Chapter 9

The howling woke him up and Tim sat up on his makeshift bed...and then winced when he heard the pounding on the wall above his head and then heard the telltale sign that he'd been shouting in his sleep.

"Shut up!" "Keep it down!" ...along with some choice swear words that made him flush.

He took a breath and shook his head. What time was it? He looked at his clock. Four a.m. ...and Sarah had kept him up until one talking before she remembered the time difference. Three hours was not enough, but he was wide awake. He couldn't quite remember the dream he'd been having but he remembered being terrified...and the ever-present feeling of total isolation had been at the forefront of his thoughts.

"Jethro?" he whispered and patted on the mattress. Instantly, he heard the jingle of a collar and then the squeak as Jethro settled on the mattress beside him, breathing his doggy breath in Tim's face. Tim smiled and lay back down, trying to use the methods Dr. Lewis had taught him to calm his panic. Sometimes, they worked. Sometimes, they didn't. It all depended on the situation. Today...or rather yesterday, they hadn't worked. Tim's mind had buzzed with too much information and rather than address the shock, he had been controlled by it. ...and it had showed. Oh, how it had showed.

The fear from nightmares could often be banished when it came, which wasn't very often. It was real life that caused him the most trouble. Life was cruel. He hated every minute of seeing his team. They were fine. They seemed to have suffered no ill effects from the operation. They weren't seeing a psychiatrist every week, fighting against a societal stigma he hadn't even known existed before he had started job searching.

Sleep was gone and Tim sat up again, gently petting Jethro whose even breathing indicated he had gone back to sleep.

How naive he had been to think that he could just look for a job and get one based on his credentials. He had been so sure that, while he couldn't do the job he really wanted, he could at least go for second best. The first interview was still the most painful. He had thought that honesty would get him through and when the question had come up about the gap in his employment and the reasons for quitting, he had been upfront and clear as he explained, not in great detail, but concisely what had happened, where he had been.

The look on the interviewer's face had been almost enough to make him recoil in surprise. He could hardly have looked more disgusted...and afraid, if Tim had suddenly started swearing at him.

He hadn't gotten the job.

Now, Tim looked around his dark apartment. The piles of books in boxes along the wall, the memory of everything he had in storage, things he had intended to toss or to sell but which Ducky had refused to let him abandon.

"These things are pieces of your life, Timothy. You can't give them up, even if circumstances are forcing you to keep them elsewhere for the moment."

...but what would happen when they arrested him...as they surely would soon? Almost, he wished that his former boss had just done so right away, but he hadn't.

Why did they think so well of him now? Why couldn't they have been that way months ago?

Jethro stirred and nudged him, whuffling at him softly. Tim became aware of the soft squeaking sounds from his unconscious rocking back and forth on the mattress.

"Sorry, Jethro," he whispered. Tim forced himself to stop rocking. "Looks like sleep isn't happening for a while."

Jethro resettled himself and his easy slumber was encouraging. At least that meant no one unsavory was hanging around.

For not the first time, he wished that he still had his typewriter...not because he felt he had any ability to write something good anymore but rather because writing had always been a way for him to work through problems he had, thoughts, ideas...those things that just wouldn't leave him alone. Selling the novel had been an unexpected boon, something he hadn't planned on but had appreciated. No computer. No typewriter. He did a lot of reading now...looking at other people's words rather than creating his own. Big surprise. He sighed and reached around Jethro to pick up the book beside his bed. He flipped on his lamp and opened the book. It was one given to him by his father, entitled The Wicked Wit of Winston Churchill. With a smile, he read the message Sam had written inside the first cover.

"Tim, this isn't the best collection of Winston Churchill sayings and quotations out there, but you could do a lot worse. In any case, the worst of Winston Churchill is better than the best of a lot of other people."

Tim chuckled quietly and flipped forward a few pages. He'd read and reread the book since receiving it as a Christmas present a few months before.

'The characteristic of a great man is his power to leave a lasting impression on everyone he meets.'

