Chapter 38

Two weeks later...

"Ducky, how's he doing?" Abby asked, hugging Bert tightly as she sat on her stool.

Ducky smiled. "He's doing much better, Abigail. I think that were he as confident as Dr. Lewis, Timothy would be released and continue to be treated as an outpatient. However, Timothy is holding himself back. He fears returning to how he was before."

"Why?"

"Because he is too near to it and some of the feelings are still there. He does not trust himself to remain in control."

"Is it that dangerous?"

"Oh, no. Not at all. ...but until Timothy trusts himself, he will fail."

"I want to see him."

"You may try, but he may also refuse."

"Why is he scared of me, Ducky?"

"Because he is scared in general. Fear and hatred are often closely linked and he has not yet understood all the facets of his fear...nor of his hatred."

"Does he hate me?"

A long sigh interrupted them. They looked back toward the door. Ziva and Tony stood, almost hesitantly. They had been excluded from most of the discussions about Tim. ...whether intentionally or not was unclear...for all concerned.

"No. You, he does not hate," Ziva said as she joined them. "It is us. We are the ones he hates...for good reason, I think."

Tony nodded as he followed Ziva in. "Yeah. I think we did about as much as he thinks we did."

"That was really specific, Tony," Abby said, with a trace of bitterness. "I'll bet Tim could elaborate."

"Yeah...he probably could," Tony said, grimacing. He looked at Abby, eyes wide. "I honestly didn't..." He trailed off.

"Didn't what?" Abby asked. "Didn't think that it mattered whether or not Tim knew you trusted him? Didn't think it mattered that Tim was angry?"

"He has been angry before," Ziva said, defensively. "It never lasted. He knew that we had his back before. I do not understand why this was so different."

"When it mattered so much?" Ducky asked. "Have either of you ever questioned each other in such a situation, when you were working together undercover?"

"We were usually working together, both of us."

"Yes, exactly. ...and Timothy was left to fend for himself."

"He wasn't!" Tony interrupted. "We were there the whole time! I mean, we missed that message he left, but it was three in the morning! We weren't ever awake then except when it was necessary! He could have said something!"

"What did you expect?" Ducky asked. "That he would be able to tolerate the stress of being deep undercover while at the same time battling your petty disagreements? Your undercover mission for Director Shepard was difficult, was it not?"

Tony shrugged uncomfortably at the reminder. "Yeah."

"And you were in it mostly on your own which made it even more difficult, I'd wager. You couldn't come to anyone for help."

"No, I couldn't...well, except for Jenny."

"Did you think that was helpful to you? Did it aid you in the successful completion of the operation?"

"Not really."

"Then, why, Anthony, did you think that turning the same treatment onto Timothy would be successful? Or even a good idea?"

"Or did you really want him to screw up?" Abby asked.

"No! We didn't want him to mess up!" Tony said instantly.

A long uncomfortable pause.

"At the beginning...I confess that I thought it would be better if he did," Ziva said, finally, guiltily, and then at the looks from Ducky and Abby, she continued, "...but only because I assumed that if he messed up later he would be killed! It would be better for him to mess up early on."

"...and get someone more experienced in there," Tony said, almost in a whisper.

"I don't see that that's much better than wanting him to fail," Abby said. "In fact, I think that's pretty...pretty scummy. I thought you liked Tim, Ziva! You guys are always so...buddy-buddy and stuff. ...and Tony, you're the senior agent! You know that it takes time to build up experience!"

"Why would you begrudge Timothy that chance?" Ducky asked.

"...and how could you even think that?" Abby demanded.

Ziva looked at Tony helplessly.

"We didn't really, I guess," Tony confessed. "...but I never...never thought that..."

"That Tim would mind?" Abby asked.

"It didn't hurt me!"

"You just said that you didn't think it helped," Ducky said.

"But it didn't really hurt! I got through it all fine. I didn't go nuts. I didn't punch anyone in the face. Why was it such a big deal to McGee? If he was going to build up experience, it shouldn't have been with this! That was Vance's mistake!"

Abby suddenly threw Bert at Tony. It hit him in the face and made the obligatory sound. "Did that hurt, Tony?"

Tony stared at Bert on the floor, obviously shocked. "Uh...no."

"Did you like it?" she asked, hands on her hips.

"Not particularly."

"Would you want me to do that to you every day?"

"No."

She stood up and stalked over to where Bert lay on the floor. "I'm sorry for throwing you, Bert. You had to teach Tony a lesson."

"It's not the same thing, Abbs!" Tony said, a bit angrily. "I know that we weren't exactly the nicest, but it's not like we were much worse than we've been in the past! We always tease him! That's how we...we do things!"

"So you're jerks all the time and finally it pushed him over the edge?" Abby asked.

"No!"

