Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Part I: The Stranger

Chapter 1

There was a heavy thump and he opened his eyes, blearily looking around, unsure of where he was.

"You're pretty trusting."

"Huh?" he asked.

He sat up and rubbed his face.

"I said you're pretty trusting. I've never had a hitchhiker sleep so soundly in my truck before. So should I be worried?"

He laughed. "No. I'm tired. I'd been walking for a few days. It's nice to have a ride."

"What's your final destination?"

"California."

"Got a ways to go."

"Yep. That's why I'm glad for the ride."

"Well, I'm not going that far."

"That's okay. Any distance I cover without walking is... a distance I cover without walking."

"What's in California?"

"Fame and fortune."

"Or poverty and ruin?"

He laughed. "Thanks for the encouragement."

"Seen a lot of people want to make it."

"Well, if I don't make the fame part, maybe I can make enough to live on. That would be fine, too."

"Doing what?"

"Music. I'm a musician."

"I don't see an instrument."

"Hard to carry a piano around."

"Guess so."

There was silence, except for the radio.

"So you sing?"

"Yep. Sing and play."

"Okay, so sing me something."

"Why?" he asked. "We've already got the radio."

The driver reached over and turned off the radio.

"Sing me something."

"Um... okay." He tried to think and was moderately surprised that there were options in his head. It had to be something simple since he was doing it a cappella.

"I'm waiting."

He smiled. "Okay." He cleared his throat and heard the tune in his head. Billy Joel, of course. He wished he had a piano with him right at the moment. He felt better with that extra support. Oh, well. His ride was insisting on a performance. He should get used to performing, no matter the situation.

He took a breath and started to sing, trying to listen to his own voice and figure out just how good it was.

"A picture postcard
A folded stub
A program of the play
File away your photographs
Of your holiday

And your mementos
Will turn to dust
But that's the price you pay
For every year's a souvenir
That slowly fades away
Every year's a souvenir
That slowly fades away."

Another moment of silence.

"Kind of melancholy, isn't it?"

"Yeah. A lot of life is," he said. He paused. "What do you think?"

"Well, I think you could stand to be a bit more upbeat, but you sing pretty good."

"Thanks."

He looked out the window as the driver turned the radio back on. As he did, he caught his reflection in the window and suppressed a grimace at what he saw there.

He rode on the truck for another couple of hours before the driver said he was stopping for the night at a truck stop. So he got off and started walking again. As he walked, he was careful about getting rides. So far, focusing on semis had worked out pretty well. They didn't necessarily go where he wanted to go, but there was no set schedule and he had often got at least one meal out of it.

He'd been making his way across the country for days now. He couldn't quite remember where it was that he'd started, but the man who had rescued him from whatever had happened had urged him to leave based on what he'd seen. There was nothing tying him to whatever city he'd been in and California had seemed really important. So with nothing more than a need to get to California and a knowledge of music, he had started on his way, feeling wary of everyone he met but needing to rely on them to get him further along.

After another hour or two of walking, he reached a gas station and went in to use the bathroom. He lucked out that it was a single toilet, not a bank of them. He went into the bathroom and did his business, but then, he looked in the mirror and grimaced. He focused on his head, on the side of it where a deep gash was closed with stitches. He prodded at it and winced as he tried to force himself to remember how it had happened.

He failed.

He took a breath and rolled up his sleeve and looked at the bandage on his arm. What was the term the doctor at the clinic had used?

"Through and through," he whispered.

He looked at the bandage and then carefully removed it, trying not to look too closely at the wound the bandage had been covering. The clinic had supplied him with some basics for wound care and he was hoping it would be enough to keep him from needing to go back to any medical establishment of any kind. He was afraid that he'd be found by whoever had done this to him in the first place if he did. Part of him really thought that he could trust the police to help him, but the bigger part of him thought he couldn't really trust anyone to help him.

After cleaning his arm, he put a new bandage on it to keep it protected. Then, he cleaned his head wound as well, wincing as the antiseptic stung in the wound. Once all that was done, he was careful to clean everything up and put the used materials in the trash.

Then, it was back out. He still had some money in the wallet he'd had on him and so he bought some water and some Gatorade (and something told him that there should be another option but he didn't know what it was) and then some cheap snacks. He stowed most of it in his bag and then headed out and back to the road.

He walked for a few more hours, but he was starting to tire and he hadn't found any place that he felt was safe for sleeping.

Finally, though, he reached a truck stop. There were a few semis parked and he could see people talking to each other.

As he had ever since he'd started doing this, he felt a weird dichotomy every time he attempted to get a ride. Part of him was absolutely confident that he could charm his way through. The other part of him was terrified that something would go wrong. Still, he was really getting tired and he needed somewhere to sleep.

A moving vehicle with someone on a schedule seemed like the best option. Some of the truckers had warned him that they weren't supposed to take passengers, but he'd been able to talk a few into letting him come along, even offering to let them search his bag so they could see he wasn't armed or doing drugs and he wouldn't do anything to them.

Okay. Time to try it.

He walked into the restaurant and saw some drivers sitting there, drinking coffee. Aha. Coffee. They weren't going to be sleeping soon, most likely.

He walked up to them and smiled.

"Hey, any chance of getting a ride?" he asked, keeping himself casual and friendly.

"Not supposed to do that," one of them grunted.

"I won't tell," he said.

"Where you headed?" another asked.

"West."

Eyebrow up. That seemed kind of familiar as a reaction, but he didn't know why.

"What you got with you?"

"Just this," he said, holding up his bag. "You can search it if you'd like. The clothes don't even smell too bad yet."

The drivers all chuckled a little at that.

"Well, I'm headed west and I've got to get moving," one of them said.

"Got room for me?"

The man looked at him for a long moment and then, obviously, relented.

"All right. Come on."

"Do I have time to do a quick bathroom break? I've been walking for a few hours."

