The Days We Break: Chapter Five
~NCIS~
Thursday
The hospital parking lot was full, so they carefully wove their way through the parked cars until they reached the truck. Gibbs held open the truck door for Tim who hopped inside and put on his seatbelt. Closing the door, Gibbs couldn’t help but notice that Tim wearily leaned his head against the back of his seat. Getting into the driver’s side, Gibbs switched on the headlights, as night had fallen while they had been inside, before he started the engine. It had been three days since Jude had been in the hospitalized, and Tim had faithfully been back every day for the hour he was allowed by the staff to visit. Even though it had only been a few days, Gibbs could see it was starting to wear on Tim that his friend had not woken up.
The doctors were not overly concerned as of yet, but Gibbs knew the longer Jude was in a coma, the lower the chances were that he would wake up.
“Hey,” Gibbs said, waiting until Tim turned towards him before he continued, “What do you say, we give your grandfather a break tonight and pick up dinner on the way back?”
Tim looked over and gave him a small smile and said, “Sure.”
Gibbs could tell Tim was trying to make him feel better because the smile didn’t reach his eyes. As they drove down darkened streets lit up by street lamps and sparkling Christmas lights, they were each lost in their own thoughts. Gibbs pulled up to the diner that he frequented. He was about to get out when the lot across the street caught his eye.
Usually, it was empty, with only the occasional mound of trash that someone had illegally dumped there, but now it had been transformed. There were twinkling lights strung from the buildings on either side, a picket fence lining the front, and an arch way decorated in pine wreaths. There were large, gaudy, sparkling candy canes on either side of the entrance and a sign overhead that lit up, declaring that Santa’s Winter Wonderland was open for business. It was a Christmas tree lot, and it hit Gibbs like a lead weight to his chest. Christmas was four days away, and he hadn’t even thought of getting a Christmas tree. It was his first Christmas with his son, and he felt like he was already messing it up big time.
The overhead light coming on in the cab jerked Gibbs out of his thoughts, and he saw that Tim had opened his door and was looking back at him quizzically.
Gibbs made a quick decision. “How ‘bout we get a Christmas tree?”
Seeing Tim’s face light up eased the weight off his chest a bit, and hearing his eager, “Can we?” brought a smile to his face as he answered, “Let’s go.”
Walking across the street, Gibbs kept an eye out for any errant cars. He guided Tim through the archway and was surprised by how many trees were left considering how close it was to Christmas.
“So do you prefer a noble fir or a Douglas fir?” Gibbs asked, pointing out the different trees.
“I don’t know. I’ve never had a Christmas tree,” Tim said, his eyes wide as he took in the sight before him.
“Never?” Gibbs watched as Tim reached out and grasped one of the branches of the noble tree that they were standing before, as though testing to see if it was real.
Tim shrugged one shoulder as he ran one hand over the needles of the branch before dropping his arm. He hesitated and then said, “We moved around a lot and never had money. It always seemed worse around this time of the year. I asked a couple of times but … Liam would laugh at me because I asked for something so stupid. Also, I could tell Mom felt bad, so I stopped asking. I didn’t want to make her life harder than it already was.” Tim looked up briefly, meeting Gibbs eyes. His embarrassment was plain to see.
The longer Tim had spoken, the more the excitement had bled from his voice, and it had been replaced with a wistful sadness. But Gibbs was thankful that Tim, who was usually so close mouthed about his past with his mom, was starting to open up to him. Gibbs gave him a reassuring smile that he hoped conveyed that it was okay. He was relieved to see the embarrassed look on Tim’s face fade away and a smile replace it. His son had missed out on so much; in that moment, he decided that he was going to try to give Tim better memories of Christmas. It would be the first of hopefully many new memories that they could make together as a family.
Gibbs gave Tim’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before guiding him towards the noble fir section. “I was thinking something between five foot and six foot. What do you think?”
Tim gave him a look of relief at the change of subject. Once again, his voice had an excited lilt to it. “Don’t forget we need to leave room for the star on top.”
Grinning down at his son and relieved to hear the enthusiasm return to Tim’s voice, Gibbs said joyfully, “Good point. Five foot it is.”
