Marching On
Title: Marching On
Pairing: Gen
Author:honor_reid
Ratings: Teen
Length: 24,297
Warnings: Drug use, prostitution, panic attacks, and one scene of violence against a child. Both Ziva and Jackson are alive.
Author's Note: Many many thanks to my beta reader Naemi who went so above and beyond. They have the patience of a saint and are truly awesome. The art is by the very talented amoredition I am in awe, no seriously this is the most perfect art I have ever seen. I am so very thankful! Also thank yousolariana for organizing this challenge! Title is from the song Marchin' On by One Republic. Written for NCIS_Bang. Also forhc_bingo, square: humiliation, table here.
Summary: Abandoned at a roadside motel by his mother, twelve-year-old Timothy McGee goes in search of the man who could be his father, one Leroy Jethro Gibbs. AU
For those days we felt like a mistake,
Those times when love's what you hate
Somehow
We keep marchin on
-One Republic
Friday
Pausing as a shiver went up his spine, Tim dug his hand that was bright red from two days of exposure to the cold into the pocket of his jeans and shakily withdrew an envelope. It was a bit crumbled from the many times he had folded and unfolded it and a little soggy from the nearly constant snowfall. Squinting down at the lettering, he compared the address on the paper to the one on the mailbox and silently thanked God that he finally found the place. He was so cold that his hands and face were numb but ached at the same time. Gripping the paper tightly, Tim couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing here. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew the answer: he had nowhere else to go. Tim also knew he wouldn’t last in this weather for much longer. He had been lucky last night and had slept in a dairy barn snuggled up with some of the milk cows; although they had reeked up to high heaven, they had been warm, and that warmth had kept him alive when temps had dropped.
In fact, he was willing to bet temperatures had once again dropped below freezing; snow was still falling upon the already deep banks on either side of the street. Tim was bitterly cold and wet. The sweatshirt he was wearing was cheaply made not designed for this type of weather, and was thoroughly soaked through. Tim was tired, exhausted and he knew that was bad; he needed to get indoors. He had been walking all morning just to get to the tiny, tiny, town of Stillwater.
Only yesterday, he had managed to hitch a ride with a trucker and his wife who had been staying at the same cheap motel. He had lied to them and said his dad lived nearby. It was almost a miracle they were able to take him from just north of Scranton to the town of Benton where they continued north and he went south to Stillwater. He had walked the rest of the way. Halfway to Stillwater, he realized he needed somewhere to stay and thankfully had found the dairy barn.
The house Tim had spent the last twenty-four hours trying to get to looked nice enough. Standing there in the snow, Tim felt an overwhelming urge to run away. As he felt tears well up in his eyes, he thought about what lead him to the point of having to depend on the mercy of strangers.
Liam. That’s whose fault it was.
Until two days ago, his mom’s boyfriend Liam had never laid a hand on him. Not that Tim hadn’t thought Liam was capable of it; he had always known he was. He had reminded Tim too much of Adam, Miguel, and Don, and a few others who had made an appearance in his mother’s life over the years. Some were okay, others were like Liam. His mom Cathy had been with him for a little over two years, which was kind of a record for her. She had picked him up in Tucson at a bar she had been hustling at.
The first time Tim had laid eyes on Liam, he had been in the process of shooting up heroin. He had tried to tell his mom that he thought Liam was bad news, but she just said he didn’t understand adult relationships. It didn’t hurt that Liam was a sweet talker and could get his mom to agree to almost anything. He had never wasted his time trying to charm Tim; whether it was because Tim didn’t really matter or because he knew it would do no good, Tim was never sure.
Tim had always been able to see right through him. Everything he did bore a hint of latent cruelty. He had never understood how his mother hadn’t seen it, but then again she was too busy trying to please Liam, that and being high. Basically, Liam and Tim mutually disliked each other, so they just avoided one another as much as possible. This was hard to do considering the three of them were kind of together almost twenty-four hours a day.
They had had a few verbal skirmishes, but his mom had always played peacekeeper, and they had never gotten physical. That is until two days ago …
~NCIS~
Wednesday
Tim was starting to ache from sitting on the floor for so long, but he knew better than to draw attention to himself during these parties. So when this one had started, he had found a corner to sit and tried to read his book. The party had been ongoing for three days straight, with other motel guests joining in. Tim tried to keep an eye on his mom; sometimes she got caught up in situations that she couldn’t get out of. He may only be twelve years old, but it was his job to protect her. They only had each other to rely on. Let’s face it: Liam certainly wasn’t going to do it.