He lingered on the quote for a few seconds before continuing his reading. Strangely, it wasn't himself that he was thinking of. It was Lance Corporal Smythe. He had certainly left a lasting impression. ...but what was he like elsewhere? He must have had friends or at least comrades in arms. What did it mean that Tim's lasting impression of him was negative? Even though he was dead, Tim felt no remorse about that. He honestly didn't care. What did that say about Smythe? What did it say about Tim himself?

The book fell to his lap as Tim stared blankly into the ether, thinking about the situation in which he currently found himself. He desperately wanted to speak to someone, but it was early in the morning and he couldn't bear the thought of waking up Ducky or Matt just to talk. Even Abby would be asleep right now. Even Sarah back in California would be asleep right now. Okay, maybe not, but if he did call her, she would think something was wrong.

Something was wrong. Tim could feel it building up all around him. It was like someone was slipping a noose around his neck...and at the least expected moment, it would tighten and he would choke. He didn't know why, but he was so certain that it wasn't about the program. It might be egotistical, but he felt as though it was about him. ...and what could he do about that? He had nothing. Hal was great, but he had the company to worry about. That had to come first. Ducky would have to worry about compromising the case by interacting with him too much. Same with Abby. The others... Tim turned away from them. They would do their jobs. Like always. It didn't matter if they thought he was guilty or not. He looked guilty and they would have to arrest him.

A saying popped into his head...not Winston Churchill. He was long forgotten.

"'Better that ten guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer.' Yeah, right." Tim knew that, for all the high-minded ideals of the justice system, that wasn't what happened. People known to be guilty escaped on a technicality while people known to be innocent, even if not punished by the court were punished by society merely for being associated with a crime.

Shaking his head, Tim got out of bed and began to pace around his apartment, unable to settle anywhere...and unable to leave in safety. It seemed strange that he had been the focus of so many robberies. The first one had been the worst...until tonight. The first one had been pure ignorance on his part. He hadn't realized just how unsafe the streets were. The second had been his own fault. The break-in had been just dumb luck since so many others had been robbed as well. This one tonight, though. Tim was sure that if Jed hadn't been there with Jethro, the man who had tried to mug him would have hurt him...just because. That knife in his back hadn't been a joke or a mere threat.

"Now, you're getting paranoid, Tim," he said to himself.

...but it was how he felt. It all felt wrong. It felt... He was afraid. He had to admit it. He was terrified...and with his former team acting so strangely, he couldn't even trust them to do things right. He needed them to do what he expected. He needed them to give in to the inevitable and arrest him.

Tim didn't know why this felt so important to him, but it did. It would reassert order in a world that was out of his control. Better to be in prison than to have the world be crazy and incomprehensible.

Shots rang out in the street and Tim immediately crouched down, crawled over to his bed and held Jethro in place until the shouting and cursing faded into the distance. He didn't know what had happened and he didn't want to know. He just wanted to be safe, free of the madness that made up his world. He didn't want to get sucked into the insanity that had ruled his life last year. He felt the danger of that all too clearly. The most frightening thing about it was that, when he was in the middle of it, he didn't want anything else. He wanted to be crazy. He didn't want to be thrust into that situation again.

He curled into a fetal position on the bed and remained there until a pale dawn heralded a new day. ...but he didn't sleep.

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

Ducky was dressed but not much more when he heard a knock on the door. It was just slightly too loud to be casual and he was afraid that he knew who it was.

Timothy, he thought to himself and hurried down the stairs. He opened the door and got only a brief glimpse of Tim before Jethro was eagerly leaping around him, knowing that coming to Ducky's place meant treats that he couldn't get with Tim.

"Jethro, good morning," Ducky said, trying to calm the dog down. Jethro settled quickly but was wagging his tail incessantly, panting at Ducky. "Oh, all right. Ingrate." He looked at Jethro's much more somber owner. "Come in, Timothy. You're here quite early."

Tim only nodded, looking slightly chagrined but no more. The muteness was troubling but not overly. Ducky figured he could give Jethro what he wanted and then see to Tim's state of mind. He walked to the kitchen. Jethro was already there, nearly dancing in anticipation.