~NCIS~
Saturday Morning
Quickly running downstairs, Tim had to slide to a stop to admire the sight before him. The living room was a glow with twinkling lights. The Christmas tree they had purchased two nights ago was fully decorated in the corner by the front windows. There were three red and green stockings on the fireplace; all three were the same, only the names at the top were different. Jethro, Jackson, and Tim. His smile widened at the sight. He had never really had a real Christmas that he could remember. He may have gotten an odd present here or there, but never consistently. Tim had certainly never had had a home that could be decorated. Now he did. The word home stopped Tim’s thoughts in their tracks. Home. That’s what he felt for the first time in a long time, when he looked at the living room. Because Gibbs and his grandfather had made an effort to make him feel welcome and to give him all he had been missing out on. He swallowed thickly as the emotion welled up in his throat. He was starting to think that maybe they could be a family.
He stood there admiring the room until his grandfather called to him from the kitchen. Jackson was just hanging up the kitchen phone when Tim stepped across the threshold. He saw that Jackson had made him a breakfast of scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, and toast. Tim said thank you and then tucked into the food.
Jackson sat opposite of him with a cup of coffee in his hands. Gibbs was already gone. He had told Tim the previous night that he had some paperwork to finish, then Gibbs’ team had the week off.
Jackson smiled and said, “That was Ducky on the phone. He is at the hospital with Jude.” Tim sat up straighter and felt hope blossom inside him before Jackson held up a hand to hold off Tim’s comment and then continued on regretfully. “He hasn’t woken up yet. Ducky thought it would be better if we hold off our visit till this afternoon as the doctors want to run some tests this morning.”
“Oh, okay,” Tim said disappointment clear in his voice. He had been so sure that Jude would have woken up by now. He had visited him in the hospital every day. Sometimes, he would read to him out of his latest book or just talk quietly to him. It had been awkward at first, but then he just imagined it was the two of them talking outside of library, and it became easier.
Jackson reached over and gave his hand a comforting pat before he continued, “So I thought we could go to the local street fair. There will be lots of booths with crafts, antiques, used books, and we could do some last minute Christmas shopping.”
Tim perked up a bit at Jackson’s description. A street fair sounded like fun, plus he wanted to get something for Gibbs. He already had his grandfather’s gift. He had made it under Gibbs’ tutelage during one of the evenings they had spent working on projects in the basement. It was a small wooden truck that was a replica of his grandfather’s beloved yellow truck.
Tim nodded his agreement and finished what was left of his breakfast. After grabbing their coats, they were soon headed out the door. Hopping into the truck, Tim peppered Jackson with more questions about the fair as he buckled his seatbelt. The excitement of their trip started to take hold of him. Soon they were discussing about the various people on the team they still needed to buy for. Neither noticed the late model green GTO pulling out behind them and start following them at a sedate pace down the street.
~NCIS~
Walking next to his grandfather, Tim took in the sights. He couldn’t believe how big the fair was; there was row after row of vendors that seemed to stretch to infinity. Some sold knick knacks, others sold crafts made by hand, or antiques, and there was even a row of food vendors. Tim could smell them as soon as they got out of the truck, and even though he had just had breakfast, the aroma was making his stomach rumble. Jackson had promised they would grab lunch after they were finished shopping.
When they turned the corner and Tim saw a whole row of used book sellers, he knew he had found paradise. Jackson even pointed him towards the sci-fi/fantasy section and listened patiently as Tim weighed the pros and cons of the different books he found.
“Why don’t you get both of them?” Jackson asked.
Tim had two books in his hand: Mallory’s Le Morte d’Arthur, and a four volume set of Jules Verne stories. He really wanted both, but he also wasn’t sure how much the gift for Gibbs would cost. Although he had some money thanks to his grandfather letting him do chores around the house, he didn’t have all that much.
“I don’t …” Tim started to say before Jackson laying a hand on his shoulder stopped his words.
Looking up, he meet the kind eyes of his grandfather. Jackson said, “Every Christmas Eve, my wife and I would give Jethro one gift to open before bed. It was always a book that we thought he would enjoy. So why don’t we do this: You pick one book you want to buy for yourself, and I’ll buy the other and you act surprised come Sunday night.”
Tim felt joy well up in him. Smiling up at Jackson, he blurted out, “Thanks Grandpa.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Tim’s eyes widened. He hadn’t meant to say grandpa, and he felt the weight of all of that word’s meaning. But it felt right. He did think of Jackson as his grandfather. He wasn’t sure how Jackson felt, though so he stared down at the books, afraid to look up and waited on Jackson’s reaction.