Abby put Bert on the counter and rounded on the two of them. "You're not making me feel any better, Tony. With what...what you're both saying... How can we even...even expect to get Tim back? I mean...I mean he has to come back! It's Tim! He belongs here! ...but if you guys are...if you really don't see the problem, I can't ask him to come back because that would be wrong. ...and I have to ask him to come back! I miss him!" She sighed and picked Bert up again. "I miss him," she said, hugging Bert tightly.

Another long silence and then Ziva sank down onto a stool and stared at the floor.

"I miss him, too, Abby," Ziva said.

"Not enough, obviously."

"Abigail, that will not help," Ducky said gently. "This cannot devolve into bitter recriminations. What is done, is done. All we can do now is wait...wait and see if Timothy is willing to forgive, if he can forget what you have done...and what he has done. Both are important, and neither can be forced on him. It has taken a long time to make the progress he has...and no one can force more progress on him."

Ducky looked beyond the semicircle of people to the man standing in the entryway.

"Not even you, Jethro."

Gibbs looked at him and then at the others when they turned back.

"I know that, Duck. We've got a case, a break-in at Quantico."

"Why does that mean us, Boss?"

"Because it was a break-in and attempted theft of classified information. Let's roll."

Tony stood up and sighed. "He's never coming back, is he, Ducky."

"More than likely not, Anthony. It will have to be something he decides, and based on what I have seen, he has no intention of returning. ...and based on what I have heard here, I don't think he should."

A long, painful silence.

"Let's go, Tony...Ziva."

There was no impatience with the order, but Tony and Ziva nodded and followed Gibbs out, leaving Abby and Ducky alone again.

"Ducky?"

"Yes, Abigail?"

"Did we...you and I...did we fail somehow, not seeing how bad it was, not making them be better?"

"I don't know, Abigail. Possibly, but as I said, we should not fall back onto recriminations. That includes ourselves. Reflection and understanding are all well and good, but when it turns cruel, be it self-inflicted or otherwise, it loses any value. Reflection leads to positive change. Cruelty does nothing but cause pain."

"But he's doing better?"

"Yes. Yes, he's doing better, Abigail."

Abby hugged Bert again.

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

"Go ahead, Tim. You know the procedure," William said.

Tim nodded and swallowed. He had called Sarah as he had promised his parents, but the conversation had been stilted and short. He had promised her that he would call her again. Today. Now. ...and for some reason, he was afraid of doing it. He was afraid of calling Sarah and talking to her.

"Go on. From what you've said, she won't bite."

Tim smiled weakly and picked up the phone.

"Good boy," William said teasingly. "Now, you have as much time as you need. Just let me know when you're done so I can put the phone away."

Tim nodded mutely and began to dial. William closed the door tightly behind him. Tim knew he would be watching just in case something happened, but he wouldn't be listening in. It would just be the occasional glance inside. That was why Tim had to sit facing the window. He finished dialing Sarah's number and waited, listening to the ringing phone.

What if she doesn't answer? What if she forgot? What if something happened? What if–?

"This is Sarah McGee."

"Hi."

Pause. Very awkward.

"Timmy?"

"Yeah. It's me."

"You called."

Tim swallowed again. "I said I would."

"I know. ...but I wasn't sure that you would actually do it. You didn't sound very happy about it. ...actually, you don't now either."

"Sorry."

"Tim, if it's so hard for you to talk to me, then you don't have to."

"It's not that," Tim said, quickly.

"Then, what is it, Tim?"

Tim shook his head silently. He didn't know how to answer. "You knew something was wrong, didn't you."

"Yeah."

"You knew that just by talking to me."

"It was obvious when I heard you. The last time you were that angry...you got in as much trouble as the bullies did."

"Yeah. ...you knew."

"Yeah. Why is that a problem, Tim?"

"Because you didn't even have to see me to know."

"I don't get it."

Tim felt his throat tighten at the earnest confusion in Sarah's voice. She hadn't always been the nicest of siblings, but she had noticed what his whole team had missed.

"You knew...without seeing me...without talking to me for more than a few minutes. Were you worried?"

"Yeah. Of course."

"More than worried?"

"I was freaked out, Tim. What do you want me to say?" Sarah asked, her nervousness giving way to the scared annoyance she often fell back on.

"Nothing, Sarah. There's not a thing that I want you to say."

"Does that mean you're going to hang up again?" she asked, her voice soft.

"Do you really want to talk to me or is it just because you have to?"

"Tim, you're my brother! You've been scaring us all for weeks. Of course I want to talk to you...but you're not acting like you. You're...you keep asking me questions like I should be giving some specific answer, but I can't! I don't know what the right answers are! I don't know! I'm sorry, Tim! I don't know!"

Tim laughed sadly. "Would it help if I told you I don't know the answers either?"

Sarah laughed in response. "Not really."

"You didn't think much of me when you were little, did you?"

"What?"

"When you were little and you saw all the crap I dealt with...and failed to deal with. You probably despised me, huh."

"I think that's too strong a word, Tim."