"You've got two minutes and I'm out of here, with or without you."

He grinned. "Great song. I'll be there. Which truck?"

"Green cab."

"Okay."

He ran to the bathroom, knowing that there was a risk that this would be a way for the driver to leave without him, but he was determined to make sure that he didn't get left behind. He hurried as fast as he could and then ran back out, noticing that the other drivers were chuckling at his haste.

He got out and found the green cab semi. The engine was running. So he ran over to the driver's side.

"Still got room for me?" he asked.

The man jerked his head toward the passenger side. He didn't even hesitate but ran around and climbed in.

"How far west you going?"

"California."

"Well, you're in luck. I'm going all the way to LA. If you don't bug me too much, I'll let you stay."

He grinned. "I can be silent as the grave if I need to be. I'll talk your ear off if you need me to. Whatever it takes."

The driver chuckled reluctantly. "Name's Dave. You?"

"Joel."

"Well, Joel, I prefer quiet to incessant talking."

"Fine by me. If you don't mind, I'm really tired and I wouldn't be opposed to sleeping. I don't think I snore."

"Go right ahead."

"Thanks."

He took a breath and let it out slowly (and quietly). Then, he leaned his head against the window and caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection.

A face he didn't know. The face of a stranger.

He didn't know who the face showed, but for now, all he knew was that it was a stranger's face.

Only it was his own face.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

True to his word, Dave took him all the way to Los Angeles. However, he dropped him off at a truck stop just outside the city because, as he said, he wasn't supposed to give rides and he wasn't going to face any kind of a reprimand for it by taking a hitchhiker to his final destination.

And that was completely fine. As he gathered his stuff to get out of the cab, Dave suddenly made himself different from the other rides.

"Hey, Joel," he said.

"Yeah?"

"If you're really looking for a place to get a job in music, there's a place with a lot of little dive bars about two miles west of here. I can't guarantee that they'll want you, but if you're genuine, that's a place to start."

He smiled at the sudden advice.

"I'm genuine," he said. "And I'm grateful. Thanks for the ride and the suggestion, Dave."

"Good luck."

He gave a thumbs up and jumped out of the cab. Dave pointed in the right direction and then pulled out of the truck stop. He started walking in the indicated direction. As he did, he thought about the name he'd been giving people. Joel. It wasn't his name. However, the name in his head (and on the ID in his wallet) was Joel Williams and it was ridiculous because it was like Billy Joel backwards, only slightly dressed up, and that was just stupid. However, he had no other name in his head and he needed something to tell people. So even though it wasn't his name, he decided that he'd just start thinking of himself that way. If he had nothing in his head to tell him who he was, he'd be Joel, a wannabe musician. Even if he knew there was more to what had happened, he had nothing to tell him what the more was and he had no one he dared ask to tell him what the more was.

So whatever his past was, he'd leave it in the east and just focus on becoming Joel Williams.

Nodding to himself, Joel kept walking and after a couple of miles, just as Dave had said, he was in an area with a number of small locally owned bars and restaurants. Well, nothing to do now but see if he could find a place that would give him a job.

For the next few hours, he gave it a shot, but he struck out over and over again. The problem was that, as the rudest owners had said, Joel was a nobody, and why would they want to hire a nobody? It was far too true, but Joel kept trying.

He was about to give up for the day when he came by a small bar. Just as he approached, the door opened and a large man was dragging a smaller man out by his arm.

"No way, Louis. No way. I told you that if you showed up drunk one more time, you were out."

The obviously drunk man swayed.

"Come on, man! I'm your family! Your own flesh and blood!"

"It's diluted by all that alcohol you're drinking and we're only cousins. I gave you a chance and I told you exactly what you had to do. I gave you more second chances than you deserved, and you squandered every single one of them. You're out and don't come back. If you sober up, maybe we can talk."

"But..."

"No! Out! What do you want?" the larger man asked, turning on Joel.

"Uh...I was going to ask about a job, but I can come back later, if you're busy."

"Jack, I..."

The man turned back on the drunk, clearly angry. "Louis, I'm not talking about this anymore. You're out. Just because I run a bar doesn't mean I want my staff drunk." Then, he spun back to Joel. "You want to talk about a job?"

"Yeah," Joel said, a little uncertainly.

"Good. Come inside. But if you're a drunk, I don't want you."

"I'm not a drunk."

Joel wasn't sure about this with how gruff the man seemed to be, but it might be a perfect opportunity. After all, if he decided that this guy wasn't someone he wanted to work for, he could always say no.

As they went into the bar, Joel was encouraged by the sight of a piano in the corner. It wasn't big and fancy, just an upright, but that was okay. It was a good sign.

"What kind of a job are you wanting?" the man asked.

"Playing that thing over there, if I can," Joel said, pointing to the piano.

"You're a musician?"

"Yep."

"Prove it. Play something."

"Sure, okay."

Joel walked over and sat down at the piano. For just a moment, he felt a stab of stage fright. Could he do this so that he'd get a job? Then, he shoved all that aside and his usual confidence came back. In fact, he grinned and started playing. He did a short introduction and then, he started to sing.

"It's nine o'clock on a Saturday.
The regular crowd shuffles in.
There's an old man sitting next to me,
Makin' love to his tonic and gin."

He let himself fall into the rhythm of the song, all the while waiting for the bar owner to tell him to stop.

"He said, Son, can you play me a memory?
I'm not really sure how it goes.
But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes."

"Okay, okay. That's enough. Show off," the owner said.

Joel stopped in a moment but when he turned around, the man was smiling.

"So you want to sing in my bar, huh?"

"Yep."

"Why this bar?"

"No one else would give me a chance," Joel said, honestly.

"Why not?"

"I'm a nobody. Just got into town. No one knows who I am or if I'm worth spending time on."

