Chapter 37

One week later...

Tim walked out to the large open yard behind the hospital. It was beautiful. A small copse of trees was in one corner. Bushes cleverly disguised the walls keeping people confined... keeping the world out or keeping the crazies in, Tim wasn't sure. He headed for the trees, knowing that no one else would be there at this time of day. He lay on the ground staring up at the sky, his hands behind his head. There were lovely white clouds and he watched them as they moved slowly across the sky, slowly molded into different shapes. It was times like this he could pretend that there was nothing happening, nothing wrong. He could just...just lay on the grass. That was all.

"Tim?"

A shadow fell across his face and he squinted.

"Hey, Mom. What are you doing out here?"

"We stopped by to visit. Dr. Lewis said you were out here. I hope you don't mind us just coming instead of letting you choose."

Tim laughed a little. "Why would I mind? It's not like I have a whole lot of choices here."

Naomi crouched down. "Would you come over to the bench so your father can talk too? It was just a bit too rough to get to you and we can sit instead of towering over you."

"Sure. Okay." Tim got up, but stood just a bit away from his mother as they walked over to the bench where Sam was waiting in his wheelchair. He sat down on one end and looked at them both only indirectly. "What's up?"

"A few things. First, we'd like to ask you a favor."

Tim laughed again. "I hope it's not to run any errands or anything. I'm a bit confined...unless you want me to break into the drug cupboard."

"Tim," Sam said with a hint of reproof.

"Sorry, Dad," Tim mumbled. "What do you want?"

"We'd like you to call Sarah. We can pay for the cost of the call, but she needs to hear from you."

"Why? She knows where I am. It's not like I can get into much trouble here."

"She loves you, Tim. She misses you. She's been really worried about you," Sam said. "Will you call your sister?"

"If that's what you want me to do," Tim said, staring at his hands.

"Don't you want to?" Naomi asked, leaning toward him.

Tim scooted away from her.

"Sure."

"That's not an answer."

"Tim, what's wrong?" Naomi asked. "Are you afraid of me?"

Tim shook his head.

"Not you."

"Then, who, Tim?"

He shook his head again.

"Tim..."

"I don't have to tell you!" Tim said loudly and stood up. "Okay? I don't! I have to tell Dr. Lewis when he asks me questions, but I don't have to tell you! Leave me alone! It's none of your business!"

He started to walk away, but he stopped before he'd gone two feet. He stared at the ground.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he whispered. "You're not like them. I know that...but I keep forgetting."

"Like who, Tim?" Naomi asked softly.

"Them. At NCIS. My team." Tim sat back on the bench but he wouldn't look at his parents. He looked at his hands instead. White knuckles and all. "I've been so...so mad at them." He laughed. "Mad...that doesn't even come close to encompassing how I felt. How I feel. I could hear that they had all died horrible deaths and I'd be happy about it, not sad. They didn't care one bit about me all during that operation and I saved their lives...and they didn't care. All they wanted was for me to mess up. I didn't and so it wasn't enough. ...only I did. They just didn't care enough to notice."

He saw Sam's hand touch his.

"'Anger is never without a reason but seldom with a good one.' Benjamin Franklin."

"Yeah, and 'whatever begins in anger ends in shame.' What did Benjamin Franklin know?" Tim said, pulling his hands away.

"Elliot Larson said that "anger always comes from frustrated expectations.' Is he right?"

Tim stood up again and started pacing. "Don't I have the right to be frustrated? Was it too much to ask that they simply do their jobs and help me a little? Was that too much to ask?" he asked, swallowing the tears that had unexpectedly come to his eyes.

"Are you conceding?"

"NO!" Tim stopped pacing. "Aristotle. 'Anyone can become angry - that is easy, but to be angry with the right person at the right time, and for the right purpose and in the right way - that is not within everyone's power and that is not easy.' I know who I'm angry at and why."

