Chapter 24

Over the next few days, the investigation into the explosion continued but without much success. They pulled one body from the ashes and were able to identify the man as one Alexander Donovan, formerly a guest of a state prison in California. Assault. There had been suspicions of other crimes (including a murder) but never any evidence. Gibbs and Jamie took over working with Lovitz' team in trying to figure out just who else had been at that house. Tony and Ziva stayed with Tim.

For the first 48 hours, Tim mostly slept. Even with the nightmares that often disturbed his slumber, he spent more time asleep than awake which kept the safe house rather quiet (with the exception of Tim's moans). After that, however, there was little improvement in their interactions. Tim was awake more but he avoided Tony and Ziva...as much as was possible in the small space. He didn't eat with them. He didn't talk to them. He stayed in his room...doing absolutely nothing, it seemed.

Finally, Tony had enough. He left Ziva in the house for an hour or two while he ran a few errands and then came back and knocked on Tim's door...giving him the option to talk before he forced it on him.

There was no response.

Tony tried to turn the knob and found it locked. He paused for two seconds and then kicked the door open, the feeble lock standing no chance.

Tim was on his feet, facing the door, eyes wide open. Whatever he'd been doing before Tony opened the door had been forgotten.

"McGee! This is stupid!"

Tim said nothing. He just stared...as if he were watching a TV show...except that his eyes were full of fear. That gave Tony a moment's uncertainty. What was with the fear? Why not anger, hatred, loathing...even bitterness? Why fear?

"You can't keep hiding from us like we're the bad guys! We're not not trying to hurt you and I wish you'd knock off dragging the crap from two years ago up again."

"Maybe it's easy for you to get past it," Tim said, his voice very low. "It's not so easy for me."

"That's not what this is about! You haven't even seen us in months!"

"Tony," Ziva began.

"No! No, we're not going to sit back and let Mr. Morose here walk all over us! We made mistakes but we've apologized! We feel bad! What more do you want, McGee?"

"Nothing. I don't want anything," Tim said, his voice still low, still dull.

"Yeah, you do!" Tony said. He was sick of Tim not getting angry at them. This resignation was hard to combat. He needed Tim to act like he felt something. "You do, McGee, and it's really annoying to have you sitting there lying about it!"

"I'm sorry that I'm annoying you. Maybe you should go somewhere else," Tim said.

...but this time, Tony could hear that there was frustration in Tim's voice. He walked out of the room, grabbed the typewriter from the table and lugged it into the room, dumping it unceremoniously on the dresser.

"Take your stupid typewriter and start using it, Mr. Gemcity!"

"Why? So you can feel better about it?" Tim asked.

"No, so you can."

"How is that going to make me feel better? How? Tell me!"

Tony almost smiled. Tim was mad. It was almost a relief for him to be mad instead of downtrodden.

"Well, since you hold us both in such contempt, maybe it'll make you feel better about being here. You can occupy your time writing stuff about us or something."

"What?"

"Since you hate us so much, since you have no intention of ever forgiving us for what we've done..."

"This isn't all about you," Tim shouted and then looked at Ziva. "It's not about you buying my typewriter! It's not about you missing me. It not about that!" He stormed across the room, forcing both Tony and Ziva to back up a step or two. "You...You don't know what you're talking about! You don't know!"

"Then, tell us, McGee," Ziva said. "If we do not understand, then tell us!"

"I don't have to tell you anything! I have to be here for...for however long and that's it! Stop trying to make it right! You can't fix what's wrong!"

"Then, what is, McGee?" Tony asked, not shouting this time. "What is wrong?"

"Stop...doing this," Tim said and slammed the door in their faces.

"Well...that's childish," Tony said.

"Are you certain you wish to pursue this now, Tony?" Ziva asked.

"If not now, when, Ziva? Right now, he can't get away from us."

"He has closed the door."

"We can open it. Remember what happened before? We left him alone and he...went crazy! We can't just leave him alone, again! It didn't help last time. It won't help this time."

"Why are you insisting on fighting with him?"

"Because I don't like McGee being so...so not McGee!"

Tony pounded on the door.

"McGee!"

Nothing. No response. Just as before.

Tony was frustrated and slammed it open again.

...and stopped.

Tim wasn't startled this time. He wasn't looking angry. He wasn't even looking dull. ...and he wasn't looking at Tony or Ziva. He was staring at the typewriter with the strangest expression Tony had ever seen.

"McGee?"

Tim reached out a hand and almost touched it before pulling back.

"I don't hate you," Tim said.

"You don't? Could have fooled me."

"It's too hard to."

"What?"