Tim must have eventually dozed off because the next thing he knew was he was roughly pushed aside. Groggily looking up, Tim was greeted by the unpleasant sight of Liam going through his backpack.
“Give it back,” Tim demanded, picking himself off the floor. No one was allowed to touch his backpack; it was all he had in this life that was truly his.
“We need more money. What have you got in here?” Liam slurred, finally getting frustrated and turning the backpack upside down and dumping its contents onto the floor.
Tim’s meager belongings hit the filthy green shag carpet and his anger pushed past his fear.
Grabbing the now empty bag out of Liam’s hands, Tim knelt on the floor and started to shove his books and the few things he managed to squirrel away, back into the bag. That’s when Liam kicked him hard in the ribs, knocking him to the carpet once more.
Staring up at him defiantly from where he had fallen, Tim wheezed out, “Don’t touch me!”
When Liam’s face contorted with rage, Tim knew he had blown it. Scrambling backwards in a desperate attempt to get out of reach, Tim raised an arm to ward off another blow but Liam reached down and grabbed him by his shirt and hauled him up until they were face to face.
“What did you say to me, boy?” Liam slurred out in a menacing tone. He drew up his six-foot frame, and with his free hand he pushed his stringy blond hair out of his eyes.
Tim knew better than to answer truthfully, but for once he didn’t want to do the smart thing; he was so sick and tired of it all. “I said don’t touch me!” he shouted into Liam’s face.
Tim never saw the blow coming. He felt a sharp pain, and next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor with his face pressed into the carpet. Liam was leaning over him with a knee planted in the center of his back and one hand on his neck in a bruising grip. Tim’s face throbbed painfully. Tears were welling up in eyes, but Tim refused to let them fall. He would not give this asshole the satisfaction.
“Please Liam, he didn’t mean it. I will get you more money, you know I will,” Tim heard his mother plead. His mother was only five foot four, but she somehow she pulled Liam off him.
Tim managed to roll over, despite the pain, onto his back and watched as his mom begged and pleaded with Liam not to hurt him anymore. If he could, he’d tell her not to bother with the jerk, but his face and side were on fire, making it difficult to think straight. All he could do was lie there, trying to draw air back into his lungs, and listen. He felt so useless.
“I’m sick and tired of his attitude. I see how he looks at me. Always thinking he’s better when he is nothing but a burden. If you want to keep him around, he needs to earn his keep.” Liam growled. He snatched Cathy’s arm and shook her roughly.
Cathy’s eyes grew wide a panicked look on her face.
“Please, Liam, you promised you would leave him alone, if I earned you enough money,” Cathy pleaded in a trembling voice.
Tim froze as Liam’s gaze fell on him, and his stomach rolled in terror as Liam slowly looked him over.
“Well I changed my mind. He’s old enough now to make a little bit of money. Yeah … next time we go out, he comes with us,” Liam said slowly, eyes narrowed. “I know exactly where to take him. There’s a house on 2nd street where we could set up. The owner would only take a small percentage for use of one of his rooms.”
“No, please Liam, You don’t need him. I’ll make you more money. You’ll see,” Cathy begged, as she wrapped her arms around him. She pulled him down into a deep desperate kiss.
Tim looked away. He noticed for the first time that the other partiers had left; closing the door behind them, and it was just the three of them left in the room.
Tim’s leg was roughly nudged and Liam jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom and said, “Go!”
Scrambling to his feet, Tim scooped up his bag and the scattered contents then half-ran, half-walked to the bathroom. He glanced quickly at his mom, who avoided his gaze as she leaned against Liam. He swiftly shut the door. Taking a seat on the floor, Tim tried to ignore the noises coming from the other room. He wasn’t naïve or stupid. Tim knew his mom was trying to “talk” Liam out of selling him like he sold her.
All the sudden it was too much, and tears ran down his face as he hugged his few possessions to his chest. His face and ribs ached and throbbed, but he never made a sound even as he sobbed through the pain. He knew better. An onslaught of despair, fear, and terror rolled through him, twisting his insides into knots. He knew he was at the precipice of another panic attack. Digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand to the point he broke the skin, Tim focused on that pain to drag himself back. He would get in trouble if he got caught having an attack. His mother simply didn’t have the patience to deal with him when he was in the midst of one. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t just pull himself together, and Liam thought he was just wanting attention or being purposely defiant.
