Chapter 9

Gibbs picked Tim up, true to his word. Tim, for his part, had little to say. He was tired but couldn't seem to settle himself until he'd seen Jethro out of the kennel. It was something that he found embarrassing, but something that he couldn't avoid. Gibbs hung around without making an issue of it, just in case the German shepherd actually did resent Tim for forcing him in the cage. He had a feeling that Tim would be hurt by that.

Jethro didn't come out right at first and Gibbs saw Tim's hand hesitate just a bit. Then, with a wide yawn, he ambled out of the kennel...right over to Tim. There was a moment when the two of them just stared at each other and then Tim hugged the dog tightly, hiding his face in Jethro's fur (probably to hide the fact that he was crying), and Gibbs could have sworn he heard Tim thank Jethro more than once.

"You all right, McGee?" he asked gruffly. The scene had unexpectedly touched him and he didn't want to show that to his agent.

Tim sat back, his eyes just a little red, and laughed ruefully. "No. I'm not...but I'm home; so I'm better than I was in Oregon."

"Better is good."

"Yeah. I guess." Tim suddenly seemed to realize the ignominy of his current position: crouched on the floor, holding onto a dog like he was a stuffed animal. He stood up quickly. "Do you want some..." He looked around his apartment, remembering that he hadn't been there for a week. "...water?"

Gibbs laughed. "No, McGee. I don't. I'm fine."

Tim flushed. "I'm sure I have more than water." He walked quickly into the kitchen, opening cupboards.

"Tim," Gibbs said, softly. "I'm fine."

Tim stopped moving abruptly, although his hand continued to grip the knob of one of the cupboards.

"Why do I feel worse now than I did after hitting Tony in the face?"

"Because you've always wanted to punch Tony out?" Gibbs suggested.

"It did feel pretty good," Tim admitted, but his laugh was half-hearted at best. He still didn't turn around. "No, Boss. I thought that...that once I started to...admit that I had a problem that it would get better. I don't really feel any better. I feel worse."

"Facing reality has a way of doing that."

"But what reality am I facing, Boss?" Tim asked. Finally, he turned around, his expression pleading. "Boss, I still don't really get it. I know that what I'm feeling is a problem...a big problem. What I don't know is why I feel that way...why I can't stop."

"I told you before that I'm no shrink," Gibbs said, not wanting to answer Tim's question.

"You're here, Boss," Tim said, and he continued, proving that while he was having trouble, he wasn't stupid, "and you obviously know what it is that's wrong with me."

"McGee..."

"Boss, please. I know I have a problem. I know it's dangerous. I know all that. I just don't know exactly what the problem is...or why I have it. Dr. Andrews probably told you. I don't want to be the last one to know what I'm dealing with."

You nearly are. "All right. I'm not facing a conversation like this without coffee, though."

Tim smiled. "I must have some in here somewhere."

"We'll get the real stuff."

"Okay." Tim then, remembered Jethro who'd been sitting patiently beside his food dish. "Oh, Jethro! I can't believe I forgot!" He burst into a flurry of activity that ended with Jethro's food and water dishes full to the brim and a now-contented German shepherd eating quickly, Tim scratching his ears.

"Still feeling guilty?"

"No! ...yeah."

"Can you get over that long enough to leave him?" Gibbs asked drily, hoping he would.

Tim smiled and nodded. He stood again and followed Gibbs, almost docilely, out to his car. Tim directed Gibbs to a nearby coffee place which he swore made the best coffee in the Metro area. Gibbs was skeptical, but he decided to follow the instructions.

Once they were there, Gibbs had to admit that it smelled pretty good. However, he didn't want to have the conversation, which he knew would be difficult at best, in such a public area; so they got their coffee to go. Instead of going any of a thousand different locales that popped up in his mind, Gibbs just drove back to Tim's apartment, but they didn't actually go inside. Tim leaned against the hood of the car and stared up at his apartment window...as if it was a prison.

"So...Boss..."

Up to this point, the conversation had been marginal...and not at all important. Now, it was time for the important things. That called for slightly closer proximity...in case Tim had another meltdown. He walked around the car and leaned against it.

"Are you sure you want me to tell you?"

"Who else?"

"Dr. Andrews, who could tell you all the details I don't know."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for details yet anyway." Tim sipped at his coffee and stared out across the street. "You told me that I had to admit to having a problem. I have. Now, help me, Boss. Help me by letting me know exactly what the problem is."

"Do you really think it will help?"