When he felt his grandfather ruffle his hair, Tim took a chance and glanced up. Jackson was gazing down at him with love. His eyes had a glassy sheen to them. Tim felt peace steal over him. It was going to be okay.
A couple of minutes later, they were leaving the booth with their purchases when they heard a shout of Jackson. Turning around, Tim saw an older man around Jackson’s age jogging towards them. Jackson seemed to know him from the VA, and after he had introduced Tim as his grandson (which made Tim stand just a bit taller), they started to talk about the latest meeting.
Tim soon lost track of the conversation as the booth a couple of stalls down caught his eye. The banner over the booth said Antiques: Books, Glassware, Hand Tools, and Furniture. It was the hand tools that made him want to head on over. They could totally have the perfect gift for his father. Looking up at his grandfather, he saw that Jackson was thoroughly engaged in his conversation with his friend. Tim didn’t want to interrupt him, plus it was just a few feet away.
Walking up the booth, Tim spotted the hand tools and eagerly made his way towards them. There were a variety of tools. Some Tim recognized as earlier versions of ones that Gibbs owned, but others were a complete mystery. Picking up one, Tim looked at it quizzically before reading the tag attached. Apparently, it was antique hand planer tool, but it was the price that had Tim setting it down very gently. $99.99 was way too steep; he only had twenty dollars in his pocket. Most of the tools that caught Tim’s eye seemed to be in the same category of too expensive, but off to the side he saw a basket full of miscellaneous chiseling tools. The sign over the display said ten dollars each.
Tim carefully dug through the basket until he found two of the more unique looking chisels. He didn’t know if they would actually be of any use but they were at least interesting looking. After he paid for them, he turned and looked out towards the fairway, anxious to get back to Jackson. Thankfully, he could see his grandfather was still talking to his friend, but then Tim felt a prickling along the back of his neck. That had him turning to the right just in time to see a man in a grey hoodie duck his head, turn away from the front display, and walk away rapidly. Tim paused, and a wave of fear went through him. Tim could’ve sworn the man had been watching him.
Clutching his plastic bag tightly to his chest, Tim ran out of the stall trying to get a better look at the man but Tim couldn’t see him. The crowd was heavy; he could see harried moms with strollers, older couples holding hands, and young teens bundled against the cold with their backpacks slung over their shoulders. But the man in the grey hoodie was nowhere to be seen. Tim felt his chest tighten as adrenalin rushed through him so fast his hands started to shake.
Liam.
He hadn’t seen the man’s face, but something about his stance and the way he moved reminded Tim of his mom’s boyfriend. It couldn’t be, it wasn’t possible. His mom and Liam had to be a long ways away. In all of their travels they had never visited D.C. Tim was about to plunge in the crowd and try to find the man when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. Jumping in fright Tim shouted out a loud “No”, picturing Liam’s face leering over him. Jerking violently away from the hand, Tim whirled around, the fear and outright terror telling him to run away before Liam hurt him again.
Jackson held his hands up in a conciliating gesture, his face showed nothing but concern which seemed to deepen into worry when he took in Tim’s reaction. Seeing who it was, Tim tried to plaster a reassuring smile on his face, but he soon gave up the effort. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and his breath was coming too fast as the crowd of people seemed to swell as they pushed past them. He felt trapped and exposed at the same time. He knew he was starting to hyperventilate, but he couldn’t stop; it was too overwhelming.
Tim could see Jackson’s mouth moving, but he couldn’t hear what he was saying, only a loud buzzing sound. He saw his grandfather slowly reach for him and although Tim’s first reaction was to shrink away, he fought against it. He allowed Jackson to place an arm around his shoulders and lead him away. Tim buried his face in Jackson’s side and tried to block out everything. He focused on placing one foot in front of the other and getting his breathing and heart rate under control.
Tim was vaguely aware of Jackson guiding him to the truck, opening the door, and ushering him inside. Once the door was shut, Tim leaned against the cool window and just tried to ride it out. He heard his grandfather get in and put the key into the ignition, but he didn’t start it up. Tim finally managed to drag in a breath and said in a quivering voice, “I’m sorry.” As the panic receded, he felt the familiar humiliation and shame roll through him. He was afraid to look at his grandfather.
“Tim,” said Jackson in a gentle tone.