After gingerly splashing his face with water, Tim managed to calm down, and he started to put his bag back together. For once, he was kind of thankful he didn’t have anything of real value or his mom and Liam would have pawned it. Knowing they would add stability, Tim put his books in first. He only had two right now, sometimes he had more, but he always tried to have at least one. With their nomadic lifestyle, he really couldn’t have too many, even though he really wanted more. He loved to read, whether fiction or non-fiction. He loved learning new things. It had been over two years since he was in school, so his books were really the only way he learned anything right now.
Next came his story journal; his mom had given it to him one Christmas. He loved the leather binding and the gilt edges. Tim had wondered if she had stolen it. It was way nicer than anything they could usually afford. He carefully smoothed out the ruffled pages. As much as he loved reading, it was in his writing where he felt truly alive. He could go anywhere; he could be anyone in his writing. He wasn’t twelve year old Timothy McGee, illegitimate son to a meth-addicted prostitute. He was a hero caught up in a galactic war, an explorer discovering untold treasures, or an Arthurian knight fighting besides Lancelot and Sir Galahad.
Since he was going to be trapped in here for awhile, Tim decided to change. He washed his dirty clothes in the sink and hung them to dry over the shower bar. Having only one set of spare clothes had taught him to treat them carefully. If he ruined them his mom would have to spend money to buy more from a thrift store. Tim knew how she got her money, and he knew how much she hated it. So anytime she had to spend money on him, he felt like he was the one forcing her to work the streets. He put on his other set of clothes, took out his journal, and wrote down a new story idea. Tim allowed himself to get lost in an imaginary world where he was a superhero who could right wrongs and keep his family safe.
His mom finally let him out after about a couple of hours. He tried to talk to her, but she shushed him and pointed to Liam, who was asleep on the bed closest to the outside door. Tim got into the other bed. His mom sat next to him and tucked him in, something she hadn’t done in a long while. He looked at her quizzically, but she just shook her head; she looked resigned and a bit scared.
She cupped his cheek and whispered, “You know I love you, right?”
Getting an unsettled feeling in his stomach, Tim nodded. He couldn’t remember the last time she had said that, so in return he breathed out a puzzled, “I love you too, Mom.”
She then turned off the light, but instead of getting into bed with Liam, she sat at the end of Tim’s bed. He fell asleep watching her smoke cigarette after cigarette in the dark.
Chapter Two
Pairing: Gen
Author:honor_reid
Ratings: Teen
Length: 24,297
Warnings: Drug use, prostitution, panic attacks, and one scene of violence against a child. Both Ziva and Jackson are alive.
Author's Note: Many many thanks to my beta reader Naemi who went so above and beyond. They have the patience of a saint and are truly awesome. The art is by the very talented amoredition I am in awe, no seriously this is the most perfect art I have ever seen. I am so very thankful! Also thank yousolariana for organizing this challenge! Title is from the song Marchin' On by One Republic. Written for NCIS_Bang. Also forhc_bingo, square: humiliation, table here.
Summary: Abandoned at a roadside motel by his mother, twelve-year-old Timothy McGee goes in search of the man who could be his father, one Leroy Jethro Gibbs. AU
For those days we felt like a mistake,
Those times when love's what you hate
Somehow
We keep marchin on
-One Republic
Friday
Pausing as a shiver went up his spine, Tim dug his hand that was bright red from two days of exposure to the cold into the pocket of his jeans and shakily withdrew an envelope. It was a bit crumbled from the many times he had folded and unfolded it and a little soggy from the nearly constant snowfall. Squinting down at the lettering, he compared the address on the paper to the one on the mailbox and silently thanked God that he finally found the place. He was so cold that his hands and face were numb but ached at the same time. Gripping the paper tightly, Tim couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing here. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew the answer: he had nowhere else to go. Tim also knew he wouldn’t last in this weather for much longer. He had been lucky last night and had slept in a dairy barn snuggled up with some of the milk cows; although they had reeked up to high heaven, they had been warm, and that warmth had kept him alive when temps had dropped.
In fact, he was willing to bet temperatures had once again dropped below freezing; snow was still falling upon the already deep banks on either side of the street. Tim was bitterly cold and wet. The sweatshirt he was wearing was cheaply made not designed for this type of weather, and was thoroughly soaked through. Tim was tired, exhausted and he knew that was bad; he needed to get indoors. He had been walking all morning just to get to the tiny, tiny, town of Stillwater.
