Chapter 27

Tim stayed asleep, but Ducky was forced, finally, to get some sleep himself. He had slept for a few hours before Tim's first outburst, but he needed more than that. Poor Jethro probably needed more sleep than he was getting, too, but Ducky wasn't sure he could get him out of the room. It was late enough that going upstairs seemed like a waste of time; so he walked to his living room and stretched out on the couch, hoping that he could get at least an hour.

Sleep came almost instantly.

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

When he awoke, he was relieved to note that it was still quiet in the house...but then, he sighed. As nice as it was to let Tim have the sleep he probably hadn't been getting for weeks, possibly months, he had a suspicion that the majority of mornings had begun in fear, and it might be just as valuable to allow Tim the chance to wake up due to it being morning rather than due to the nightmares that held so much horror for him.

Decision made, Ducky got up off the couch and winced a little. He definitely couldn't make that his normal sleeping space. As he walked down the hallway, Ducky yawned and listened for any sound of Tim becoming disturbed again. There was none. Dare he hope that Tim was still asleep?

He poked his head in the door. The bed was empty...but a moment of anxiety brought his head around and he saw Tim sitting on the window seat, staring out at the small garden in the back. There was no anger in the way he was sitting. There was tension, yes, but not anger. His face was turned away and Ducky couldn't see his expression, but he would guess that it wasn't a happy one. He rather thought that Tim had probably been miserable for a long time.

He cleared his throat softly and Tim jumped with uncalled-for surprise.

"It was so quiet that I thought you would still be asleep."

Tim's head turned toward him and he wore a sardonic smile. "I don't always wake up screaming, Ducky."

"Does that mean your sleep was pleasant?"

Tim laughed briefly. It wasn't pleasant to hear. "I didn't say that."

"Well, it is Sunday morning, like it or not."

"I don't," Tim muttered.

"Why don't you prepare yourself for the day? I would wager that you'd like to avoid a shower for the time being."

Tim almost smiled.

"I have a half bath downstairs that you may use. I'll go and make breakfast."

"Not hungry."

"That does not surprise me in the least. However, your body's physical requirements have likely not changed regardless of your current appetite."

Tim stood up. "I'm not a child, Ducky. You don't have to treat me like one."

Ducky forced himself to smile and chuckle. "Perhaps not, but in comparison to my age..."

Tim smiled reluctantly.

"I'll feed Jethro while you get ready. Then, we can eat breakfast and head out to your friend's home. See what we can see."

"I already know what we'll see. I saw it before," Tim said resentfully.

"But I have not...and you yourself admitted to not remembering everything...unless you have regained your memory of how you got to my home and how long you were sitting here before I arrived."

Unwillingly, Tim shook his head.

"All right, then. You go on. Come into the kitchen when you're ready. Jethro?"

Jethro leapt to his feet and barked happily. He followed Ducky out of the room and into the kitchen.

"Well, my canine friend, I hope you don't mind a repeat of your meal last night."

Jethro began to dance in anticipation. Ducky chuckled, genuinely amused this time, and poured dog food into the bowl.

"There you are, Jethro. Have at it, as they say."

Jethro did as ordered and was shortly eating so eagerly that he was pushing the bowl around.

"Plenty more where that came from. Don't rush."

Jethro barked again and then kept eating. Ducky took pains to pet him as he ate before beginning to make breakfast. Already the dog's tail was higher and his ears perked up, twitching back and forth in rhythm as he ate.

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

Tim glared at his reflection. He couldn't believe what he'd done. He couldn't believe he'd come to Ducky for help. It was embarrassing. It was humiliating that a small fright had completely disconnected his brain. Try as he might, he couldn't pull up any firm memories of the day before. In fact, the exploding shower wasn't as certain in his mind as he had claimed. He thought that was what had happened, but he couldn't swear to it. He did know that he hadn't been anywhere near the shower door...which did make him wonder how he'd cut himself so badly.

What did I do?

The small cuts on his face were one thing. His arm was another...and he didn't know. He honestly didn't know. How could he admit that kind of a lapse? How could he confess that weakness? Could he pretend that he'd been closer to the shower...but still not close enough to have caused the explosion...or whatever it had been?

How could I have left like that? How could I have done that? What a weakling. A stupid, scrawny weakling who can't even handle taking care of himself. He has to run to someone else to do it for him. Wuss. Stupid.

He shook his head and then splashed water on his face. He hated that he had been so easily spooked...and that Ducky didn't seem fooled in the slightest by his attempts to present a strong facade. It was hard to be strong when you were screaming in your sleep.

Yeah, baby. Scared of bad dreams just like a little child.

Tim took a deep breath, determined not to let Ducky fool him like everyone else had. Ducky might be pretending to care now, but deep down, he was just like the others. He'd get a ride back to Matt's house and that would be the end of it.