"You did feed Jethro, did you not?" Ducky asked with a smile, hoping to elicit some sort of response. Tim only nodded, although he did smile faintly at his dog's antics. Ducky got out the doggy treats and gave some to Jethro who ate them in record time and then wagged his tail some more...hoping for extras. "Now, now, Jethro. We mustn't be greedy."

Ducky let the silence fall. Tim broke it first.

"Someone tried to mug me last night."

"Oh, Timothy. Again?"

Tim nodded. "It was different...unless I'm going crazy. I'm afraid I am, Ducky." Tim was staring at the floor, seeing nothing.

"Why?"

"Because...the person who...I gave him my money. I didn't even try to hide it...but...but that wasn't he wanted. I felt like...like what he really wanted was to hurt me. ...but Jed was there with Jethro ...and he ran...and he left the money behind. It doesn't make sense. Ducky...it doesn't make sense! It just doesn't make sense."

Tim was breathing too quickly and Ducky saw that he was working himself up...as he had the day before.

"Timothy, look at me."

Tim did.

"All right. I'm not even going to ask whether or not you called the police because I know you didn't. Were you hurt?"

"No! ...but..."

"Did you sleep last night?"

"A little."

"How little?"

"Three hours. I tried, Ducky! I really did! I just...I can't...I can't settle. Something bad is going to happen. To me. This is about me! I just don't how or why!" He dropped his head into his hands. "Why won't they just arrest me?"

"Because they know you're innocent."

It was the wrong thing to say apparently. Tim lifted his head, his eyes flashing.

"No, they don't! They don't know I'm innocent. They just want it to be that way. They just want things to be like they were before, but they're not! They can't know whether or not I killed Lance Corporal Smythe! They can't know it because all the evidence points to me! Someone...someone even used my gun!"

"Someone, Timothy. Not you."

"Maybe it was me! How would you know?" Tears were in Tim's eyes now. "You weren't there! I was! I was there!"

Ducky shook Tim just enough to get him to stop.

"Now, stop this, Timothy. I understand that you're upset, that you are worried, but letting yourself fall into the old patterns won't help."

"I want them to arrest me, Ducky," Tim said. "I want them to put me in prison."

"Why?"

"Because then things would make sense again."

Then, Ducky thought he might understand, even if just a little.

"Because they would do what you expect them to do?" he asked mildly.

Tim didn't respond.

"I've told you before, Timothy. Your former teammates, while guilty of some reprehensible behavior in the past, are not evil and they don't hate you."

"I wish they did," Tim said and started to cry. "Then, I could understand."

"Life isn't that easy, I'm afraid."

"I know."

Ducky put an arm around Tim and led him out of the kitchen, to the spare room Tim in which Tim had slept during his previous visits.

"You need to sleep and regain your equilibrium, Timothy. Stay here for now."

"Compromise the case," Tim said tiredly.

"Perhaps, but you won't be staying here permanently. While I'm working, you are going to call Judith and ask her if you can stay with them until things calm down."

"I don't want to get arrested there."

Ducky sighed. "They won't arrest you."

"They'll have to eventually."

"Nevertheless, you need more company than Jethro can give and it can't be found in your apartment. Abigail will face the same risk of compromising the case as I; so you cannot stay with her. You can't leave town until things are resolved. That leaves very few options. You know that you need help now. You wouldn't be here otherwise. So listen to me. Sleep now. Take steps that you know are necessary."

Tim looked at the bed and then at Ducky. He took a breath.

"I'm sorry, Ducky. All this...it just..."

"It's too much for the present. I understand."

"You're right. I'll call them later today."

"Good lad. I have to get ready to leave. Did you eat breakfast?"

"No."

"Then, come and join me. Then, catch up on your rest."

Tim nodded, taking a deep breath and gaining some calm. Ducky made breakfast, chatted lightly with Tim and then allowed Tim to clean up after they were done eating. Tim went into the bedroom and lay down before Ducky left which was a relief. That Tim could at least acknowledge his lack of sleep and take steps to make sure he got what he needed was a good sign.

With a deep breath, Ducky prepared for another day of investigating a crime that truly could lead straight to the young man sleeping in his home.