"Are you a nobody?"

"Here, I am," Joel said. "But I could be somebody... if someone gave me a chance."

The man walked over to him and stuck out his hand.

"Name's Jack."

"Joel."

"Really."

"Yep. Joel Williams."

"Yeah, right."

Joel forced himself to grin cheekily.

"Gotta get my inspiration from somewhere. Why do you think I picked Billy Joel?"

"Uh-huh. You willing to be here every night? It's a time commitment, and I can't pay much. I'm open until 2 a.m. Open at four, but I don't want you showing up before seven. You willing to do that? I'll pay by the hour, and you get two breaks. Discount on food, but no drinking on the job. You come to work drunk once or get drunk while you're working and you're out."

"Enough to live on?" Joel asked.

"Probably not, but if you want to come earlier and do some waiting, you'll make more. If you're any good, you might get some money from tips. You want to find a day job and work here, too, that's fine, but don't expect me to cut you slack if you're here tired. I pay you to work for me. I don't pay you to work for someone else."

"Gotcha."

"You interested?"

"Sure."

"Can you start tonight?"

"Sure. Any suggestions of a cheap place I could stay? Funds are a little low at the moment."

"You don't have a place to stay yet?"

"Just got here."

"How just?"

"This morning."

Jack's brow furrowed.

"You don't look young enough to be like this."

"Huh?"

"You're acting like some dumb kid who thinks that he's going to make it big instead of going to college, but you're not a kid. You've got to be at least in your thirties. What's your deal?"

Joel smiled and shrugged.

"Trying to find myself," he said.

"Uh-huh. Well, I've got a little place upstairs. It's not much."

"Does it cost much?"

"No. It's only a bed, a three-piece bath and a counter with a hot plate and a bar fridge."

"Sounds great. Better than I've had."

Again, Jack's brow furrowed and his eyes drifted to Joel's bag. Joel saw it and knew that he was probably wondering if he was taking on someone worse than a drunk.

"No drugs. No weapons," he said. He held out his bag. "You can search it if you'd like. I promise."

To his slight surprise, Jack took the bag and opened it. No one else he'd offered it to had done it. Jack took everything out of it and paused on the bandages and antiseptic. He looked up, the question obvious in his eyes.

Joel shrugged and rolled up his sleeve to show the wound on his arm, knowing that the nature of the injury wouldn't be obvious with the bandage covering it.

"Had an accident a couple of weeks ago," he said. "I don't have insurance, can't afford to get an infection. One of those free clinics helped me out. I'm hoping the bandages last until it heals up."

Jack looked at him for a long moment, and Joel figured he was about to change his mind.

Then, suddenly, Jack carefully and neatly returned everything to the bag and handed it back to Joel.

"Okay, Joel. I'll try you out. Let me show you the room, but it really does suck."

"Better than the great outdoors," Joel said, cheerfully. "Especially the great outdoors in a big city."

He followed Jack up the stairs to a second floor that was clearly mostly being used for storage.

"You own the building?" Joel asked.

"Yeah. Haven't got the extra money to develop this part yet. I lived in this place when I first bought the business. The key to this door doesn't get you into the bar, just so you know."

Joel raised an eyebrow.

"Keeps you honest," Jack said.

He unlocked a door and let Joel into the room he'd offered.

"You're right," Joel said. "It sucks."

The room was tiny. It was clean enough, but the bed was a twin. The "counter" had a bar sink, a two-burner hot plate and below it was a tiny bar fridge. The bathroom looked slightly larger than an airplane bathroom.

"Told you. You still want it?"

"Are you kidding? Absolutely. Thanks."

Jack looked skeptical, but he just nodded and handed over the key.

"You've got three hours before I'll want you in there. You come in earlier, I'm not paying you for it."

"Okay."

Then, Jack turned and left. Joel took a breath and let it out with relief. Jack seemed like a hard-nosed guy, but if he ran a tight ship, then, strict or not, he'd probably be a good person to work for, even if he wouldn't likely make as much as he might at other places. Well, for now, this would work, and he could start trying to make a bit of money and see if he could get a bit more other places. But getting a gig his first day was great.

For now, he decided to unload his bag.

First, he pulled out the clothes he'd been given. Two changes of clothes. Nothing special about them, although he did need to wash them. He looked toward the tiny bathroom. He could get away with using the shower for his washing machine for the moment. Maybe he'd try to track down a Goodwill or Salvation Army or something where he could get some cheap clothes.

Then, he looked through the things that seemed to be connected to whoever he'd been before. A button with some fabric attached to it. Obviously, it had been torn from someone's clothes. His own? Maybe. Maybe not. He'd had it in his hand and they'd said that it had been hard to get him to let go of it. So it was at least somewhat important.

The key on a keychain. He didn't know what it went to, but it looked like it was just a regular key. The problem was that he wasn't going to be able to figure out what door it went to. There was a small piece of tape on the key, but whatever had been written on the tape had been smeared to illegibility by his time in the water. The keychain itself was a simple metallic rectangle. It was smaller than the key was. He set it down on the bed.

He had told one genuine lie to Jack. Carefully, Joel reached down to his ankle and pulled a knife from a hidden sheath. It wasn't a large knife, but it looked like a serious one. It was definitely sharp. Why was he carrying a knife? ...but there was something in his mind that said it was expected that he would. Who would expect that? What normal person would be expected to carry a knife at all times? What if he was a criminal of some kind? Still, he wasn't going to tell anyone about it.

Then, the cheap wallet. His ID said that his name was Joel Williams, but he knew it was fake. The town listed as his residence didn't exist. He'd looked that up. Still, it was an ID which meant he could get paid.

There was some cash in the wallet, and a piece of paper that had been written on but was also smeared to illegibility by the water. He kept it thinking that maybe having something that had been his before would suddenly jog his memory.

Not so far.