Staring out the passenger side window for a moment longer, Tim steeled himself to face rejection, remembered his mother’s and Liam’s cutting words anytime his anxiety and panic had got the better of him. Finally looking over at his grandfather, he was surprised to see nothing but love and acceptance.
“Are you okay?” Jackson asked his voice full of worry.
Tim nodded his head, but he could tell Jackson needed more than that from him. “I sometimes get panic attacks. I have for as long as I can remember.” He paused and sucked in a deep breath again before repeating, “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s not your fault; that is not something you can help,” Jackson reassured him.
Tim shrugged. He was comforted by Jackson’s words, but he wasn’t ready to forgive himself for losing control like that.
Jackson looked at him in sympathy and said, “Tim …” He was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone.
Looking down and seeing Gibbs’ name on the screen, Jackson gave Tim a frustrated but apologetic look before he answered.
Tim was actually glad they were interrupted. He didn’t want to have to explain that he got worked up over nothing, just an apparition of Liam. The more he thought about it the more Tim knew he must have been mistaken, that it had been a figment of his overactive, paranoid imagination.
Tim clued back into Jackson and Gibbs conversation when Jackson looked over at him and with a surprised voice said, “He’s awake?”
That got Tim’s full attention; everything else was pushed out of his mind. Jude had woken up.
~NCIS~
Tim’s foot was tapping impatiently, watching the numbers light up one by one as the elevator slowly climbed. He couldn’t believe Jude was finally awake. Apparently, his friend had woken up a couple of hours ago and already seen his doctors. They were pleasantly surprised at how well the teen was doing. Tim had been entertaining some doubts over the last few days that maybe Jude would never wake up, but now that he had Tim couldn’t stop smiling.
Finally, the elevator arrived, and Tim slid through the doors before they finished opening. Then pausing, he looked back not wanting to be rude and leave his grandfather behind. Jackson motioned for him to go ahead; Tim gave him a grateful wave and speed walked down the hall. Dodging nurses and other patients, he went as fast as he dared.
Outside Jude’s room, he saw Ducky talking with a doctor before shaking his hand.
Slightly out of breath, Tim joined him. He immediately asked, “Is he doing okay?”
He was worried that something else was wrong, but when Ducky smiled broadly, he felt his fears settle.
“Dr. Davis was just letting me know about Jude’s latest tests.” Ducky explained before holding up his hands to forestall any of Tim’s questions, “He is doing very well, although he is tired and has some pain, but they are managing that through medication. They do not believe there will be any permanent damage.”
Tim was relieved but he really needed to see Jude for himself, “Can I see him?”
“Of course, but he just woke up a couple of hours ago, so he may drift off in the middle of conversations. Don’t let that alarm you. Also try to keep Mr. Carrington calm. Stress isn’t good for him right now,” Ducky said. “I need to discuss a few more details with Dr. Davis. Why don’t you go in and see your friend?”
Nodding his head, Tim opened the door and went in. Jude’s bed was raised up, but he had his eyes shut, so Tim closed the door as quietly as he could and tiptoed to stand by his friend’s bedside.
For a few minutes, it was quiet until. “You know it’s creepy to watch someone sleep.”
Tim jumped but then smiled as Jude opened his eyes. If his friend could joke around, then he had to be okay. Taking in his friend’s damaged condition, Tim swallowed roughly against the tightness in his throat. The bruises were darker and even more noticeable today. In a strained voice, he said, “Hey.”
“Hey,” Jude returned offering him a half smile that turned into a grimace as he shifted a bit. “How are you doing?”
Tim shook his head in amazement. “That’s what I should be asking you. You were the one who was hurt.”
“What do you mean? This,” Jude joked, gesturing towards his face, “this is nothing. I’ve had worse.”
The smile left Tim’s face. “Please don’t say that. I was really scared for you.”
Jude nodded a bit more seriously but then continued in a boasting tone of voice, “You don’t have to worry about me, kid. I always bounce back.”
There was a pleading look in Jude’s blue eyes like he needed Tim to agree, so Tim plastered a confident grin on his face and said, “I know.” Then wanting to change the subject because Jude was looking way too serious and Tim wasn’t supposed to stress his friend, Tim said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up.”
“That’s okay. Dr. Mallard was here. He’s nice. He explained everything that the doctors were doing and then stuck around and told me all that had happened since ...” Jude stopped to look up at the ceiling. He blinked back tears threatening to fall before he huffed out a breath, “Also, apparently he has a million stories about just about everything.”