"Putting a name to something makes it less frightening." Tim fell silent, but in a way that said he was thinking of something else to say; so Gibbs waited. "When I was a kid, I'd get scared by the sounds I'd hear as the house settled. It was dark, I'd be in bed and every creak and groan seemed like the sound of someone coming in, like monsters hiding in the closet or any other terrifying nightmare. My mom finally had to let me get out of bed and investigate each scary sound. Once I saw that the whistling came from a window that wasn't sealed completely, that the banging was from a loose shutter, that the creak was just my mom and dad walking around on the hardwood floors...then, the sounds weren't frightening anymore." He smiled a bit. "They were still a bit annoying, but at least I knew."

"Dr. Andrews says that you are suffering from the effects of Stockholm Syndrome," Gibbs said, bluntly, hoping that the unequivocal manner of delivering unpleasant news might soften the blow a bit.

Tim said absolutely nothing, not for a long time. He didn't even pretend to drink his coffee. He simply leaned against the car, staring at nothing. Gibbs also said nothing...but he drank his coffee.

I should have splurged for the larger cup. This was not enough.

"That...that kind of makes...sense," Tim said, his voice very soft. He still wasn't looking anywhere but straight ahead. "So...I really am crazy."

"No, Tim. You're not crazy. According to Dr. Andrews, what happened to you was actually the most natural human reaction to a high stress situation."

"I was only in there for a day. They didn't even hurt me...much."

"Doesn't have to take long."

"I did what they wanted me to do. It was the right thing to do."

"Doesn't mean you weren't scared."

"I was more afraid of the prison guards than I was of them."

"Doesn't change things."

"I didn't want to die."

"I don't blame you."

"I was so glad to get out."

"I don't blame you."

"I couldn't help it, but I thought it...a lot."

"Thought what?"

"It could have been me. I could have been arrested and convicted for killing Det. Benedict. Sarah could have been convicted of murder...only I wouldn't have let that happen. Michelle would have gone to prison for the rest of her life...if she'd lived. It could have been someone like me not wanting my family in danger, not wanting to be killed by guards storming the visitor's center. Or maybe it could have been Sarah. What if, in spite of everything, she was convicted? What if she'd been in a place like that? A situation like that?"

That was a huge part of Tim's problem, Gibbs realized, that empathy he had tried hard to lose. That and the fact that for all his seemingly dull life, Tim had faced down the weaker parts of the justice system more times than most people did...some of that was because of the way Gibbs himself operated, some of it seemed to be his lot in life. Now, with the additional problem of his time as a hostage of prisoners...a prisoner himself in so many ways, he just couldn't deal with all the vagaries that went into the job. It had caused this problem, and Gibbs knew that he could not help Tim with this...not in the right way. He was already doing as much as he could. It just wasn't going to be enough. Tim really did need a shrink.

"That doesn't make you like them, you know."

"I would have killed to keep Sarah safe. If it had come to that, I would have."

"But you didn't."

"I almost killed the guy who murdered Erin."

"Again, you didn't."

"I might have killed Benedict."

"That's the least likely possibility."

"I've crossed the line, Boss. Lots of times."

"So have I. That doesn't mean I think I should be in prison."

"But maybe I should be. Maybe I'm more like them than you think."

"Maybe you're a lot less like them than you think."

"So...is this Stockholm Syndrome, then?" Tim asked.

"I guess so."

"Why is it that this seems...well, not normal...but...I feel mostly sane."

"Because you are. Stockholm Syndrome isn't a showing of insanity. It kept you sane in the prison. It's just that there are enough gray areas in what we do, and certainly plenty of them in the last year, that it was...allowed to fester, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Like I said, I'm not an expert."

"I didn't even really realize..."

"Yeah. Neither did I. I should have."

"Boss?" Tim now turned toward Gibbs, his expression earnest, his eyes intent.

"What?"

"Does this...this problem...does it mean that I'm not going to be able to work at NCIS anymore?"

"No. No, Tim, that's not what it means. It means that you'll have to have professional help in getting over it...and then, you'll be back."

"Are you sure?"

I've never been less sure of anything, Tim. I know what I want to happen, but that doesn't mean that it will. You freaked out over putting your own dog in a kennel. You're comparing yourself to convicted felons. I don't know what it's going to take or how long. I don't know anything about this.

The thoughts flew through Gibbs' mind faster than lightning and he was never more relieved that he was able to hide what he was thinking because, with Tim's eyes on him, he didn't want to reveal his rather hefty doubts about Tim's future.

"If you work at it, Tim. I've never seen you fail at something you really wanted to do."

"You never saw me fence," Tim said and smiled, looking back toward the street. "I never could get the hang of it."