But then, there was the stuff that was still in his head. All that music. Every time he thought of a song, he knew it and could sing it. Why did he remember all this music but not his identity? It was so strange.

Most importantly, why had someone tried to kill him?

And why had he decided that California was the place to go?

He couldn't answer any of the questions he had about himself, but he didn't dare let anyone know that he couldn't, either. It was just so much safer to keep it to himself until he could maybe get something of his memory back. Something. He sighed and put everything back into his bag again.

Maybe after he was able to hide for a while and get settled, he'd be able to relax enough to think about this stuff and get an answer.

Maybe he'd find someone he could trust enough to ask for help.

But not right now. Definitely not right now.

For now, he decided to relax a little while before he went down to start his first night of work.

Everything else could wait.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

He came down to the bar around 6:30 and it was already bustling. It was loud and busy. Jack was at the bar, but he wasn't alone. There was another man also tending the bar. There were two women and two men serving. Joel could also hear people in the back cooking. It smelled really good and reminded Joel that he hadn't eaten all day. His stomach started growling. He made his way to the bar and got Jack's attention.

"You change your mind?" Jack asked.

"Nope, but you said I could get a discount on food?"

Again, there was a strange expression on Jack's face as he considered Joel's question.

"On the house for tonight, but don't get used to that."

"I won't," Joel said, trying not to sound too eager.

Jack called back. "Sanchez, get some grub for our new musician! On the double, he's got to work soon."

"On it!"

Joel didn't have long to wait. Clearly, there was a quick turnover on a Friday night and there was probably at least one other person cooking in the back. A short, wiry man with glasses came out of the back, carrying a plate of nachos. At first, it seemed pretty typical, but then, he realized that there were...

"Onion rings? On nachos?" Joel asked in surprise.

The man laughed. "Gotta be creative somehow. Can't be completely stereotypical," he said.

"Guess not. You're Sanchez?"

"Yep. Your name?"

"Joel."

"Well, enjoy. You need a drink, too?"

"No drinking on the job, but I'll take water or sarsaparilla if you've got it."

"Ha. Can you spell that?"

"Nope...but I can drink it," Joel said, grinning.

Sanchez laughed...and got him a glass of water. Joel took the plate and moved to a corner where he wouldn't interfere with Jack's business and made short work of the plate of nachos. They were delicious and spicy. He could wish for a nice beer to go with them, but he could respect the rules of the establishment, and if Jack was just getting through with issues with someone drinking on the job, no way would Joel tempt fate by doing the same thing, even if he wasn't working quite yet and one beer wouldn't make him drunk.

Still, he didn't want to be singing with an overfull stomach, so he discreetly squirreled away the last of the nachos, intending to save them for later. He thought Jack might have noticed but he didn't say anything. He just pointed to the piano. Joel nodded and headed over to it. He sat down and thought about what to play first. He figured that instrumental might be best to get people prepared for the addition of music. Then, as was frustratingly impressive, he thought about a song and he knew he could improvise it. Why?

Oh, well. He shook that off and started playing an instrumental version of "The Longest Time" by Billy Joel. He hummed along with the music in a few places but he didn't sing outright. The noise level decreased noticeably when he started but then increased again after a few bars. Some people were genuinely listening. For others, it was just pleasant background. That was okay. It might take some time to get established but as long as he was good, Jack would likely give him that time.

However, playing for hours at a time was not something he was used to and he got tired. He was really glad for the breaks he was given. By one in the morning, the bar was much quieter and Joel was definitely slowing down himself.

"Hey, Jack! I see you got your musician!"

The voice startled Joel out of his daze. He looked back and saw a man walking up to the bar. He seemed friendly enough.

"For now, Lang," Jack said. "You on the clock?"

"Nope. Give me a beer."

Jack served the man who then turned to Joel and said, "Play it again, Sam!"

"You know, that's not really what she said. Actually, neither of them say it. It's not in the movie at all," Joel said, and then wondered at yet another thing he knew that had nothing to do with who he was. Why did he know a quote from a movie?

"Oh, really? What is it, then?" the man asked.

"Ilsa says, 'Play it, Sam.' and later, Rick says, 'Play it, Sam. You played it for her. You can play it for me.'"

"Movie guy, huh."

"Guess so," Joel said.

"Well, can you play it or not?"

It was an obvious challenge.

"Sure."

Joel turned around and started picking out the tune of "As Time Goes By" and then, he started singing it as well.

"You must remember this
A kiss is still a kiss
A sigh is just a sigh."

He sang the whole song and then grabbed his glass of water and took a drink.

"Bravo, Sam!" the man said.

Joel turned around and the man toasted him with his beer.

"Can I have a break, Boss?" Joel asked Jack.

...and then realized that the word was really natural for him to say. He must have had a job before.

Jack rolled his eyes and gestured. Gladly, Joel got up from the piano bench and walked over to the bar.

"I'm Joel," he said and stuck out his hand.

"Oh, that's why Jack hired you. Your name is only one syllable. That's all he can handle," the man said, grinning.

"I heard him saying two syllables today," Joel said.

"Really? Okay, then, what's your excuse, Jack?"

Jack chuckled a little and it was a relief to see that he could be amused.

"I'm Langston," the man said, shaking Joel's hand. "But Jack always calls me Lang."

"Not my fault you didn't enunciate when you introduced yourself the first time," Jack said.

"My jaw was broken!"

"No excuse," Jack said. "Then, you didn't correct me after, either."

Joel laughed.

"You a boxer?" he asked.

"Do I look like a boxer?"

"No, but I may not be the best judge of these things."

"Not a boxer."

"He'd have been better off if he had been," Jack said.

"Probably." Then, Langston looked at Joel again. "You're pretty good."

"Thanks," Joel said. Then, he looked at Jack. "This long every night?"