Tim dragged a chair towards the bed and sat as close as he could to Jude, “Yeah Ducky could talk your ear off, but at least they’re interesting stories. He's one of the good guys. He reminds me of Alfred from batman.”
Jude wheezed out a laugh. “Oh man, you’re right. I thought he seemed familiar”
Seeing Jude laugh despite the bruises marring his face made Tim smile and his eyes start to tear up. Staring down at the scoff marks on the floor, Tim felt a sense of relief crash over him as he realized all at once that Jude would be okay.
Tim heard Jude say, “Hey…” Not wanting Jude to see him so close to breaking down, Tim didn’t look up and just shook his head.
“Kid,” Jude tried again, his own voice wavering, and this time, he moved his hand closer to the edge of the bed and reached out towards Tim.
It was the way Jude said his nickname that got Tim to look up and meet his eyes. Seeing the understanding and the fear of what almost had happened in his friend’s eyes had Tim reaching out and grasping Jude’s hand.
Jude opened his mouth once then closed it. He tried to regain his composure as a tear slid down his face before he said, “I thought he was going to kill me. He just kept hitting me over and over …” Jude stopped abruptly, a sob tearing through him.
Seeing Jude’s face crumble, his eyes closed, and his body start to shake as he tugged on Tim’s hand had Tim get up and sit on the edge of the bed. Gently wrapping one arm around Jude as the older boy laid his head on his shoulder, Tim just held him as he cried, and refused to let his own tears fall.
~NCIS~
Gibbs stepped off the elevator and walked briskly down the hall. There was almost a spring to his step. He’d finished all his paperwork, and baring any national emergencies, he was off till after New Year’s. He had traded in a lot of owed favors but he had spent so little time with Tim since he had returned to work. Gibbs knew he was having a hard time balancing his work life with his new family life; it was something he was going to have to fix. But for now, he was focused on Christmas.
He had dropped by Abby’s lab earlier in the day and picked up Tim’s Christmas present. He had talked to Abby a couple of weeks ago about what type of computer would be best for Tim for his school work and such. She had spat out a list of must haves for students, and told him about the pros and cons of each system she named. He was all too soon over his head; his bewilderment must of shown on his face because Abby said she would look into it further and let him know which would be best. Last night, she had called, and this afternoon, he had picked up a laptop which Abby had already installed with the latest software. She assured him that she would give Tim a tutorial on Christmas so that he would be able to use it right away.
He had Christmas all planned out, and as an added bonus, Jude was awake. That brought a smile to Gibbs’ face; he knew that Tim had to be over the moon. The way Tim talked about Jude, he knew the older teen was not only Tim’s first friend, but he was also very important to him. Spying Ducky and his father hanging out outside of Jude’s room, Gibbs’ walked up to them and raised his eyebrows in a silent question.
Pausing in his conversation, Jackson looked over his shoulder and through the small window in the door before he said, “We are giving Tim some time with Jude. I have a feeling they need to talk about the last few days.”
Ducky nodded then added, “Plus I needed to talk to you and Jackson alone. Mrs. Breckenridge from Child Protective services came by today. She looked in on Jude but left when the boy became upset. The doctor still wants to keep his stress level to a minimum. She spoke to me about needing to find him a placement in the system.”
Gibbs grimaced. He had spoken to Mrs. Breckenridge briefly over the phone a few days ago and had asked her to wait until he could talk to Jude in order to ease him into the idea of a foster home. Tim had been pretty adamant that Jude had a deep fear of the homes in the system. She had agreed, but apparently, she had just been shining Gibbs on. “I’ll talk to her again and see if this time, I can get her to actually listen to me and agree to let me talk to Jude about his future. How long until he is well enough to leave the hospital?”
Ducky seemed to think about it for a moment. “I was talking to his physician a few moments ago, and we both think it will be a couple of weeks. His injuries need time to heal.”
“That gives us a bit of a cushion. I’ll talk to Jude after Christmas, give him a few days to find his feet again before he has to face the foster system,” Gibbs said. He felt bad for the young man.
Ducky had a thoughtful expression on his face, but he kept silent and only give Gibbs a preoccupied nod.
Jackson glanced behind him again, checking on his grandson, before he turned towards Gibbs. “Something happened at the street fair that has me worried about Tim.”