"In the right way, though, Tim?" Sam asked. "'Anger blows out the lamp of the mind.' Robert Green Ingersoll."

"'The world needs anger. The world often continues to allow evil because it isn't angry enough!' Bede Jarrett."

Sam grabbed Tim's arm. "'How much more grievous are the consequences of anger than the causes of it,'" he said earnestly. "Seneca."

"'At the core of all anger is a need that is not being fulfilled.' Marshall B. Rosenberg." He pulled his arm away.

"'Anger is a killing thing: it kills the man who angers, for each rage leaves him less than he had been before - it takes something from him.' Louis L'Armour."

Tim looked at Sam for a long moment, blinking furiously. Nothing was coming to his mind. Nothing at all.

"Then...Then, maybe there's nothing left of me!" he shouted finally and tried to walk away.

Sam grabbed his arm again and Tim tried to pull away.

He pulled too hard...and Sam landed hard on the sidewalk ...but he did let go of Tim's arm. ...but Tim didn't leave. Instantly, he was on the ground, trying to help Sam back up to his chair.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Dad," he said, and he was crying. "I didn't mean to! I..."

Naomi quickly righted the chair and Sam was back in his rightful place again, but Tim fell to his knees and began to sob, his head in Sam's lap.

"It's all right, Tim. I know you didn't mean to," Sam said.

Finally a new quote came to Tim's mind. "H-Horace. 'Anger is m-m-momentary... madness, so control your passion... or it will c-control you.' I'm sorry!"

He felt Sam's hand on his head as he continued to cry.

"Tim, it's okay."

"No! No, it's not okay! Everything I touch...I ruin it! I destroy things! I hurt people! I...I hurt you! I'm so sorry, Dad. I so sorry."

Tim felt hands on his arms, strong fingers tightening around his skinny arms and forcing him to stand.

"Tim, it was an accident," Sam said firmly. "Everyone makes mistakes sometimes. It's not a crime. You apologized and it's okay. I wasn't even hurt."

Tim shook his head. "No. It doesn't matter. It's still not okay."

Naomi put an arm around him and directed Tim back to the bench.

"Tim, you're shaking like a leaf. It's all right. No, you shouldn't have pulled so hard, but your intention wasn't to knock your father over and that matters."

Tim put his hands on his head and wouldn't look at them. He couldn't bear it.

"I'll...I'll call Sarah...if you want me to."

"No, Tim. That's not how it works. You don't do something because we guilted you into it. I had hoped that you would want to talk to your sister...not that you're going to do it because you feel bad about pulling Sam out of his chair."

"I...I don't know what I want. Everything is so...so mixed up in my head. Sometimes, things make sense...but other times...I just...I just hate everyone and everything...because it's so much easier. I just want to get away."

He felt hands on his again, pulling them away from his face.

"Tell us what happened, Tim."

Tim lifted his head again and shook it. "Dorothy Dix. 'Confession is always weakness. The grave soul keeps its own secrets, and takes its own punishment in silence.'"

Sam smiled a little. "Thomas Kempis. 'The acknowledgment of our weakness is the first step in repairing our loss.'"

"I can't think of any more."

"How about this one? 'You cannot run away from weakness; you must some time fight it out or perish; and if that be so, why not now, and where you stand?' Robert Louis Stevenson."

"Tell us what's going on in your head, Tim," Naomi said. "Let us in."

"I don't want to," Tim said and started to stand up again.

"You have to fight some time, Tim. Why not start now?" Sam said.

"It's nothing."

"Nothing?" Naomi repeated. "Nothing is what got you to commit yourself to a psychiatric hospital for two months so far? Nothing is what has changed you so drastically? Tim, it wasn't nothing."

Tim tensed up and only relaxed when Naomi let him go again.

"Tell us, Tim. We aren't going to judge you, and we won't hurt you."

Tim stared at his hands.

"Do I have to tell you everything?"

"You don't have to tell us anything, Tim," Sam said. "We just want to know...so we can help you...any way we can."