Only yesterday, he had managed to hitch a ride with a trucker and his wife who had been staying at the same cheap motel. He had lied to them and said his dad lived nearby. It was almost a miracle they were able to take him from just north of Scranton to the town of Benton where they continued north and he went south to Stillwater. He had walked the rest of the way. Halfway to Stillwater, he realized he needed somewhere to stay and thankfully had found the dairy barn.
The house Tim had spent the last twenty-four hours trying to get to looked nice enough. Standing there in the snow, Tim felt an overwhelming urge to run away. As he felt tears well up in his eyes, he thought about what lead him to the point of having to depend on the mercy of strangers.
Liam. That’s whose fault it was.
Until two days ago, his mom’s boyfriend Liam had never laid a hand on him. Not that Tim hadn’t thought Liam was capable of it; he had always known he was. He had reminded Tim too much of Adam, Miguel, and Don, and a few others who had made an appearance in his mother’s life over the years. Some were okay, others were like Liam. His mom Cathy had been with him for a little over two years, which was kind of a record for her. She had picked him up in Tucson at a bar she had been hustling at.
The first time Tim had laid eyes on Liam, he had been in the process of shooting up heroin. He had tried to tell his mom that he thought Liam was bad news, but she just said he didn’t understand adult relationships. It didn’t hurt that Liam was a sweet talker and could get his mom to agree to almost anything. He had never wasted his time trying to charm Tim; whether it was because Tim didn’t really matter or because he knew it would do no good, Tim was never sure.
Tim had always been able to see right through him. Everything he did bore a hint of latent cruelty. He had never understood how his mother hadn’t seen it, but then again she was too busy trying to please Liam, that and being high. Basically, Liam and Tim mutually disliked each other, so they just avoided one another as much as possible. This was hard to do considering the three of them were kind of together almost twenty-four hours a day.
They had had a few verbal skirmishes, but his mom had always played peacekeeper, and they had never gotten physical. That is until two days ago …
~NCIS~
Wednesday
Tim was starting to ache from sitting on the floor for so long, but he knew better than to draw attention to himself during these parties. So when this one had started, he had found a corner to sit and tried to read his book. The party had been ongoing for three days straight, with other motel guests joining in. Tim tried to keep an eye on his mom; sometimes she got caught up in situations that she couldn’t get out of. He may only be twelve years old, but it was his job to protect her. They only had each other to rely on. Let’s face it: Liam certainly wasn’t going to do it.
Tim must have eventually dozed off because the next thing he knew was he was roughly pushed aside. Groggily looking up, Tim was greeted by the unpleasant sight of Liam going through his backpack.
“Give it back,” Tim demanded, picking himself off the floor. No one was allowed to touch his backpack; it was all he had in this life that was truly his.
“We need more money. What have you got in here?” Liam slurred, finally getting frustrated and turning the backpack upside down and dumping its contents onto the floor.
Tim’s meager belongings hit the filthy green shag carpet and his anger pushed past his fear.
Grabbing the now empty bag out of Liam’s hands, Tim knelt on the floor and started to shove his books and the few things he managed to squirrel away, back into the bag. That’s when Liam kicked him hard in the ribs, knocking him to the carpet once more.
Staring up at him defiantly from where he had fallen, Tim wheezed out, “Don’t touch me!”
When Liam’s face contorted with rage, Tim knew he had blown it. Scrambling backwards in a desperate attempt to get out of reach, Tim raised an arm to ward off another blow but Liam reached down and grabbed him by his shirt and hauled him up until they were face to face.
“What did you say to me, boy?” Liam slurred out in a menacing tone. He drew up his six-foot frame, and with his free hand he pushed his stringy blond hair out of his eyes.
Tim knew better than to answer truthfully, but for once he didn’t want to do the smart thing; he was so sick and tired of it all. “I said don’t touch me!” he shouted into Liam’s face.
Tim never saw the blow coming. He felt a sharp pain, and next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor with his face pressed into the carpet. Liam was leaning over him with a knee planted in the center of his back and one hand on his neck in a bruising grip. Tim’s face throbbed painfully. Tears were welling up in eyes, but Tim refused to let them fall. He would not give this asshole the satisfaction.
“Please Liam, he didn’t mean it. I will get you more money, you know I will,” Tim heard his mother plead. His mother was only five foot four, but she somehow she pulled Liam off him.
Tim managed to roll over, despite the pain, onto his back and watched as his mom begged and pleaded with Liam not to hurt him anymore. If he could, he’d tell her not to bother with the jerk, but his face and side were on fire, making it difficult to think straight. All he could do was lie there, trying to draw air back into his lungs, and listen. He felt so useless.