The tone in his father’s voice grabbed Gibbs’ attention. Jackson sound truly worried, “What happened?”
“I was talking to a friend of mine, and Tim had wandered off to look at a booth,” Jackson rushed, his voice conciliatory. “I could see him the whole time. But when I walked up to him and put my hand on his shoulder, he jumped and screamed. Then he just got real pale. I was trying to speak to him to find out what was wrong but it was like he couldn’t hear me. He seemed almost lost. I gathered him to me, walked him out to the parking lot, and got him into the truck. Once there, he seemed to calm down.”
Jackson ran a hand over his head his worry coloring his voice. “Tim called it a panic attack. He said he’s had them before. I was going to ask more about it but then Ducky called about Jude.”
Gibbs ran one hand over his eyes as his concern was growing. “Damn it.” He should have asked Tim about them after his son had had one right in front of him.
Concerned, Ducky asked, “Do they happen often?”
Gibbs’ didn’t like not having a definitive answer to such an important question. “I’ve seen him have one, but he brushed it off. He also mentioned that Jude had helped him through one.” He mind was racing, trying to figure out how to fix this for Tim. “I’ll talk to him about it and see if I can figure out what’s going on.”
“Jethro, Tim may need more help than what you can give him. Considering what we know about his background, his panic attacks probably extend from trauma he faced at the hands of his mother and her boyfriend. You should probably think about having him see a counselor,” Ducky said gently.
Grimacing at the mention of a shrink, Gibbs made himself stop his instinctive rejection of the idea of therapy and consider his friend’s advice. Although he never saw the need for treatment himself, this was Tim’s mental health they were talking about, and he would do anything for him. Finally, he said with a sigh, “Can you recommend anyone?”
Ducky looked surprised at his rapid capitulation. “I will make some calls and let you know after Christmas, as most offices are closed for the holidays. For now, I would recommend a father and son talk and see if you can at least let Tim know you are willing to listen if he is willing to talk.”
Gibbs’ nodded. His carefree mood had vanished. Tim always presented such a strong front to the world that sometimes even Gibbs forgot about all he had been through in his young life. He would have to try harder.
He was about to pick Ducky’s brain on panic attacks when the hospital door opened and Tim peeked his head out. His eyes were a bit bloodshot, but he had a smile on his face and he said, “You guys want to meet Jude?”
~NCIS~
Tim trudged tiredly through the front door, took off his jacket, and hung it on the hall tree. His dad and grandfather were right behind him. They had left the hospital shortly after he had introduced Jude to them. Jude’s eyes had been drooping, so they had left with the promise that they would return the following day, which was Christmas Eve. Tim had Jude’s gift of a stack of comics already wrapped. Although he was hoping to visit Jude on Christmas as well, he wanted to give him the gift tomorrow because he thought his friend would enjoy having something to read in the meantime. After the hospital, they had stopped at the diner and grabbed a quick dinner.
It had been a long day, both good and bad. Glancing at the clock on the mantle, Tim saw that it was approaching eight. Jackson walked into the kitchen and put his leftovers in the fridge before announcing he was tired and was making it an early night. Tim wished him a good night before sitting on the couch and picking up the remote for the television.
His father who had been fairly quiet all evening finally spoke up and said, “Wait before you turn the TV on. I was hoping we could talk.”
Tim’s heart sank at those words, and he wondered if his father had found out about the letter he had written to his mother or the lies he had told in order to mail it. He knew it was a long shot on whether or not she would even get it much less answer it, but he had hope … and he felt guilt because it didn’t feel right to lie to the people who were giving him so much. Maybe it would be better if he just told the truth to his father; maybe Gibbs would help him find his mother.
Tim had just made up his mind to confess all when Gibbs spoke.
“Your grandfather told me about the street fair,” Gibbs said, taking a seat on the coffee table across from Tim.
Looking down as shame rolled through him, Tim shifted nervously on the couch. In all the excitement with Jude waking up, he had forgotten about the embarrassment from this afternoon. As the silence lengthened, Tim finally decided to play it off as no big deal.
Looking up, he said casually, “It was nothing. I just thought I saw someone I knew and I panicked a bit.”
Apparently his nonchalance wasn’t convincing because he saw Gibbs’ eyes narrow. His father’s voice had an edge to it when he asked, “Who did you see? Was it your mother?”
