Chapter 55

It was getting late, but Tony didn't want to leave until Tim was ready to leave. Whatever had really brought him out to Shenandoah of all places on a Saturday night, Tony wasn't going to go home until he knew that Tim was going as well.

The problem was that Tim was on the verge of being okay. This was basically the worst stage because he could only see how far there was to go, not how far he'd already come. He wasn't thinking about right now. He was only thinking about something that might happen.

Maybe it was because he still felt a little guilty about not being there for all this the last time, but Tony want to get Tim over that hump and lift him higher than he'd got last time.

Even so, Tony couldn't help wondering just how long Tim planned on staying here, sitting on the rock wall, looking up at the stars.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"How long were you planning on staying out here?"

"I don't know, but Zahara said she'd wait up for me. Can't be too much longer." Tim sat up and sighed. "I just wanted to work through it all so I don't make it any more stressful for her than it already is."

"That's part of your problem, you know," Tony said.

"What is?" Tim asked, turning to look at him again.

"You worry too much about the rest of us. I mean, I get why you do, but Tim... give us a little credit. We all know what we're getting into. We've been in it for years. By now, we know. Zahara knows. I know. Ziva knows. All of us know. I'm not saying you shouldn't care about anyone, and it's different for your kids and all... but for the rest of us, just stop focusing so much on us. Stop thinking about us. ...and I know that sounds weird, but I really think we've been making it worse for you. We don't mean to. We don't want to, but I think we are. Suhayl was right."

"Huh? What are you talking about? What does Suhayl have to do with this?" Tim asked.

Tony sighed a little. He wasn't sure he was expressing himself very well, but he'd started so he felt like he had to keep going.

"Suhayl said that we make it harder for you because we make you weaker than you really are. When he said that before, I didn't agree. I thought he was being ridiculous, but I see it now. I see it in how you react to everything. It's like Suhayl said. You're so strong but you've forgotten that you are and it's hidden underneath how scared you've been of whether or not we'll get hurt. So stop worrying about us. You don't need to. You didn't used to."

"What do you mean?" Tim asked. "I've always worried about you."

"When we were finding Carew, you didn't take any crap from us, especially not from me. You really smacked me down when I needed it. You weren't worried about us. You were focused on finding Carew and you did it!"

"You weren't the ones in danger that time. Levi was."

"Even after we found him and I was being a jerk about you talking to him. You cut me down pretty hard and I deserved it. You weren't worried about anything except that I was treating you like you weren't strong enough to make your own decisions. You didn't accept it then. Don't accept it now. When we... or at least when I act like you're too fragile for something, don't take it from me! I know how strong you are. I've seen it. Everyone who has talked to you for more than ten seconds has seen it. You don't have to be so afraid! So don't be!"

"Just like that?" Tim asked sarcastically. More biting than Tony had expected, but oh well. Maybe that was good.

"Yes! Because the situation is the same as it was five years ago, six years ago, ten years ago. It's the same as it's been since the first time. The only difference is that you know more about the details than you did before. People were still after you, but you weren't as afraid as you've been. You didn't know all about the details and now you do."

"Yeah, I do."

"Then, stop asking for them! You don't have to have all the details. Knowing the details doesn't change anything. I can't believe that I'm saying this, but you have those CIA guards for a reason. Let them do their jobs. Focus on what you can do, not on what you can't change."

"I have to be ready," Tim said, his voice rising slightly.

"You already are," Tony said, feeling frustrated. "You'd probably react instantly and if you stopped dreading every day, you'd be able to react better. Look at this time! Even shaky as you were, you made it through without breaking. You're strong enough to deal with it all and you could be even better if you stopped taking everything on yourself."

"And when it all goes wrong again?"

"Suhayl said it and I think he's right. He said that... It's always possible for things to go wrong, but it's also possible for things to go right. You have to be prepared for either possibility. And right now, you're only prepared for the wrong things and it's making you miserable."

Tim looked away from him again. He turned back to the sky and was silent. Tony couldn't think of anything else to say either so he let the silence fall. Then, suddenly, Tim turned around and got off the rock wall. He started back to his car.

"Done?" Tony asked.

"Yeah. For now," Tim said. "Thanks for coming out here, Tony. I know it was a long way to drive."

"It was worth it," Tony said.

Tim smiled a little and then walked back to his car.

"Are you going home?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Then, I will, too."

Tim got in his car and drove away. Tony watched as the CIA car pulled in behind him, following him down the road.

"There's always someone watching," Tony murmured, repeating the sentence that had caused Tim so much grief in the past.

His phone beeped at him. He pulled it out.

Everything okay?

Ziva. Tony smiled.

I don't know. It's not horrible, but it's not great. He's heading home now.

Then, you come home, too.

On my way.

Tony put his phone away and started home himself. He just hoped that he'd done some good.

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

Halfway home, a thought suddenly came to Tim's mind. He changed course and drove to the CIA. When he arrived, he texted Zahara quickly.

