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The first time Nick had realized something was wrong all day happened too late in the game for him to do anything but damage control, and he hated himself for it. Tim had been acting up in the bullpen, easily irritable and growling at everyone, even Gibbs. No one understood what had gotten into him, but Nick new that whatever it was, it had to be stopped. He had said, "If you're so intent on being a baby, then maybe you should leave and just let the adults do all the work! It would certainly make everything easier for us!"
Tim had stared at him a moment in apparent shock, before his face grew red and he stormed out of the bullpen. It was only afterwards that Nick had remembered what had happened earlier that week with Tim waking up in the middle of the night, in a regressed state. He kicked himself for realizing that his insult must have dug deeper than he had intended, and immediately ran after where he had seen Tim leave the room. He didn't slow down, even for Clay, who had tried to get him to say where the fire was.
Nick was wandering the halls, no idea where to even start looking for Tim. His aimless running took him by a random janitor's closet where he could hear sniffling behind the door. He pressed his ear against it, and yep, there was the hiccup and whine that came when Tim was trying to be quiet about his crying. He knocked on the door and prompted, "Tim? I know you're in there."
The sniffling and hiccups stopped; Tim had probably started holding his breath. Nick sighed and leaned his forehead against the door. "Tim, I'm sorry, I didn't think about what I said, I screwed up. Can you please come out?"
There was no sound. Not a clatter of equipment, not a shuffle or turn of a doorknob, not even a hiccup. Nick kicked himself again. He had really screwed up. "Sweetheart, I'm not leaving until I know you're okay."
Again, he got no response. So Nick sat against the wall opposite the closet, sighing. He pulled out his earbuds, and put one in his ear, listening to music to pass the time. He knew he might be here awhile.
He cleared out his e-mail, something he never did. He checked his voicemail in between songs. He played on a few apps which he hadn't touched in months. All the while keeping one eye on the door.
After a while, people started to realize where he was. Gibbs walked up to him and simply arched an eyebrow.
"Tim's in the closet. I'm trying to get him out without busting the door down," Nick said.
Gibbs just rolled his eyes. "Good luck. When you get him out tell him that he's behind on his paperwork."
"How behind?" Nick asked, sensing that could have something to do with Tim acting out.
"Behind enough that he'll be up all night if he wants to finish it on time," Gibbs said, walking away. "The longer he stays in there, the later I'll keep him."
Nick stood up, staring at Gibbs' retreating figure. "No you won't," he said, before he could stop himself.
Gibbs stopped, but didn't turn around.
"You know that he's probably stressed enough, right? He needs a chance to sleep," Nick pointed out. "Which he definitely won't be able to do with you breathing down his neck, so he at least needs time to relax. Depending on when he comes out, I'll bring him back to the bullpen for the rest of the day's work, or I'll take him home to get that much-needed time off. But you won't be keeping him here longer than normal."
"And what are you going to do to stop me?" Gibbs challenged.
Nick crossed his arms and stood his ground. "Well, for a start I could tell HR all about how you pick up enough cases that we almost never get a chance to finish paperwork, meaning we either have to stay late every night or risk getting yelled at when the end of the month comes because we couldn't get everything in. Or I could tell Vance about the time you pushed Tim so hard he wound up crying the entire night because he was petrified you were going to fire him. I could even go to IA and talk about all the times you've gone off to places to investigate before a warrant comes in, and you expect it to be there by the time you arrive at wherever you're going."
Gibbs turned around, but his eyes were slits. "You wouldn't dare."
Nick shrugged. "Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn't. But I want you to consider one thing for me: Tim won't tell you he's too tired when you order him to jump. He'll ask how high even if he can barely stand. One of these days, if you don't ease up, you'll push him too far, and he'll either collapse in exhaustion or he'll self-destruct beyond the point of no return."
Gibbs growled. "You want to play his babysitter? Fine. But if he doesn't get that paperwork in on time, he'll be answering to me."
The second Gibbs was gone, Nick let out a breath, feeling fury in ever fiber of his being. He turned to the janitor's closet, ripping open the door to find Tim sitting in the corner, eyes squeezed shut tight and hands pressing his ears flat. He was still crying, and Nick realized too late that he had to have heard everything both Nick and Gibbs had said. "Sweetheart..." Nick said, trailing off. He didn't know how to reassure Tim that everything was going to be okay.
Tim opened one eye, looking at Nick with such hurt that Nick could feel his heart physically ache. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean what I said, and I know I screwed up. I hope that you can forgive me eventually."
Removing his hands from his ears to wrap them around his legs, Tim mumbled, "No one thinks I can do anything right."
"I do," Nick said, pleading in his voice. "Sweetheart, I do. I love you and Clay more than anything else and you're amazing at so many different things. You do so much for both of us, and I couldn't even begin to name the good you've done for others. You're amazing, baby, and I was just angry, and I didn't think."
Tim buried his face in his legs and Nick sank down to his knees. "Please, Tim, you have to believe me when I say you're brilliant."
"No," Tim said, voice soft and trembling.
Nick moved forward slowly, reaching out to put a hand on Tim's shoulder. In a flash, Tim lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Nick's torso, and beginning to sob into his shirt. "It's okay," Nick soothed, bringing his arms around Tim's heaving shoulders. "It's all gonna be okay."
Some time later, footsteps approached, but Nick didn't dare move when Tim's crying was finally tapering off. "There you two are," Clay said. "Gibbs has been growling about you, Nick."
"Good," Nick said. "He should be ashamed of how hard he's been pushing Tim."
Clay made a noise of interest. "Would that be why he's been so crabby?"
"Apparently, he's very behind on paperwork," Nick said.
Tim whined and Nick was quick to rub Tim's back and soothe him into complacency again. "Gibbs threatened to keep him here late until he finished it."
Clay hissed. "That's just cruel."
"I know," Nick said. "And I made it clear Tim wasn't going to be doing that so long as I had a say."
"Good," Clay said. "It's about five, though. Time for us to head home."
Tim looked up at Clay, rubbing his eyes and hiccuping. "Home?" he asked, the first word he had said in half an hour.
"Yeah, home, sugar plum," Clay said, offering Tim a hand. "We'll get your stuff from your desk and then we can go home. You might even be able to nap before dinner."
"But...but work?" Tim asked.
"Did you finish everything due today?" Nick asked, standing.
Tim, taking Clay's hand and standing himself, nodded.
"Then everything else can wait until tomorrow. We'd rather you be a little behind on paperwork than collapsed in a heap because you worked yourself past your limits," Nick said.
Tim rubbed at his eyes and yawned. "'M not a baby, you know," he grumbled. "'M a big kid."
"Yeah, I know, sweetheart," Nick said. "I didn't mean what I said earlier. You're a great big kid."
Clay shot Nick a confused look and Nick grimaced, mouthing Later. Clay rolled his eyes but nodded. Nick let out a relieved breath and led Tim back to the bullpen, Clay behind them. He wasn't sure if he could get off the hook for this one, but he was certainly going to try and make it up to Tim.