Tim shrunk back a little at Gibbs’ tone, a curl of fear made his stomach hurt. For a brief moment, Gibbs reminded him of Liam. Hearing the way Gibbs asked if it was his mother had Tim realizing he couldn’t tell him about the letter. He would be furious with him. Anger scared him, and Tim didn’t want to be scared of Gibbs, so he kept his mouth shut.
Gibbs’ countenance immediately softened; his eyes filled with regret and then his voice turned gentle. “Tim I am not angry with you. I care about you, so I’m worried.” He waited until Tim reluctantly nodded before he asked, “Who did you see?”
Taking in a deep breath, Tim reminded himself that his father was not Liam; he was a good person who was only trying to help. “I was looking for Christmas gifts when I thought I saw … Liam …” Tim stopped abruptly as he felt his hands start to shake, so he closed them into fists on his knees and willed himself to stop being so weak, so worthless. He continued in a firm voice. “But it wasn’t him. I was mistaken.”
Gibbs nodded and asked, “Are you sure?”
Feeling an irrational rush of anger surge through him at the question, Tim stood up abruptly. Unable to stay still, he walked away from the couch then turned around and faced his father. His hands now clenched at his sides, he loudly said, “Yes! I’m sure. It wasn’t Liam.” He was practically shouting now, but he couldn’t stop, even when Gibbs stood up with concern written on his face. The love Tim could see in his father’s gaze only made it worse. He didn’t deserve his compassion or his kindness. Tim wasn’t worth loving: he was stupid, a burden.
He felt tears prick at his eyes as he shouted out the words that had been welling up in him since the night at the roadside motel. “It was just me being a stupid, worthless waste of space, a freak who is scared of his own shadow.”
Tim pointed to his own chest. His voice rough and full of tears he refused to let fall. “My own mother chose a man who beats her over me. She dumped me on the side of the road …” A sob interrupted his words, Tim couldn’t continue. Bringing his hand up, he covered his mouth to muffle the sound. With all of his might, he tried not to cry. He hated how weak it made him feel.
“Tim,” Gibbs said softly as he walked over and placed one hand tentatively on Tim’s shoulder, giving Tim the option to back away. Instead, Tim launched himself at Gibbs and wrapped his arms around his father for the first time.
“Why do you care about me?” he said in a low, watery voice.
Gibbs’ arms tightened around him, and Tim felt him rest his head on the top of his own. Gruffly, he said, “I love you because you are so easy to love and you deserve love. I’m sorry that the people in your past couldn’t see that, but that is not a reflection on you. That is on them.”
Tim just burrowed deeper into his father’s embrace, as his father’s words echoed through his head. He finally allowed himself to cry for all he had lost and all he had found.
~NCIS~
Cursing under his breath, Liam ducked around the corner before taking a chance and peeking his head out. He let out a shaky breath in relief when he saw Tim being led away by a man that Liam was assuming was the kid’s grandfather. He hadn’t meant for the brat to see him, but he had been looking for an opportunity to catch Tim away from the old man. Liam was pretty sure he could persuade the waste of space to come with him. Turning towards the parking lot, he ran right into the man he had been hoping to ditch for the past couple of days. O’Shaughnessy. It was like bouncing off a brick wall.
Liam was grabbed by the back of the neck and dragged to the side parking lot. O’Shaughnessy growled, “We need to talk.”
Shit.
He knew he was on thin ice with Shea. The panic and desperation that he had managed to squish down earlier coming back full force until he felt like he was choking on them.
O’Shaughnessy pushed him up against the car. “Forty-eight hours.”
“Forty-eight hours?” Liam asked in a shaky voice.
“That’s it, and then Shea will find her on his own.”
Liam could feel the sweat break out across his forehead. “I just need to get the little brat alone, and I know I could convince him to tell me everything.”
O’Shaughnessy didn’t look convinced. He rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Liam, but know this: When your forty-eight hours are up, it will be me who shoots you in the head and rolls your body into a shallow grave.”
Then he smiled coldly but with a hint of malicious delight. “And you know what?”
Petrified, Liam could only shake his head.
Leaning in until Liam could feel his breath against his ear, O’Shaughnessy whispered, “I am looking forward to it.”
With that cruel declaration, O’Shaughnessy stepped back and got into the driver’s side, leaving Liam to swallow the bile that was lodged in his throat. With a shaking hand, he opened the passenger side door and got in.
Chapter Six