"You weren't impressed, though. I mean, look at how you acted when you came to my apartment. You spent most of the time making fun of my job and what I enjoyed doing. I know you were worried about everything, but that was your default."

"No, Tim!" Sarah said, plaintively. "That wasn't my default. My default was running to the one person I thought could help. I knew I could say all that to you because you're my brother and you could take it...and I couldn't handle dealing with everything. It was wrong...but it was easier to lay it on you than to deal with it myself. I'm sorry."

Tim listened to her speak and he wondered what he felt. He didn't know. He didn't even know why he was asking her the questions he was.

"Tim? Are you still there?"

"Yeah, I am, Sarah."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure. I can't guarantee that I'll answer it though."

"Okay. You quit NCIS. Will you go back?"

"I can't answer that, Sarah," Tim said, fighting against the twisting in his gut that accompanied any mention of his former place of employment.

They were both silent for a long time.

"Okay."

"Why don't you...tell me about what you're doing? I haven't really heard anything about anyone. I only know that you're in England studying...something."

"What do you want to know, Tim?" Sarah asked, her tone deliberately conversational.

Tim looked up and saw William looking at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. Tim guessed that his inner turmoil must be showing on his face. He tried to smile and William nodded with a significant look.

"How about...everything? Just tell me things...normal things... things normal people do," Tim said and then whispered, "Things...good people do."

"What, Tim?"

"Nothing."

"Okay. Uh...normal things. I'm only here for a few more weeks. They teach a lot differently here than they do in the States."

"Better?"

"I don't know. It's just different. There are good and bad things both places. I've only had a few people hate me because I'm American. Most of my classmates don't care. I was cornered by the departmental secretary and asked who I voted for in the last election. I chose not to answer her. It's none of her business!"

Sarah sounded affronted and Tim smiled...even as he started crying silently, the tears running down his cheeks as he listened to her talk.

"...and then, you know Dad. All he cared about was if I'd gone to see Winston Churchill's grave in Bladon."

A hand caressed his neck, a voice whispering in his ear. Never just a flirtation...always a threat, too.

"Did you go?" Tim asked, amazed that his voice sounded normal.

"Of course, I did. I had to. I think Dad would have kicked me out, muscled me back onto the plane and not let me return to the U.S. if I hadn't gone and taken pictures."

She breathed on his neck, sometimes trailing her fingernails across the nape, hoping to turn him on while he was trying to do the work they'd hired him to do.

"What else have you seen?"

Sarah relaxed into the mode of relating harmless experiences and she talked, seemingly oblivious to Tim's tears. He kept them silent, even as he shuddered under the memories.

"I went to the Tower of London and even saw the White Tower. That goes all the way back to William the Conqueror."

She was fond of turning a threat into a promise of something else...until he didn't know for sure whether she was his girlfriend, his handler or his murderer.

"I've taken so many pictures that it's a good thing I don't have to use actual film anymore. I'd be using up all my carry-on space just with film cannisters."

He spent so much time with her that he almost was certain that he liked her...but then he didn't know...especially when he did everything she wanted him to do...

"Tim, are you all right?"

Tim looked up briefly at William and shook his head silently but he kept listening to Sarah, even as a scream tried to tear its way out of his throat. He took a deep silent breath.

"It sounds amazing, Sarah."

"Yeah, I guess you won't have a chance to come and see it yourself."

"No. I won't."

"That's too bad. Maybe once you're better and I've figured out my life we can go back and I can show everything to you."

"Maybe."

That hand on his neck. It was her favorite place to touch. She seemed to have gotten off on the idea that she had that power over him.

"Sarah?"

"Yeah, Timmy?"

Timmy. That meant she had noticed something. Best to end the conversation.

"I've got to go. Therapy. You know."

"Oh." The awkwardness was back as he reminded her that he was in a psychiatric facility. "Okay. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Yeah. I'll call you again. I promise."

"When?"

"I don't know right now." Please, let me hang up! "But I promise that I'll call."

"Okay. I love you, Tim."

"Bye, Sarah." Tim hung up, dropped his head into his arms and started to sob.

"Tim, what's wrong?"

Tim jumped to his feet. "Don't touch me! Leave me alone!" He pushed William away and ran out of the room, out of the hospital and as far away from any other human being as he could go.

The problem was that he couldn't get away from his memories which were returning with ever more force the longer he spent here.

"Don't forget, Mac. You can't get away from me. I'm the one who decides when we're done."

"Oh? Don't I get a say?"

"Absolutely not." Her arms encircled him and she pulled him close, slid her hands up to his neck, gripping it tightly, painfully. "Now, show me how much you hate me, Mac."

"Oh, I don't hate you."

"Then, make it convincing. Show me how deep you really are."

Thomas smiled and did as she asked.

Waves of loathing washed over him as he remembered it all...and remembered that he had enjoyed it. It made him sick.