"Only on weekends," Jack said. "Fridays and Saturdays. Sundays, only through eleven. Monday through Thursday until midnight. Got it?"

"Works for me."

"And if I have a really slow night, I'll have to cut your time."

"Got it."

"Any other questions?"

"Yeah, looks pretty dead in here, right now. You want me to keep playing?"

Jack shook his head. "Nope. You can turn in."

"Will do."

Joel headed out of the bar. As he headed up the stairs, he pulled out what was left of the nachos. They were cold, limp and a little soggy, but he was glad he still had something to eat before he headed to bed.

"Hey, Joel."

He paused on the stairs and turned around. Jack was there.

"Yeah?"

"Come here."

"Uh... okay."

Joel followed Jack back into the kitchen. He picked up a plate that had what looked like leftovers from the evening menu.

"Here. I hate having to throw food out at the end of the night."

"Something else I shouldn't get used to?" Joel asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Right."

"Okay. I'll go and not get used to it in my room."

"Good."

Joel chuckled a little and took the plate of food up to his room. When he got up there, he picked through and found the things that would keep a day and put them into the fridge. The rest he ate. Then, he lay down on the small bed and was glad to note that it was pretty comfortable.

It had been a very long day and he was relieved to go to sleep.

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

There was a pounding on the door. He froze in shock.

A voice. "They're coming! They must have followed you!"

Bullets started flying through the door. He dropped to the floor, looking for cover.

"What now?"

"Out the window!"

The images were vague and blurry. He couldn't see any details at all. Mostly he could hear. ...and feel the panic.

"No!"

He was grabbing for an arm. He felt the cloth tear.

"No!"

Joel sat up in bed, breathing heavily, the images fading from his mind as he tried to calm down. He dropped his head into his hands as he tried to decide whether or not what he'd dreamt was real. Part of him thought it must be, that there was definitely something from his past in that dream, but he could see so little of it. He just felt that the fear had been real.

After a few minutes, he calmed down and wiped his hand over his face. That was something he didn't need to share with anyone at the moment. Real or not, he had no idea what the situation was. It could have been innocent or it could have been something like a drug deal gone wrong. There was nothing in his mind to say one way or the other, and he didn't care if he'd been a criminal before whatever had happened. There was no way he'd let himself get taken out like that. Being across the country might work out in more ways than one.

But it still bugged him that California had loomed so large in his mind. Large enough that he was willing to come here without knowing why.

Well, that was his situation and for now, that was how it would stay. Instead of dwelling on a past that he couldn't remember, he decided to focus on the present. What would come in the future? He didn't know, but for now, he didn't care. Right now was enough.

So what was he going to do today? It was pretty obvious that he couldn't make enough just playing the piano in the bar. He'd need more, even if Jack was showing that he had a bit of a soft spot. Giving a new hire food on the house, plus more after his shift, plus a place to stay? He was a softy, in spite of seeming hard on the outside, but Joel could also see how that soft streak could turn hard if someone tried to take advantage of him. He was clearly careful about who he showed his charity to, but whatever he'd seen in Joel had been enough to bring that on. So Joel decided that he would do everything he could to keep on Jack's good side. He might get some unexpected benefits from that. He'd definitely landed on his feet in getting this job, even if it wasn't enough. It was a start.

He pulled out his wallet and counted up the cash he had left. It wasn't much, but if he was frugal, he could probably buy some food. Cereal and milk and that would get him through quite a lot. His main issue now was not knowing his way around. He needed to find a grocery store nearby because he couldn't afford transit and he didn't have a car. Oh, for the old days of phonebooks.

For now, however, he went to the fridge and pulled out the leftovers from the night before. He ate them cold. Not the best but tolerable. And it was food.

Before he left to go exploring, he decided to do a rudimentary wash of his clothes. He could wear the cleanest ones and wash the others and let them dry while he was looking for a place to buy food.

He went into the bathroom and suddenly remembered that he hadn't changed the dressing on his wound. Quickly, he went back to his bag and grabbed his supplies. As he went through the process of cleaning and disinfecting his injuries, the same questions he always had ran through his mind. He didn't remember going into the water, which is what he'd been told had happened. He only vaguely remembered the man who had pulled him out of the water. His first clear memory had been waking up in the homeless clinic, but the man who had brought him there had said he had been walking.

He closed his eyes and thought back to the first memory he had. As far as he knew, his whole life began with that memory.

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

"He's waking up."

He opened his eyes and looked around.

"Mr. Williams?"

He didn't know where he was, but there was a feeling of fear and worry and grief. He looked around again.

"Mr. Williams, can you hear me?"

He started to sit up but hands held him back. His head was spinning enough that he didn't protest too much.

"Calm down, Mr. Williams."

He looked around and finally his brain started acknowledging the visual input. And he realized that he was the Mr. Williams being spoken to. An older man was looking down at him with concern.

"Where am I?" he asked. "What happened?"

"You're at the free clinic attached to the men's shelter. Your friend brought you here last night."

"Friend?" he asked vaguely. He looked around again and saw someone else standing there. ...and it wasn't who he thought should be there. But as soon as he thought that, he couldn't remember who should be instead.

"You went for a swim, but it was a bad idea."

"Oh. I don't... remember..."

"That's common after a head injury," the doctor said.

"It is?"

"Yes."

He was about to say that he didn't remember anything and that didn't seem normal, but then, he realized that, if he did, he'd be opening himself up to anyone coming at him and claiming to be someone he knew. He'd better keep that part to himself for now.

"Can I sit up?" he asked.

"Carefully. You'll probably be dizzy. That's also common."

He nodded and let the doctor help him sit up. He was dizzy, but he didn't think he'd fall over. His head ached, though. So did his arm. He looked down and saw a bandage.

"What happened?"

"It's a through and through shot. You're lucky. It didn't hit the bone or your blood vessels. It could have been really serious, but mostly, it's a flesh wound. Your head could have killed you, though, if it had been any deeper."