Somehow, that moment of humor and self-deprecation gave Gibbs the hope that he had lacked just a few seconds before.

"This isn't as bad as you think it is, Tim." Or as bad as I think it is.

"Isn't it?"

"No. Look at this way: you've not only acknowledged that you have a problem, but you're trying already to understand and work at beating it. It took months for this to develop into a major issue. Even while you were wrestling with it, you still did your job and you did it well."

Tim looked down at the ground. "I'm afraid, Boss."

"Of what?"

"Of knowing that my mind is working so differently."

"It's not really, you know. Sure, it's a bit off the rails, but it's still working fine. You will be out of the field for a while."

The protest Tim might have made died unspoken.

"...but you'll be working for me like always, and when you're ready, you'll be back. No questions."

"There will be questions. Tony and Ziva will ask. Abby will ask. Even if they don't ask them out loud, they'll be thinking them," Tim said, head bowed. "I'll be thinking them. The next time a gun is raised...will I be able to stop the shooter or will I freeze like I did with Louisa? If it comes down to someone dying...and I have to choose between a criminal and a teammate, which will I choose? ...because I can tell you right now, Boss, that even though I'd like to think I'd automatically pick a teammate...I might not. I might just freeze...again."

Gibbs couldn't say anything to that at first. It was too much like what he himself was thinking, the questions he was asking about Tim's state of mind. Then, he thought of something else.

"Tim...when I came back from Mexico, what did you think?"

"About what?" Tim asked, raising his head in confusion.

"About me."

"I was glad you were back."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course."

"No qualms?"

"I..." Tim's eyes began the dance they always did when he was uncomfortable. Always moving, never settling on anything, trying to avoid getting in trouble, perhaps?

"I'm not going to reprimand you for something you thought two years ago, Tim."

Tim smiled sheepishly. "It took a while to...get used to working under Tony. He's different from you...and...and you left. You left all of us. It hurt us all in different ways...but then, after a few weeks, we adjusted. Tony was...different and there were some things that bugged me...but he was...was good. But then...suddenly, you were back. Then, you were gone. Then, you were back. I was waiting for you to leave again. I didn't think you'd really stay. Then, when you really did stay...there was...I just wasn't sure anymore. Tony did some good things; you did some good things...but you both did things differently. It was easy to go back to the old way, but...part of me wondered."

"Wondered what?"

"Wondered if you should have come back. It was so...so sudden, so abrupt. You calmly reshuffled everything back to the old order without any thought as to how we felt about it. We were glad you were back, Boss...even Tony. ...but...at the same time, part of me resented it...and for a while I was just waiting...waiting for you to leave yet again, for you to force us into another round of musical desks."

"And now?"

"Now?"

"Yes. Now. Do you still wonder if I'm going to up and disappear? Do you still worry about which way is better? Do you still resent me for coming back?"

"No." The sheepish grin returned, a little more widely. "...although I have to admit to wondering what's going to happen every time Mike Franks shows up."

Gibbs had to smile at that. "I think that would be the case regardless. Mike has that effect."

"Yeah."

"But you see, Tim. Yes, the questions were there. I'm sure in some respect, they'll be there for a long time...maybe even now, you have some questions that you're not admitting to me, but they're not enough to keep you from trusting me, right?"

"I trust you, Boss."

"Good."

"Do you trust me?"

That's the real question, isn't it. How do I answer this without lying? At this very moment, no, I don't trust you out in the field, but I still trust you and your judgment...if I can get you to think. You think twice or maybe three times faster than the rest of us, Tim. You just sometimes turn off that brain in an effort to slow things down...to stop them, to hold back the unpleasantness you might have to face. That's when I don't trust you. How do I say all that in a way you'll actually hear?

"In the important things, I do."

"Just not in the field?"

"Not right now. You don't trust yourself, Tim."

"No, I don't."

"It'll come. Slowly but surely. It'll come. You just have to work at it."

"I'm meeting with Dr. Andrews tomorrow morning."

"Good. That's a first step."

"I'm not sure I like her."

"Sometimes, it's better that way. You think she'd lie to you for any reason?"

"No."

"That's even better."

Tim smiled. "I'd better take Jethro for his evening walk. Otherwise, he's liable to tear my apartment to pieces."

Gibbs smiled in return. It was a deliberate end to an awkward conversation, but it had gone better than he'd expected.

"See you tomorrow, Boss."

"You'd better."

"I'll be there."

"Good." Gibbs walked back around to the driver's side and watched as Tim made his way back into his building. "You'd better make it, McGee," he said softly as the door closed. "I don't want to think what will happen to you otherwise."