"Some of the things I did...they were wrong."

"That's all right. We may not agree with what you did, but we won't disown you. I promise," Sam said.

Tim forced a laugh.

"Just start, Tim. We'll listen," Naomi said.

"Okay. I was undercover."

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

They talked for more than an hour, and Tim skipped over a few things...but he did talk. Then, they all headed back into the hospital and toward the exit. Tim stopped before the main hallway.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Tim?"

"I'll call Sarah. Tomorrow. I promise."

"When you're ready, Tim," Sam said.

"I'll call her." Tim looked at Sam. "I'm really sorry, Dad."

"It's all right, Tim."

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

"Have you checked on Tim lately?" Dr. Lewis asked.

"Only at lights out. All's quiet in that corner," William said. "Isn't Dr. Wood on call tonight?"

"No. She had to reschedule. Family crisis, apparently."

"Okay. You want me to check on him now?"

"I'll do it. If there's going to be a problem, maybe I can forestall it now and get a good night's sleep."

"Dolores might cause some problems."

"I know, but hers are usually much more easily fixed. She doesn't generally wake up the rest of the ward when she has a problem."

"You need me to take over, just call."

"Will do."

Dr. Lewis headed down the hallway to Tim's room. It had been quiet, but it was early yet in the night. Lots of time for another nightmare. He looked into Tim's room and was surprised to see him sitting up, holding the teddy bear tightly in his arms, staring straight ahead. Almost motionless. He knocked on the window and was gratified that Tim was only slightly startled. His instinctive fear of someone approaching was ebbing. Slowly, but considering he'd had over a month after the operation was over to solidify that response, it was quite the achievement. Tim looked at him and then sighed and looked away again. Dr. Lewis knocked again. Tim didn't look back but he nodded.

He opened the door.

"It's pretty late, Tim."

"Yeah. ...but it's quiet, right? We don't have an appointment until tomorrow."

"I know. I'm just checking up on you."

"Because it's so quiet?"

"You need to sleep, Tim."

Tim shook his head. "I don't want to. My whole life is a nightmare. I know what I'll see when I close my eyes. Why not just live with one nightmare? Why let more than that in? I can just stay awake...not have to see it anymore. ...and if I stay awake long enough, I won't notice reality either."

"Tim, that's not the way to solve your problems."

"It's a way. It will work," Tim said and surreptitiously wiped away a tear.

"Is this about what happened with your parents today?"

"Sure. It's about that. It's about dreaming of killing people and being killed. It's about hurting people who don't deserve it. It's about the idiocy of the people I was supposed to be able to trust to keep me from turning out like this. It's about the fact that no one cared enough to help me. It's about the nightmares. It's about reality. It's about the fact that I'm a complete nut who decided that it would be better to be angry than to accept anything else...and now can't stop being angry even when my family is just trying to help. It's about being afraid of everyone...not because of anything they're doing but because of what I did."

Dr. Lewis was a bit surprised at how much Tim was talking, but he hid that and simply capitalized on Tim's uncommonly-talkative mood.

"That's a lot to deal with, Tim."

Tim started to laugh...and then to cry.

"I want to be back to normal. I want to be who I used to be." He looked at Dr. Lewis. "I made the choice to not be angry. I chose to let it go. Why can't I do that now? Why is it that this time, when it's so much worse...when I'm so much worse...why can't I make that choice now? Why do I have to be so afraid and so mad and...and be this person?" He wiped his eyes on the teddy bear. "Why am I still Thomas?" he asked in a whisper.

"You're not Thomas, Tim."

"Yes, I am! That's what Gibbs said to me!" The anger was back swiftly at the mention of his former boss. "But he was wrong! Because Thomas is me! He always has been!"

"No, Tim. You're wrong. Right now, you're not Thomas. Would Thomas have regretted the way he acted? Thomas, from how you described him, hated the world. Would he have these problems?"