"My head?"

He lifted his hand to his head and felt another bandage. He winced as he touched it.

"Mr. Williams, do you know who shot you?"

"No," he said, shaking his head slowly.

"Do you know why someone was shooting at you?"

"No. I don't remember."

He had the feeling that the doctor didn't believe him, but he just nodded.

"I'll be right back. Just relax, Mr. Williams."

"Okay."

He leaned back on the bed and then looked at the man who had apparently brought him in.

"Who are you?"

"Name's Arthur. I saw you running from those guys. You steal from them?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"Uh-huh," Arthur said, sounding doubtful. "Well, I think you shouldn't plan on hanging around here for long. Someone wants to kill you, this place won't protect you. Besides, that doc'll call the cops soon enough with the gunshot. He probably thinks you're dirty."

He didn't like thinking about that possibility. Instead, he focused on getting as much information as he could without it being suspicious.

"You saw me?"

"Yeah. Running like the devil was after you, and they shot twice and you fell into the river. I saw them look over the edge and then I pulled you out when they left. You weren't talking much, but you were awake."

"I was?"

"Yeah. Kept talking about not being found. So I brought you here. You on drugs?"

"No."

"I didn't find any."

He looked at Arthur and raised an eyebrow at him. Arthur smiled. It wasn't a particularly nice smile.

"They'll give you some stuff at the shelter if you need it, but you shouldn't stay here. You should get out while you can. If someone is trying to kill you, you shouldn't let yourself be a target like that."

"Maybe you're right."

"I'm right."

"Maybe."

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

Joel sighed heavily and stared at himself in the mirror again. He had quite the scruff and his hair was shaggy. He wasn't going to be paying for a barber anytime soon, though. He'd just have to work with what he had.

Which wasn't much.

He took a breath and tried to push away all that he didn't know. Leave the past where it was and just try to get through the present. Whoever had been trying to kill him was across the country. Who would think of looking for him here? No one. He was as safe as he probably could be.

So he'd focus on what he'd originally planned: finding a grocery store and washing his clothes in the teeny-tiny shower.

"That's enough for now," he said softly to himself.

One more deep breath and he got to work.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Walking out of the building, Joel had a feeling of exposure that he wasn't happy about, but he crafted a confident stride as he started walking down the sidewalk. It was late in the morning and there were a lot of people out and about. None of the bars or restaurants were open, no big surprise there. But since he had no idea where to go, Joel knew that he'd have to talk to someone at some point and it would be best to get someone who definitely belonged. So he kept walking.

After about an hour, he came upon a Goodwill. He was surprised, but that seemed perfect. A place with cheap stuff and someone who would know where a grocery store was. Food was more important than clothes at the moment, but he was glad to find it for later.

He went inside and quickly explained that he was new in town and needed a cheap grocery store. The person at the counter was able to give him directions just a couple of blocks over and actually closer to the bar than he had known. That was the problem about wandering around in a place he didn't know. (Not that there was any place he knew at the moment.)

He quickly walked to the grocery store and carefully chose items that would last and that he could afford with the little bit of cash he had left. He picked out a bag of generic cereal that should last a while, a few canned goods, some cheap bread, milk. Then, he got to the checkout and everything was being scanned. He realized that a couple of the items he'd chosen because they were on sale were only on sale if he bought two or more. Now, he was worried that he wouldn't have enough and would have to put something back.

He stood there, waiting, counting up what he had and watching the numbers creeping closer and closer to his limit.

"Hey, aren't you Joel from the bar?"

Startled at someone talking to him in a place where he knew the names of three people (and that was more than he knew anywhere else), Joel looked over and saw Langston from the night before, pushing a cart. He felt a little embarrassed because in that moment of inattention, the cost had gone above his limit and now he'd have to tell the checker to take something out.

"Hey. Yeah. Langston."

"Yep. Two syllables," Langston said, grinning.

"You live near here, then?"

"Yeah, that's why I go to Jack's bar. Walking distance."

"That's 50 dollars and 80 cents," the checker interrupted.

Joel looked down at the cash in his hand. He only had 45 dollars left. Langston didn't look like he was leaving. So Joel cleared his throat and tried not to show his embarrassment.

"Oh. Uh... Could you take back the..."

"Here, I've got it," Langston said.

Joel felt his face warming.

"I just miscounted. It's okay," Joel said.

"Yep, and I can get it for you."

Joel tried to come up with something flippant and clever, but he couldn't. He didn't make eye contact as Langston walked over and handed cash to the checker. He was about to protest when he realized that Langston was covering his entire bill, not just the five dollars he was short, but Langston stopped him with a look. He started putting his own stuff on the conveyor belt and nudged Joel out of the way.

"Come on, Joel. You're a smart guy. Don't be like the dumb ones."

"Huh?" That got his attention.

"Don't be like those dumb guys who think that accepting help when you need it is somehow a threat to your manhood. Everyone needs help sometimes. So you accept the help when you need it and you give the help when you can. I'm in a situation where I can help, but I wasn't always. And my dad taught me early on to be willing to accept help. So when I come by the bar next time, I don't want you avoiding me because it's somehow humiliating that I paid your grocery bill."

"Thanks, Langston," Joel said, softly.

"You're welcome. Don't get lost going back because you're staring at your feet."

Joel lifted his head and saw Langston grinning. He smiled tentatively.

"Good job. Now, you're blocking the way. So get out of here."

Joel chuckled and relaxed a little. Then, he took his bags and then walked back to the apartment and was glad to see food that he could eat...and embarrassed by having someone else pay his bill or not, he was glad to still have some money in his pocket. Once he got his first paycheck, he'd hit up the Goodwill for some clothes, maybe find out if there was a place he could get a cheap haircut.