I have one more stop to make. You should go to sleep. I'll be home a little later than I planned, but I promise I'm coming home.

There was a delay but then, he got a response.

No, I will wait.

Okay.

Tim put his phone away and walked into the building. He headed to the gym. When he got there, he didn't bother changing his clothes. There was no one here. No one he was trying to impress, no one to see what he was doing. He could sweat all he wanted without any fallout. He wouldn't be able to sleep for a while when he was done, but what did that matter? He wasn't going back to work yet anyway.

He pulled out his phone and set the timer for 30 minutes. Then, he walked over to the heavy bag. He started punching it, using the shorter swing that Bob had taught him to conserve his energy. He punched it again and again. As he did, he let the bag become everything he hated. He usually tried not to do that because he was liable to go too far, but he didn't care this time. He punched it again and again. The sweat poured down his face, mingling with tears as he saw every hated moment of the last few weeks, the last months, the last years. Every moment.

His arms started feeling heavy. He gasped for breath. He kept going. He couldn't hear anything over the roaring in his ears. He just kept going.

Over and over, he hit the bag, wishing that he could fix things by doing this.

Finally, he couldn't hit it anymore. He couldn't lift his arms anymore. He leaned against the bag and then sagged down to his knees and cried. He didn't even know exactly what he was crying for at the moment, but he didn't care. He needed to cry.

He cried until he almost couldn't breathe and then the tears began to ebb of their own accord. He was still breathing heavily but each inhalation was shaky.

Then, out of nowhere, there was a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he whipped around to confront his attacker, knowing he had no chance of beating anyone in his current state.

"How long were you going at that thing?"

It was the first sound he'd heard outside of himself since he'd started punching the bag.

And then, he realized that his phone timer was going off. He couldn't quite bring himself to turn it off. He just knelt there and finally, he could see who was in front of him.

"Bob?" Tim whispered.

"Yeah. What are you doing here, Agent McGee?"

Tim thought about how he might answer that question. Nothing came to mind that could explain the unexplainable.

"Punching the bag."

"Yeah, I can see that. Why? It's 2 a.m."

"I made it more than half an hour," Tim said, still breathing heavily.

Bob reached over and picked up the phone. He looked at it and then at Tim.

"Yeah, I'd say you did," he said. "Why?"

"I needed to," Tim whispered. He couldn't seem to speak at a normal level. It was too hard.

He reached out a shaking hand to take his phone. Bob handed it over to him. Tim looked at it and saw that he was 30 minutes beyond his timer. He didn't know how much of that extra time was from punching the bag and how much was from crying. Either way, too much of both. He managed to get one full, deep breath and then turned around and sat with a thump on the floor, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes. His hands dropped to the floor and he didn't say anything else.

After a few seconds, he felt Bob removing the gloves from his hands and then unwrapping them. Tim didn't resist.

Then, another few seconds went by in silence.

Then, Bob wrapped Tim's hand around a cup of water. Tim drank it without opening his eyes.

"So what were you hitting?" Bob asked finally.

"The bag."

"What were you hitting?" he asked again.

"Everyone I hate."

"Is that a lot of people?"

"Yeah. Too many."

"No wonder you were at it for so long."

"Yeah."

"Feel any better?"

"Nothing can make me feel better."

"Well, that's true. Nothing can. You can, though."

"I'm too far away from it all."

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself."

"Am I succeeding?" Tim asked.

"How should I know? It's your brain."

Tim sighed. "I'm tired."

"Then, why don't you rest instead of fighting for a while?"

"Can't."

"Yes, you can. No reason why you can't."

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"There's always someone watching."

"Yeah. The CIA guys."

"No. There's always someone watching. Otherwise, how would they come after me time after time?"

"So? All the more reason to rest while you can. If you think you have to fight every second of your life, no wonder you're tired. No one can do that, you know. Not one person can fight all the time. Everyone needs a break now and then. Instead of treating yourself like a machine, you need to take a break. Rest."

"What does that even mean?" Tim asked. "It's my life. I can't take a break from my life."

"No, it's not. That's not your life unless you make it that way. It means letting yourself enjoy things. Sure, it could all go to pot again, but that doesn't mean you can't enjoy your life right now."

"It just makes it worse."

"Only if you make it that way. You don't have to see it like that. That's what I was trying to hammer into your thick skull before. You can see it as a chance to recharge and then something to hold onto when things get bad. If that's what has to happen. You're just seeing it as something that makes the bad worse. And you've got the wrong attitude. In fact, you're too smart to be so stupid."

Tim laughed and then felt his mouth twist and he swallowed hard as the desire to cry came over him again. He closed his eyes and breathed quickly to hold back the tears.

And then, to his shock, Bob put his arm around Tim's shoulders. And suddenly, for the first time in three years, something became conscious that had always been there. Why at this moment? He didn't know. Maybe it was just because Bob was the last person he'd expect to be kind.