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

Ducky smiled when Tim came into the kitchen...although Tim's expression was anything but happy and kind. He had closed himself off to the point that he almost looked blank...except his eyes. Tim's eyes were alive...but with suspicion and fear. He was under much better control than he had been, but he couldn't stop the instinct to watch for danger. He couldn't stop the slight shaking. Ducky could see how badly off Tim actually was...just from a physical standpoint. His body was on the verge of collapse...and apparently his mind had already done so at least once.

However, when he spoke, he didn't say any of that.

"Timothy, you can see that Jethro has quite the headstart on you. Have a seat." He gestured toward the small table. "Nothing exciting, I'm afraid, but I hope it is tolerable."

Tim's smile was thin. "I'm really not hungry."

"Yes, so you said. Humor me if you would."

"Why should I?" Tim asked coldly.

Ducky looked at him and said mildly, "Because you are a guest in my home."

As he had hoped, Tim stumped over to the table and sat down. He stared at the oatmeal with obvious distaste but said nothing. Instead, he began to eat. Slowly, to be sure, but he ate. Ducky had crammed as much as he could into the bowl of oatmeal. Banana chunks, raisins, milk, the oatmeal. It was all very tastefully done, but what it really had become was Ducky's attempt to get Tim to eat a square meal. Ducky had exactly the same thing, fearing that Tim would refuse to eat a meal that was drastically different.

"I can't eat any more, Ducky," Tim said after about ten silent minutes.

Ducky noted, with some dismay that the bowl was barely half empty...but he also knew that there was a risk of overloading Tim's system. If he'd been eating as badly as Ducky suspected, it was possible that Tim really couldn't eat any more and to force him to eat more could lead to Tim losing all the benefit of the meal.

Ducky smiled. "Very well. Should I act paternal and tell you to drink all your juice?"

Almost against his will it seemed, Tim let out a short laugh. It didn't last long, but there had been a moment of genuine humor.

"I can manage that, I think," he said and drained his glass with a small flourish...almost like his old self.

"Excellent," Ducky said, smiling. "Now, we have but to clean up the dishes and we can be on our way."

Jethro padded over and put his head on Tim's knee before he could stand. He looked mournfully up into Tim's eyes, dragging another reluctant smile onto Tim's face.

"Good morning, Jethro," Tim said softly.

Ducky stood and carried his bowl and Tim's over to the sink as Tim carefully pet Jethro on the head, almost as if he'd forgotten how. Ducky hoped that he had shown more affection to the dog than he was at the moment. However, based on Jethro's exuberance at even Ducky's attention, he felt fairly certain that Tim had not been doing much.

Tim almost smiled as Jethro jumped up and licked his face. Ducky let them stay where they were as he quickly rinsed out the bowls and loaded his dishwasher. It normally took a few meals for it to be worth running, but he had to admit that it was nice to have.

"All right, shall we go?" he asked.

Tim stood up quickly. "Yes. Let's go. Now."

Ducky nodded and led them out, privately hoping for something positive to come out of this meeting. He himself had given up on Tim ever wanting to see any of them again. That there was a desire somewhere deep inside him was a small spark of promise for better things.

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

"Your friend has a lovely spot, Timothy," Ducky said when they arrived an hour later. The ride over had been nearly silent.

"Yeah, he does. I guess that's what happens when you enjoy an occupation that makes you rich."

Ducky glanced sideways at the minor undercurrent of resentment in Tim's voice.

"Should we go inside?"

"Why not?" Tim sighed and got out of the car and started to walk into the house without looking back.

Ducky got out quickly, Jethro right behind. Tim led him inside up the stairs and to the bedroom...where he stopped, clearly reluctant to go any further.

"This is your room, Timothy?"

"Yes."

Ducky looked around. There was a bloody towel on the floor...and blood on the sheets, although not much. There was a strange sensation in the room, almost a darkened aura to it...if one believed in such things.

"Well?" he asked.

"In there," Tim said, pointing to the open door to the bathroom.

Ducky saw that Tim had no intention of going in; so he walked forward. The shower had been glass, one without a frame, just the glass walls and metal brackets. It was a fancy shower...or it had been. Now, where there had been a shower, there were pieces of glass strewn all over the bathroom. Ducky crouched down and examined the glass. There was no sign of any fire, no sign of smoke. ...but the pattern was such that the glass was everywhere. It really was like an explosion without a bomb.

"Timothy?"

"What?" There was that sullen voice again.

"Would you come in here, please? Show me where you were standing?"

"No."

Ducky walked back to the bedroom. Tim was pulling the bloody sheets off the bed.

"Timothy, what are you doing?"

"I have to clean up. I can't leave it like this."

"Certainly not, but now?"

"I have to clean up." He stopped and looked at Ducky. "I'm not going back in there."

There was something in his eyes, something frightening. Ducky couldn't define it. If asked why it frightened him, he wouldn't be able to articulate it, but Timothy was dangerous right now. Jethro obviously sensed it as well. He had retreated to the corner of the room, head down...waiting until it was safe again.