For now, he sat on his bed and looked around the place he was staying. Without anything in mind that he needed to do, he felt an edge of panic start creeping in.

Who am I? Why am I here? Why was someone trying to kill me? Is there anyone who knows me? Am I a criminal? Am I a good guy? Am I really a nobody?

He closed his eyes for a few seconds and tried to calm down. He couldn't let himself get lost in that. It wasn't the right time to be panicking. Was there ever a right time? Probably not, but if there was, it was when someone could be there to talk him through it, and right now, he didn't have that. And he couldn't because no one could know why he wanted to panic. Not yet.

He stood up and walked out of the small apartment. The walls that marked the boundaries of the place he was living were clearly added later. Most of the space on the second floor of the bar was wide open, although there were some signs that there had been other walls before. Joel couldn't help but wonder what had happened because this could either be transformed into a second floor of the business or could become rentals...although maybe with the bar open late, people would hesitate to live there. Regardless, most of what he could see was just boxes, probably supplies for the bar below, and Joel was struck anew by the trust Jack was putting in him. While he couldn't get into the bar itself, Joel could easily go through all this stuff and find something valuable.

And he wasn't even tempted to do so.

Maybe that means I'm a good guy. If even when I'm poor, I don't have any temptation to steal from a near-stranger, then, maybe I'm not such a bad guy.

It was something anyway. Not much, but it was something.

He spent the rest of the afternoon getting things organized in the tiny space of his apartment. If he was going to be living in so little space, then, he needed to be very neat and tidy. One couldn't afford to be a slob in a tiny apartment. His clothes were still wet in the shower so he would have to keep wearing what he had for the time being.

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

As Joel was playing the piano, it was just after midnight, and a song came to him. It was pretty melancholy, but he decided to play it anyway. It took a bit to pick out an appropriate key. He didn't want it to be too high for him to sing. He hadn't done much singing so far, but there were quite a few people in the bar and they weren't being too raucous. He'd be heard.

So he played the introduction and then he started to sing. He heard the noise die down for about the first time that night. They were listening to him.

"Well so here I am at the end of the road
Where do I go from here?
I always figured it would be like this
Still nothing seems to be quite clear

All the words have been spoken and the prophecy fulfilled
But I just can't decide where to go
Yes, it's been quite a day and I should go to sleep
But tomorrow I will wake up and I'll know

That I've got to begin again
Though I don't know how start
Yes, I've got to begin again
And it's hard."

Then, he played an instrumental bridge, the words throbbing in his brain. He almost didn't want to go on to the second verse, but he couldn't stop in the middle of the song, so he moved into it and kept singing the second verse. It was a little easier to sing because it didn't have the same connection to his problems, but still hard.

Then, with a little flourish, he finished the song. To his surprise, there was applause. He appreciated it, but he almost couldn't turn around to acknowledge it. He knew the song was more about having to begin again after breaking up with someone, but the first verse had really hit him deeply in that part that couldn't stop thinking about what he must have lost. Still, he couldn't just ignore that people were enjoying what he played. He took a breath and plastered a smile on his face as he turned around and waved. Then, he turned back and decided to do an instrumental Billy Joel song, called "The Mexican Connection". It wasn't too complicated and he could fake his way through the parts he didn't really know as well. When he finished that, there was more applause.

He turned around again.

"Any requests?" he asked, knowing that was a major risk for a guy with amnesia to take. But his knowledge of music seemed pretty thorough. Still, it was a risk.

"'Night and Day'!" someone shouted out.

Joel thought about it and then nodded. He knew that one, too.

He turned back to the piano and started playing. He went through the verse and then moved into the much more familiar chorus.

"Night and Day, you are the one.
Only you beneath the moon and under the sun."

The enthusiastic applause that followed his performance was enough of a boost to lift him out of the momentary melancholy.

"More Billy Joel!"

"Can do!" Tony said.

He turned back again, and thought about it. It was getting close to the end of the night.

Perfect.

He started the song with the simple low octaves.

"I never ask you where you go
After I leave you in the morning
We go our different ways to separate situations
It's not that easy anymore.

Today I do what must be done
I give my time to total strangers
But now it feels as though the day goes on forever
More than it ever did before.

Until the night, until the night
I just might make it
Until the night, until the night
When I see you again."

He continued through the verses, the bridge, the instrumental interlude where he just did some improv because he couldn't really remember exactly how it went and then to the final chorus.

"Until the night
Until the night
I just might make it
Until the night
Until the night
I'll just keep holding on
Until the night
Until the night
When I see you again."

Then, he did a final flourish to end the song.

More applause.

He was appreciating it, but at the same time, he was gripped with a desire to run and hide in his dinky little apartment so that he could stop pretending that what he was doing was actually what he wanted. ...so he could stop pretending that he had any idea what he really wanted anyway.

Just keep holding on, he thought to himself. I just might make it.

He spent another hour playing and the bar started to clear out. The requests ended and those who were still there were mostly just drinking in silence. Tony took that opportunity to play some instrumental instead of vocal.

Then, Jack walked over and startled him.

"You can be done for the night, Joel."

"Oh. Okay, thanks."

"You all right?"

Joel stood up and feigned stretching.

"Still getting used to sitting at the piano for so long. You got a pillow or something?"

"Nope. You'll need to get calluses," Jack said.

"Well, if you keep me on, then, I'm sure I will."

He started for the exit.

"Joel, it's payday. Every Saturday night."

"Oh. Okay."

He followed Jack over to the till and felt a deep sense of relief at getting even a few hundred dollars. That was more than he had.

"Thanks," he said.

He started to walk away.

"Why are you really here, Joel?"

Joel stopped. After that pang he'd had tonight, he wasn't sure he could answer without giving himself away. He didn't turn around.

"I'm just trying to find myself, Jack. Right now, it's through music. That's all."

"Uh-huh."