"It's too hard to hate...for so long. It's too hard to be angry. It's just not worth it. I can't. I'm not...strong enough to keep hating."

"Okay..." Tony looked at Ziva, now unsure of what to do. Anger, bitterness, loathing. Tony had been ready to deal with those. ...but this...this new weirdness.

"McGee? What is wrong?" Ziva asked. "Why do you avoid us if you no longer hate us?"

"It's not you. I don't want to be around you because...because of me, not because of you."

"Huh? Make sense, McGee."

Tim turned to him, briefly angry again. "Look, I don't need this! My life is a shambles right now! I don't need this, too!"

"Why? Why is it a shambles?" Tony asked. "Are you going to say that's all our fault, too?"

"It would be easier if it was," Tim shouted. "...but it has to be this way. That's why I don't want this back." He pointed to the typewriter. "I can't...I can't have it back!" He picked it up and shoved it back into Tony's arms. "Stop trying to fix things that can't be fixed! Stop trying to make things how they were! They can't be how they were! Ever!"

"Why not?" Tony asked, now completely confused. "Even if you don't think you could ever work with us again, why can't you have your typewriter?"

"I can't let things be how they were!" Tim shouted. "I have to be...where I am...the life I have...that's what it has to be!"

"Why?" Ziva asked, feeling frustrated as well as confused. "I do not understand, McGee."

"Just stop it," Tim said, almost begging. "Just stop already. You're trying. G-Gibbs tried. Don't! I don't want you to try!" Tim's lower lip quivered for just a moment. "Don't...make me miss what I gave up!"

"I don't get this, McGee. Why do things have to be this way?"

"Because they do," Tim said. "Now, take this stupid thing and leave me alone! You had no problem with that before. Try it now!" He shoved Tony (who ran into Ziva) and then closed the door again...leaving them both confused.

"Okay... what was all that?" Tony asked.

"I do not know, Tony."

"He said that Gibbs tried," Tony mused. He turned and set the typewriter down on the table again and then pulled out his phone.

"You think Gibbs will tell you?"

"Doesn't hurt to ask, and I'm thinking that there's a lot going on in McGee's head that we really don't know."

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

As soon as the door closed, Tim felt totally ashamed of himself. He had known that this was a good opportunity to talk to them both, now when he couldn't avoid it...but when it came right down to it, he was too afraid of trusting them...too afraid of what might come from it to let out his deepest fears. It was stupid, and he knew he wasn't behaving well. Something about them made it really hard.

He could heard the low rumble of them talking but he couldn't understand the words. He knew that they had no reason to think well of him, especially not now, and he knew they were justified in being confused at this point...when he'd confessed to not being angry with them. How did he explain what was holding him back? How did he explain the...the impossibility of things going back to anywhere near normal? And why should they in any case? Ultimately, hadn't the normal way of doing things been what led him to the point? Tony teased. Ziva looked down on. Tim resented. Gibbs...just seemed to watch it all happen. How would going back to that do anyone any good?

As the minutes passed, however, Tim started doing what he had desperately not wanted to do. He started remembering, started thinking about what things had been like before. Those moments that were forever out of his reach. After all he'd done, all the bad choices he'd made.

What's the point in trying? Why am I bothering? Tim asked himself.

Minutes changed to hours and Tim was left to his own devices, thinking. He was thinking hard. ...and then he remembered something his father had said to him, a quote he had used when Tim had left the psychiatric hospital.

"'Confront the dark parts of yourself, and work to banish them with illumination and forgiveness. Your willingness to wrestle with your demons will cause your angels to sing. Use the pain as fuel, as a reminder of your strength.' August Wilson."

Forgiveness. Tim had always considered that forgiveness as something he needed to give to others, but now, he began to think of it as something he himself might need. Forgiving himself.

"But how can I?" he whispered to the empty room. "How can I when I know exactly how I felt and what I was thinking? What forgiveness is there in that?"

Wrestling with his demons. Oh, he had so many of those. Most of them memories of his own actions...and the continuing fears bolstered by his nightmares.

I wish Jewel would just go away, he thought and shuddered at the memory of her fingers on his neck.

Use pain as a fuel. The pain of loss...the physical pains... He had plenty of pain. How could that be a fuel? What strength?

Then, he sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Am I really doing this? Am I really evaluating my life based on a quote?" He laughed humorlessly. "Giving up control. I don't have to control everything and everyone. ...and I can't do it anyway. Why do I keep trying?"

Before he could talk himself out of it, he stood up and walked to the door. A brief pause and then he opened it and walked over to where Tony and Ziva were sitting on the couch talking quietly.

They looked up at him and he almost lost his courage. He opened his mouth for a moment and then closed it without talking.