Tim buried his face in the plush fur of the teddy bear and said something unintelligible.

"What was that?"

"He'd have the problems," Tim said. "The only thing he ever hated more than the world...was himself."

"Why?"

"Because deep inside, he always knew that all the problems he had were really his own fault and that if he...if he was any kind of real man, he'd have been able to avoid them."

"Does he really hate the world, then?"

"Yes. He hates the world for what it did to him. ...and he hates himself for letting it happen."

"Is there any chance for him to forgive the world...or himself?"

Tim shook his head. "No. The world has hurt him one too many times. If the world hates him so much, he's going to hate the world...and himself. ...and he's going to be better at it than the world ever could be."

"Then, you're not Thomas, Tim."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you just told me that you want to go back to how you were. Thomas apparently doesn't...if he did, he wouldn't be Thomas, an identity you created based on your own conjecture of the kind of person you could have been. Thomas isn't a real person and while you embraced the ideas you created for a while, the fact that you don't like what you've done in the past and that you want to let it go...all of that tells me you aren't Thomas Allen MacKay and you don't have to be him. It's a choice you can make."

Tim wiped his eyes on the bear again.

"Then...why haven't I made any progress?"

Dr. Lewis smiled. "You've made a lot of progress, Tim. With the exception of your former coworkers, you aren't wanting to be angry at anyone. You're admitting that there's a problem...and you're trying to fix the problem. That's progress right there."

"Why do I still have the nightmares, then?" Tim asked, more tears taking the place of the ones he'd wiped away. "Why do I lose control?"

"Because you're a human being and humans can't just be reset or reprogrammed. It takes time."

"It's already been months."

"Yes, it has. You can't just look at the time passing. You have to look at what you yourself have been doing. ...and, Tim, you're going to need to face the world again. This isn't a replacement for the world. It's not a hideout. It's a place where we help you on the path toward mental health and work with you to get better."

"But look at what I've done, what I've been doing. It's better for me here."

"For now, yes, it is. But that won't always be the case."

Tim swallowed. "I'm so scared."

"Of what?"

"Of being like this for the rest of my life. I can't see anything else. I can't...I can't even think of...of something like the future. It's just... I'm just..."

"No, Tim, there's nothing wrong with that. It takes time. You have to be patient."

"When will I see something good coming from this?"

"Well...you did get a nice teddy bear out of it."

Tim laughed and looked at the bear...which was rather damp by this point.

"He and Bert could..."

"Bert?"

"Abby...she has...a stuffed hippo. His name is Bert." Another laugh. "They'd probably get along."

"Have you spoken to her at all?"

He shook his head.

"Why not?"

"I don't want to hurt her."

"Why do you think you would?"

"I killed Jewel. I was sleeping with her. I killed her."

"Tim, just because you did that in the course of your duties...that's no indication that you'll kill every woman you see."

"I know."

"...but it doesn't stop you from being afraid, does it."

"No."

"All right. Why don't you try going to sleep?"

"No."

"Tim, do you trust me?"

"Yeah."

"All right. I can't and won't promise that you won't have any nightmares tonight, but I can promise that, even with the nightmares, it's better for you to get some sleep than to try and stay awake."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"I don't know. Does it?"

"Not really."

"You've gone two days without the nightmares, Tim. Try for three."

"And if I fail?"

"It's a not a failure. It just means we'll have to try again."

"Okay. I'll try."

"Good. Go for it. I'm on call again tonight. Not Dr. Wood."

"Thanks."

"It's my job."

Tim smiled unexpectedly. "If you need a letter of reference, I'll be happy to recommend you."

"I'll keep that in mind. Go to sleep."

Tim lay down and clutched the teddy bear to his chest. Dr. Lewis stood up and left the room. Even if Tim couldn't see it, he had made a lot of progress...some of it just during their talk. There was something to be said for perseverance.

When it came to Tim, it was an absolute necessity.