrying completely. Not anymore."

"No, but this is something that is different for us. I understand that. Plus, we will be taking Salma and Jonathan with us for the first time, even though Jonathan will not be likely to remember it at all." She smiled. "And we are doing this now before I get fat again."

Tim laughed. The pregnancy had been confirmed only the week before. It hadn't been planned, but it was not something either one regretted even if it was a little bit of a surprise. They hadn't told anyone just yet, though, choosing to wait a little longer.

"When will you tell Tony and Ziva about our trip? And all the others?" Zahara asked.

"I don't know. Tony and Ziva will be back from their honeymoon next week. I don't want them to start worrying, too...especially not right when they get back."

"They won't want that, you know."

"I know."

"What about Gibbs and Ducky?"

"I don't know. Before we leave." Tim took a breath and then looked at his watch. He had to get going if he wasn't going to be late.

"Perhaps you should tell Director Morgan first. If he sees a big problem, then, we would have to put things off anyway."

"You're right."

"And your training starts soon."

"Yeah."

Tim took a breath. He leaned over and kissed her.

"I love you. I'm so glad I have you and Salma and Jonathan. I'd be lost without you."

Zahara kissed him back and then smiled a little mischievously.

"I will always have the map," she said. "Is it not commonly said in America that men never ask for directions?"

Tim laughed. "It is. Good thing I have you. I'd better get going."

Zahara shooed him on his way. Salma was playing with friends and Jonathan was napping. A perfect time to get to his training without any problems.

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

"And then, we proceeded to tell the most ridiculous story about his cow being on fire and so we had to throw the paint on the cow to stop it from burning," Ducky said. "To this day, I doubt that the man believed a word we said, but I choose to believe that he gave us points for creativity. ...and we did willingly put in the effort to clean the cow when it became clear that we would not be punished in any other way, no matter how much we deserved it."

"I have to say, Don, that I am amazed at the bottomless well you have for your stories," Levi said, smiling wryly and lifting his teacup in a toast.

Ducky chuckled and returned the gesture. "Yes, well, that comes from a long life."

"And one well-lived."

"Yes. Everyone has regrets from their lives, but at this point, I feel it better to focus on the good moments rather than the bad. There are bad choices, things left undone that cannot be done, but my life, on the balance has been a good one, and I feel there is little to be gained by dragging myself down with past choices I cannot undo."

"Perhaps. I don't think I have that luxury. I used up too many years ignoring regrets."

Ducky raised an eyebrow. His visits to Levi Carew had not become any less interesting for the time spent. Levi was still quite guarded, but at the same time, he seemed to welcome Ducky's visits, and he pretty much always had the tea ready, anticipating Ducky's arrival to the point that once Ducky had asked if he just did this every day on the off-chance of a visit. Levi's response had been typical. A smile and no answer at all.

"Do you dwell on your regrets, then?"

To his surprise, Levi shook his head. "No. I'm not a good enough person to try to make up for them all, but I do try to spend some time with it. If nothing else, it keeps me from becoming who I was before."

"Before what?"

"Before I was nearly tortured to death."

There was a moment when his expression flickered, and for all his calm, Ducky could see that Levi had not fully set that time aside. Perhaps that would be an impossible task, given what had happened to him.

"To my knowledge, Timothy had begun to forgive you long before that."

Levi nodded.

"But that was in spite of who I still was, not because of who I actually was. It took being broken to escape the prison I'd made for myself, to escape the mask I wore. When I started to recover, Dr. Hicks warned me that, if I let myself take it on again, I'd be wasting the chance I had to get rid of it completely. I'm not the same man I was before I joined the CIA, but I'm at least more of human being."

"Do you regret your time in the CIA, then?" Ducky asked, now very curious.

Levi set down his cup and leaned back, resting his head on his clasped hands as he considered Ducky's question.

"I don't know. I feel that I did what I set out to do. I chose an occupation that actually suited my talents very well. Much better than education."

"You were going to be a teacher?"

Levi chuckled as he stared at the sky. "You can't even conceive of that, can you."

"I must say the image is rather strange."

He nodded. "My major was secondary ed when I was recruited by the CIA... very adroitly, I might add."

For a long moment, there was silence. Levi appeared lost in thought.

"From a professional perspective, what I did in the CIA was a complete or almost complete success. No one is perfect, of course, but I made a lot of changes that improved how the CIA functions. Professionally, I have no regrets. Personally..."

He stopped again. Ducky wasn't sure if he'd answer.

"Yes, Levi? What about on a personal level?"

Levi sighed. "Personally, I'm not sure if there's anything I regret more. Maybe there was some way that I could have been who I was and also excelled in the CIA, but one of the reasons I could do what I did was because I made sure I had nothing to lose. Death would mean the end of my self-imposed isolation and nothing more."

He sat up and finished his tea. Ducky could tell that the visit was going to be over now. After two years of visits, he was slowly learning to read the few cues that Levi let out. So Ducky finished his own tea without delay.

"Thanks for coming by, Don," Levi said. "I'll clean up."

"Of course. Thank you for allowing me."

Levi smiled and stood. He walked Ducky to the door and then paused.

"One last thing, Don. I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate this if he knew I told you. He probably wouldn't appreciate it if he knew I know about it, but you should be aware that Tim has started training with the CIA."

"What?"

"Not to change jobs, but it's something he hasn't told anyone."