“I’m sick and tired of his attitude. I see how he looks at me. Always thinking he’s better when he is nothing but a burden. If you want to keep him around, he needs to earn his keep.” Liam growled. He snatched Cathy’s arm and shook her roughly.
Cathy’s eyes grew wide a panicked look on her face.
“Please, Liam, you promised you would leave him alone, if I earned you enough money,” Cathy pleaded in a trembling voice.
Tim froze as Liam’s gaze fell on him, and his stomach rolled in terror as Liam slowly looked him over.
“Well I changed my mind. He’s old enough now to make a little bit of money. Yeah … next time we go out, he comes with us,” Liam said slowly, eyes narrowed. “I know exactly where to take him. There’s a house on 2nd street where we could set up. The owner would only take a small percentage for use of one of his rooms.”
“No, please Liam, You don’t need him. I’ll make you more money. You’ll see,” Cathy begged, as she wrapped her arms around him. She pulled him down into a deep desperate kiss.
Tim looked away. He noticed for the first time that the other partiers had left; closing the door behind them, and it was just the three of them left in the room.
Tim’s leg was roughly nudged and Liam jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom and said, “Go!”
Scrambling to his feet, Tim scooped up his bag and the scattered contents then half-ran, half-walked to the bathroom. He glanced quickly at his mom, who avoided his gaze as she leaned against Liam. He swiftly shut the door. Taking a seat on the floor, Tim tried to ignore the noises coming from the other room. He wasn’t naïve or stupid. Tim knew his mom was trying to “talk” Liam out of selling him like he sold her.
All the sudden it was too much, and tears ran down his face as he hugged his few possessions to his chest. His face and ribs ached and throbbed, but he never made a sound even as he sobbed through the pain. He knew better. An onslaught of despair, fear, and terror rolled through him, twisting his insides into knots. He knew he was at the precipice of another panic attack. Digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand to the point he broke the skin, Tim focused on that pain to drag himself back. He would get in trouble if he got caught having an attack. His mother simply didn’t have the patience to deal with him when he was in the midst of one. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t just pull himself together, and Liam thought he was just wanting attention or being purposely defiant.
After gingerly splashing his face with water, Tim managed to calm down, and he started to put his bag back together. For once, he was kind of thankful he didn’t have anything of real value or his mom and Liam would have pawned it. Knowing they would add stability, Tim put his books in first. He only had two right now, sometimes he had more, but he always tried to have at least one. With their nomadic lifestyle, he really couldn’t have too many, even though he really wanted more. He loved to read, whether fiction or non-fiction. He loved learning new things. It had been over two years since he was in school, so his books were really the only way he learned anything right now.
Next came his story journal; his mom had given it to him one Christmas. He loved the leather binding and the gilt edges. Tim had wondered if she had stolen it. It was way nicer than anything they could usually afford. He carefully smoothed out the ruffled pages. As much as he loved reading, it was in his writing where he felt truly alive. He could go anywhere; he could be anyone in his writing. He wasn’t twelve year old Timothy McGee, illegitimate son to a meth-addicted prostitute. He was a hero caught up in a galactic war, an explorer discovering untold treasures, or an Arthurian knight fighting besides Lancelot and Sir Galahad.
Since he was going to be trapped in here for awhile, Tim decided to change. He washed his dirty clothes in the sink and hung them to dry over the shower bar. Having only one set of spare clothes had taught him to treat them carefully. If he ruined them his mom would have to spend money to buy more from a thrift store. Tim knew how she got her money, and he knew how much she hated it. So anytime she had to spend money on him, he felt like he was the one forcing her to work the streets. He put on his other set of clothes, took out his journal, and wrote down a new story idea. Tim allowed himself to get lost in an imaginary world where he was a superhero who could right wrongs and keep his family safe.
His mom finally let him out after about a couple of hours. He tried to talk to her, but she shushed him and pointed to Liam, who was asleep on the bed closest to the outside door. Tim got into the other bed. His mom sat next to him and tucked him in, something she hadn’t done in a long while. He looked at her quizzically, but she just shook her head; she looked resigned and a bit scared.
She cupped his cheek and whispered, “You know I love you, right?”
Getting an unsettled feeling in his stomach, Tim nodded. He couldn’t remember the last time she had said that, so in return he breathed out a puzzled, “I love you too, Mom.”
She then turned off the light, but instead of getting into bed with Liam, she sat at the end of Tim’s bed. He fell asleep watching her smoke cigarette after cigarette in the dark.
Chapter Two