"Timothy?"

Then, in an abrupt shift, Tim threw down the sheets and stomped over to the bathroom.

"Fine! I will! I was here!" he said, almost shouting. "I was standing right here! I forgot to close the door! I was going back to close it! It blew up! It exploded!" He shook his head, looking frightened...but still dangerous...and his voice changed yet again. "I tried to fix it. I tried...but I couldn't. Too many pieces. Too many pieces...all over the floor. I couldn't put them back. I tried."

He knelt down and Ducky noticed that the blood on the floor corresponded to an area with a strangely arranged area of broken glass. ...as if someone had tried to put the pieces back together...to repair the damage. Tim, in his blackout or whatever it had been, had tried to put the shattered glass back together...had probably picked up shards, perhaps even cradled them in his arm in his desire to make amends...as he saw it. Suddenly, Ducky was ten times more worried about Tim's mental state. What was there to be done about this? He heard a soft whine from Jethro in the other room.

As he stared at the scene, Tim bent over and, once again, began picking up pieces of glass.

"Timothy, no! You can't fix this. We'll have to get an expert."

Suddenly, Tim was angry again. "What? I'm not good enough? I'm not smart enough? I can't handle it?" He stood up. "You're all the same! You don't think I can do anything right! ...but I can! I can!" He pounded on the bathroom sink with a clenched fist. "I am good enough! ...if you'd only let me be!"

"Timothy," Ducky said, laughing because he couldn't think of any other reaction, "you're not a plumber to my knowledge. You don't have to know everything...and you don't. We all make mistakes and we all have gaps."

Tim was glaring at him, just long enough for Ducky to worry...but then, his eyes widened and he ran past Ducky. Before he could react, he heard Tim pounding down the stairs and through the hall.

"Jethro, where is he going?"

Jethro whimpered and then leapt to his feet and followed. Ducky saw no other alternative but to do the same. Down the steps, through the hallway...and out to a large backyard with a pool beside a back patio. Tim was on his knees beside the pool. There were some leaves and grass clippings floating there...and strangely, a few dead frogs. Tim was staring at the pool, looking absolutely horrified.

"Timothy, what's wrong?"

"I forgot to put in the pool cleaner," Tim whispered.

"Surely one day won't be detrimental," Ducky said reasonably, trying to force Tim away from this breakdown he seemed to be suffering and back into the world of reality.

Tim turned to Ducky, shaking his head. "No! You don't understand! I forgot! I didn't put it in! The frogs...they drown in the pool! I can't stop them! I can't keep them from coming! I have to put in the cleaner so they go away! They come every night!"

"Can you not simply put it in now?"

"No! It has to be done at night! It has to be done right! In the right order. At the right time. ...and I didn't! I screwed up! I failed! People die when I fail! I could die when I fail."

Before Ducky could stop him, Tim jumped into the pool and began grabbing for the dead frogs. Jethro began barking loudly. Ducky watched with growing alarm at Tim's manic flailing around the pool...fully-clothed no less. He seemed to have no ability to find a happy medium. It was either absolute perfection or total failure. As Tim splashed to the shallow end, Ducky suppressed a sigh and climbed in himself. He waded over to Tim as he tried to pick up one of the dead frogs.

"Timothy, stop."

"No! I have to fix it! I have to! They're stupid enough to die...just like Jewel was... but I have to fix it! I can't let them stay in here! Everyone will see!"

Ducky grabbed Tim by both arms and shook him.

"Timothy! Look at yourself! Look at what you're doing! This is not fixing anything! You're only making it worse!"

Soaking wet from head to toe, dead frogs in both hands, breathing heavily, Tim finally stopped. He looked at Ducky for a long time without speaking. Judging that he might be able to reach Tim, even slightly, Ducky tried one more time to penetrate the barriers Tim had so handily erected.

"Timothy, stop this madness. Let me help you fix the problem."

When he spoke, Tim's voice was totally different. "Am...am I in...trouble...Ducky?"

Ducky blinked in surprise. "No, lad. You're not in trouble."

"...but I forgot..."

Ducky swallowed at the extremity he was confronting. He spoke gently. "It was an honest mistake and easily rectified."

The dead frogs fell from Tim's hands, making small splooshing sounds as they hit the water, and Tim began to sob, arms at his sides, hands clenching into fists. His head dropped and he began shaking with violent sobs. Shocked by the abrupt shift, Ducky released Tim's arms and stared at him as he wept. Slowly, worried that Tim's sudden mood swings might bring him back around to anger again, Ducky carefully put his arms around Tim and hugged him.

"I c-c-can't make...m-mistakes. Th-that's how...how they k-k-kill you."

"Oh, Timothy. I'm sorry," Ducky said. How could any of them have expected this? Or should they have realized that Tim was liable to come to the conclusion that he couldn't make any mistakes? Did it matter now? ...now that Tim seemed to be falling farther and farther into insanity?

...could he get out?