"Then, may I ask how you know about it?"

Levi smiled again. "I have great connections."

Ducky smiled but he didn't like the implications of Tim's actions.

"Thank you for telling me."

"You're welcome."

Ducky left, wondering just how he should address this...or if it needed addressing at all.

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

Sweat poured down Tim's face as he punched the bag, over and over again. He'd been at it for twenty minutes and the timer was counting down to thirty minutes. No lengthy breaks, no waiting, just hitting it over and over, building up his strength and endurance. When he'd first started this, Tim had only been able to keep it up for about ten minutes at a time. He'd never done thirty before, but he was going to make it today. He could feel his arms shaking as he pushed himself to get this done. He was starting to listen for the timer. He really wanted it to go off. He really wanted to be finished.

His breath was loud and harsh in his ears as he kept it up. He was starting to falter. He was starting to slow down. His body was screaming at him to stop, but no. No, he would make it. This time, he was going to make it to thirty minutes. He'd allowed himself six thirty-second breaks but no more than that. But this last minute was passing by so very slowly.

Then, came the welcome sound of the timer beeping. He swung at the bag one last time and then slumped against it, feeling absolutely exhausted. His arms felt like lead weights and his legs were trembling. In fact, he slid down the bag to the floor, on his knees, breathing heavily.

"Well, Agent McGee, I see that you were serious about getting to your thirty minutes today. You made it?"

"Yeah," Tim gasped out. "Only barely."

"I can see that."

Tim looked up at the trainer Roy had set up for him. Tim had felt that the man wasn't particularly impressed with the NCIS agent he was inexplicably tasked with training, but Tim had been determined to demonstrate that he was taking this very seriously. He didn't know his trainer's name, but at Tim's request, he had given him the name of Bob. Tim was pretty sure Bob wasn't his real name, but he was letting it stand simply because Roy had chosen him. He had been tempted to find Bob's file, but in the end, he hadn't and just accepted the fake name. As long as he was Roy's choice, the name didn't matter.

"Your technique could use a little work. You're using too much energy with each swing. You need to learn how to conserve your energy better but still get the power you want."

"Right," Tim gasped.

Bob looked down at him for a long moment in silence.

"And you need to be aware of your own limitations."

"Hey..." Tim protested breathlessly. "I made it."

"Yeah, and you can't even stand up right now," Bob said. "There's no reason to do that to yourself."

"You never know what... might happen. I have to be ready for... for anything..." Tim said. "And I can stand up. Right now."

Shaking, he pushed himself to his feet and stood before Bob, dripping sweat, his legs shaking and his arms feeling like lead weights.

Bob said nothing.

"And next time, I'll be better than I was this time. Now that I've done it once, I can do it again."

"How many times?"

"Until I feel ready."

"Ready for what?" Bob asked.

"Ready for... anything."

Tim took a step toward the water fountain, but his legs wouldn't hold him and his knees started to buckle. Touching him for the first time, Bob grabbed hold of Tim before he fell and hauled him over to a bench. Then, he walked over to the fountain and got a cup of water. Tim watched him through a bleary haze of exhaustion. Maybe he should have done the bag first before all his other stuff. He wouldn't have been this tired if he'd done the bag first.

Bob came back, set down the cup and then, without comment, took off the boxing gloves Tim had been wearing. Tim flexed his fingers tiredly and then reached over and picked up the cup. It took a lot of effort. The small paper cup was almost too heavy, but he got it to his lips and drank the whole thing in one gulp. Then, he let his hand drop back to the bench. Still without comment, Bob got up and walked back to the fountain. Instead of getting another small paper cup, he got a larger glass and filled it. He brought it back over.

"Can you lift it?" he asked.

"Maybe," Tim said.

He tried, but he almost dropped it. Silently, Bob held the glass up so that Tim could get a better drink. Then, after another minute or so, Tim felt able to get a drink on his own. He finished off the glass of water and was starting to get to the point where he felt like he wasn't going to collapse.

"Why are you doing this, Agent McGee?"

"I told you. So I'm ready."

Bob sat down beside him.

"This won't ever make you ready, you know. Not like you mean."

"What do I mean, then?" Tim asked.

"You think that you can somehow be strong enough or skilled enough to be able to do anything. That's impossible. This training isn't to make you some kind of perfect killing machine or whatever other ridiculous idea people have about the CIA. It's to get you prepared. Sure, you could be in better shape than you are and it's a good idea to get into good physical condition no matter who you are. But your physical strength won't ever be enough. There's always someone else out there who's stronger than you." Then, suddenly, Bob jabbed Tim right in the middle of his forehead with his finger and not at all gently. "This is where you need to be stronger... because it's your weak point. I mean, I could beat you right now physically, but I could psyche you out in a minute and then I wouldn't even have to beat you physically."

Tim didn't know how to respond to that. Bob didn't seem to expect a response, either. He just stood up.

"You're done for today. When you're ready, you can go shower."

He walked away, leaving Tim sitting on the bench alone.

He wanted to be mad about what Bob had said, but it was true. What had happened two years ago had weakened him psychologically. He was still afraid of being taken again. If he was, he'd be much more likely to fall apart, just because he knew how it felt; the wound was still too raw.

Even though it shouldn't be after all this time. His life was good. He knew that. It just wasn't good enough and probably wouldn't ever be.

Unless he could feel like he was ready.

He didn't know if that would ever happen.