"Three years ago, I would have said all the same things you're saying. I would have believed them, too."

"So why not now? I get that..."

"Ray died for me," Tim said, cutting Bob off. "He stepped in front of me and took a shotgun shell to the shoulder. He bled out. For me. And that's what he wanted. Death. It was the only way he could see to atone for what he'd done. He'd been better, but all he wanted was forgiveness and he decided that dying for me would get him that. My life killed someone."

"No."

"Yes. I tried to save Ray's life and he felt like he had to do the same for me. He decided my life was more valuable."

"You know what, Agent McGee? He was right."

"No!" Tim shouted, instantly furious. "No! My life is not more valuable than anyone else's! I'm not more important than anyone else!" He surged to his feet and stormed over to the sparring ring. "I'm not! I don't want to matter to anyone like that! I don't want...to..." He sank to his knees again and rested his forehead on the edge of the ring and began to sob.

After an unknown time, he felt Bob's hand on his shoulder again.

"That's it, isn't it. That's what you can't take."

Tim said nothing. He wasn't sure he could.

"Do you know why your life is more valuable? It's not because of what you're thinking, with all that junk in your head. It's not that one human life means more than another. It means that Ray's life was empty. He hadn't found any way to put meaning in it. Would he? I don't know, but Ray removed everything of value in his life. Partly out of necessity, but also because he felt he deserved it. He made his life devoid of value. I know you were trying to help him fill it again, but he didn't."

"H-How do you know that?"

"Ray had friends in the CIA. Some of us knew what happened, even if we didn't say so. Did you never wonder why it was that you're so important to the people who guard you? It's not because of the junk in your head. That's why they have to guard you. You're important because you tried to save one of us. You're important because you cared about Ray Cruz. You're important because you cared when Agent Banta was killed. You're important to the CIA, Agent McGee, because you think of us as human beings. I may have misjudged you in the beginning, but that was my own fault for forgetting the kind of person you've been. Your life didn't kill Ray. You tried to save him. You have tried to save people over and over. It doesn't matter that you didn't always succeed. You saved Agent Jacobs even when he betrayed you and he made sure we all knew it. You saved Levi Carew. And not many people would do that, even in the CIA. Let go of all that stuff cluttering your brain. Give yourself a break and maybe that break can last for a few years and you can be happy and enjoy your life."

Tim took a shaky breath and then was surprised that he felt a little bit of levity.

"Have you ever spoken that many words at once before?" he asked.

Bob chuckled. "Not often. Only when it's necessary."

Silence fell for a few minutes. Then, Bob's hand shifted to become a grip and he lifted Tim to his feet and forced him to turn around.

"Go home, Agent McGee. Be with your family. Take a break from being on duty. And I don't mean your job. You're off duty. No checking on things. Let the CIA do its job and let your mind heal. When you're ready, come back here and we'll keep on with the training, but I don't want to see you here for at least two weeks. You come here before then, I'll toss you out on your ear."

Tim smiled even though he recognized that Bob was at least half serious, maybe three-quarters. While he didn't feel amazing, there was something that had loosened in his brain, as if he'd released a mental fist he'd been clenching for a long time. Maybe three years.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Because your guards care."

"Oh."

"Go home. Some of us want to enjoy our Sunday."

Tim nodded. He walked over and picked up his phone where he had dropped it before. Then, he let Bob basically push him out of the gym and out of the building. Before Tim could get into his car, Bob stopped him and then gestured. A car pulled up and an agent got out.

"Drive Agent McGee home."

"I can drive," Tim said.

"You shouldn't. You're tired. You just over exerted yourself. I don't want you getting in an accident on your way home," Bob said in a voice so stern that he would put Gibbs to shame.

Tim couldn't deny it. Reluctantly, he held out his keys. The agent took them and got in on the driver's side. Tim looked at Bob.

"Thanks," he said.

"Part of my job, Agent McGee."

"No, it's not. I know that."

Bob just smiled and didn't reply. He gave Tim a gentle shove.

"Go home."

"Okay."

Tim got in and, as soon as he was sitting, felt very tired. He let his head fall back on the seat and he relaxed as the agent silently drove him home. When they arrived, Tim sat up.

"Thank you," he said to the agent.

"You're welcome, Agent McGee." The agent handed over the keys and then got out of the car and walked back to the other car.

Tim watched him and then walked inside.

Zahara was sleeping on the couch. He smiled and walked over to her. He knelt down and gently shook her. Her eyes opened.

"You were much later than I thought," Zahara said.

"I'm sorry. I need to shower, but I'll be fast."

To her credit, Zahara didn't ask why Tim needed to shower at 3 a.m. She just got up and walked with him to their bedroom. Tim showered as quickly as he could. Then, he climbed into bed and held Zahara tightly.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you," Zahara said. "I'm glad you came home."

"I could never leave."

"Good. Then, you need to stay."

Tim heard the double meaning. He held his wife until he relaxed enough that his exhaustion led him to sleep.