"What is it, McGee?" Ziva asked, looking concerned.

Tim figured he must look as upset as he felt. He started to turn to leave again, but then he remembered what James had said to him.

"Do it even though you might not be able to handle it right the first time. Just do it and don't put it off. You won't feel ready, but you never will."

"I...I..." Tim looked down, away from their questioning eyes.

"It's all about control, Timothy. You need it...or rather you think you need it. In reality, none of us can control our environments, not to the degree you think you should. You let yourself get into that mindset...it's hard to break out of it, but you should make the effort."

"McGee?" Tony asked. "You okay?"

"I'm..." The words stuck in his throat and he was annoyed...at himself. "Man...I...I hate this."

"What?"

"I'm afraid of...of..."

Tony and Ziva exchanged glances as Tim again got lost in what he needed to say.

"McGee, if you..."

"I'm afraid of losing control!" Tim burst out...and once he got the hardest sentence out, that seemed to open the floodgates. He couldn't look at them but he began pacing...and talking. "I've had so much control over everything in my life for the last...last couple of years. Everything from the smallest to the greatest. When I was undercover, I had to have everything under control...because if I didn't, I could die! ...but then, I lost control of myself, even while I was trying to control everything else. I started to hate everyone and everything in my life until I almost...almost killed myself. Then, it was back to the control again. I had to keep myself in control so that didn't happen, so that I didn't do the kind of things I did, feel the things I felt before. I don't want that. I don't want to be like that again. ...but when I'm...when I'm around you guys...I just don't know what to do...I don't know how to feel. ...and...and it scares me. It terrifies me. I hate what you did. I...I haven't...I can't...let that go...yet...but it's not that I still hate you, not because I'm a...a good person...but because it's too hard to keep hating. It's too hard to be angry for so long. ...and I don't like how I feel when I...when I get mad. I don't like that...it's a feeling of...of not being in control. I don't want to get mad again...ever again. Even with...Lance Corporal Smythe...I was this close to losing it. I hate that...about myself. I have to have everything in control, even if that means that I'm...that I'm not happy. Because I'm not...but that's how it has to be. That's how I have to be because I can't be trusted...to stay in control."

He stopped talking and chanced a glance at them. They were both sitting there...speechless. He let out a laugh that was little short of hysterical.

"That's why I'm such a jerk. If I keep you away...I'm still in control. ...even if I'm miserable. That's the life I need to have."

He waited for a moment longer. Still no response, although he could understand that. It was quite a lot he'd spewed out there.

"That's...That's what I should have said to you before. I don't know when...but before. That's all."

He nodded once and then fled back to his room and closed the door. Shaking, he sat down on the bed and tried regain his precious control of himself.

A few minutes later, there was a soft knock on the door. No longer demanding, no longer a sign of coming conflict. ...but no less frightening for all that.

"Come in," he said quietly and turned away from the door.

"McGee?"

It was Ziva.

"Yeah?"

"May I speak to you for a moment?"

"About what?"

"About what you said to us."

"Not really much else to say."

"Maybe not for you, but there is for us. Will you listen to us this time? Really listen to us?"

"I don't know if I can forgive you yet. I don't know if I'm that good a person."

"I was not going to ask."

"Then, what?"

A pause and then...

"I'm sorry, McGee," Tony said quietly. "For earlier today. I was trying to make you mad. I didn't get it."

"Yeah. That's okay."

"McGee, we made many mistakes."

"Yeah, you did."

"Mistakes that have led to things we cannot fix."

"Yeah."

"Is there anything that we can do...anything that we can fix?"

Tim let out another short laugh. "Sounds like you're offering to help."

"Yes. That is exactly what I am...what we are doing."

"I appreciate that...really. ...but I don't think there's...anything. My life is such a mess right now...I can't see a way to fix it." He took a deep breath. "If...If there's any way you know to get Jewel out of my head."

"Why do you still dream of her, why is that she is the symbol for your fears?"

"Because I killed her...and I enjoyed doing it."

A long silence.

"Surprised?"

"Yeah."

"Think how I feel knowing that."

"McGee?" Tony asked.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For doing that...for us. You must have really hated us back then, but you still saved our lives."

Tim felt his throat tighten. "Yeah...okay."

"I know it's late to be saying it, McGee, but I mean it. Really. I mean it."

"Yeah...okay."

"McGee?"

"Yeah?"

Tim heard a metallic thump on the dresser.

"Here's your typewriter. Try it out."

Then, Tim heard the door close. He waited for a moment longer and then turned around. Tony and Ziva had left. Tim wiped away a tear and looked longingly at his typewriter.