"That's it," Joel said, trying to sound firm. "Good night."

"Good night."

Joel escaped back upstairs to the apartment. He sat down on the bed and closed his eyes. He took deep breaths, trying to escape from this awful feeling as he had escaped from Jack's scrutiny.

He thought about the songs that had been bouncing around in his head. Starting over, just getting through it.

"Forget about it, Joel," he said to himself. "You've forgotten everything else. Just forget that there was an anything else to forget in the first place. This is all there is. It can be enough."

He said that, but at the back of his mind, he felt that there was something else and it was better than this.

But what was it?

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

"They found us! They must have followed you."

There was a flurry of movement. Sounds of gunshots. The movement was blurred, but there was a shape. A human shape. He still couldn't see anything very well. It was still mostly sounds and those were loud and intense, almost painful. Too loud. He wanted to quiet things down but he was a slave to what he was witnessing. No, not just witnessing. He was a part of it.

And he was speaking.

"Out here."

"What?! You're crazy. It won't hold us!"

"Now! We don't have a choice!"

More gunshots. A loud thumping.

"They'll kill us. What do you want more?"

Another flurry of movement.

The sound of metal rattling. Then, a piercing scream.

"No! No!"

More metal.

No movement, but he really wanted it.

Gunshots.

And one clear thought that came into his mind.

How did they even know we were here?

A feeling of grief, of guilt, of fear.

...and pursuit.

There was anguish accompanying this movement. Anguish and guilt. It was so intense that he thought it might choke him.

But he had to escape...even though he wanted to stay.

No.

Joel sat up in bed and was surprised to feel tears on his cheeks. He was shaking and breathing heavily. In the two weeks that he'd been here, he'd had a nightmare like this every night. The thing was that the dreams, whatever they were, kept changing. He got more information as the dreams continued. It was just that the details remained tantalizingly blurry. He got no information about where he was, who he was with, what exactly was happening. The gunshots were new this time. Well, the extent of them was new. He had heard them before, but there were more this time. The other issue was that things didn't happen in quite the same way from nightmare to nightmare. If it was a real memory, shouldn't it be the same every time?

Regardless, it didn't change the fact that he was deeply affected by it every time. He tried to push it away, but he couldn't. He tried to tell himself that he didn't want to know what it meant, but he was lying.

No matter how often he told himself that his past didn't matter, he couldn't help knowing that it was all a lie. His past did matter. Even if his dream wasn't completely accurate, his mind wasn't letting it go, no matter how much he wanted it to.

...or rather, no matter how much he pretended he wanted it to.

He sat where he was for a long time, just trying to push away all those strong emotions that came out when he slept. He needed to get in control of himself because he was about to ask for a little more of Jack's trust and he didn't want to let Jack see his inner turmoil. He'd got some inklings of it on occasion, but Joel wasn't about to let more out than he could help. Jack might be soft and he was probably trustworthy, but Joel couldn't be completely sure. He couldn't fully trust anyone so he needed to be careful.

Finally, he felt like he could get out of bed. He stumbled into the bathroom and reluctantly looked at himself in the mirror. He still didn't like to do that because, while he had learned to recognize the face he saw as himself, it still didn't conjure up any particular self-image and he didn't like that. The graze on his head had healed up, and the wound on his arm was mostly fine as well. He was grateful for small favors. The last thing he'd wanted was to deal with something infected.

But there was still that look in his eye, the one he couldn't hide first thing in the morning.

He forced himself to go through the sort-of-normal routine of getting ready for this Sunday morning. It wasn't very early. His plan for this coming week was to find a part-time day job that would get him better income than Jack could pay him. He wished that he could just work for Jack and be done with it, but while he had jumped in to help with service a time or two, mostly, Jack had the people he needed to run his bar.

For now, he needed to wait for Jack to arrive. He seemed to come in on Sundays fairly early (the two Sundays that Joel had been around). Well before the bar opened. If that was a real pattern then, this could work well.

So once he finished his breakfast, he took up a vigil of sorts, looking out the window and watching for Jack to get there.

It took an hour. Joel watched him go into the bar and then he took a breath and drew on that self-confidence that seemed to come so easily to him. He felt really uncertain and even afraid quite often but he had found that he had the ability to hide all that most of the time. Some of it got out on occasion but he could still be very sure of himself. He had no idea why, but he could.

He walked down the stairs and then knocked on the back door, knowing that Jack would realize it was him. It took a few seconds but then, the door opened.

"What's up, Joel?" he asked.

"I was wondering if I could ask you for something."

Jack stood aside and gestured for Joel to come in.

"What?" he asked, gruffly.

"I was wondering if I could come in here and practice the piano some days."

"You sound fine."

"But I could sound better... if I could practice, maybe learn some new songs."

"You running out of them?" Jack asked.

Joel smiled, hiding how uncertain that answer was. "Not so far."

And it was true. He seemed to have a very wide repertoire of music in his head, although he did notice that the genres were rather restricted and nothing he played was new. It didn't seem to matter. Most of Jack's clientele seemed to be older, beyond the techno/hip-hop/pop/whatever that was popular with younger drinkers. No one had complained about his less-than-cutting-edge music.

"If you don't want to trust me alone in the bar, I get it. I've only been here for a couple of weeks and you don't know if I'm legit or not. It could even be just when you get here early, if you can stand to listen to me for that long."

Jack looked at him for a long moment without speaking. Joel found that he didn't mind it at all. Even though he was nervous, the evaluating silence didn't really bother him.

"You find another place to work yet?"

"Not yet. That's my goal for this week."

"You sure you really want to?"

Joel smiled. "Well, I'll admit that there's quite a lot of appeal for living on next to nothing, but I think I'll try to suffer through making a little bit more money."

"I told you I couldn't pay you much," Jack said, seeming a little insulted. "I even said that you couldn't live on what I could pay."

"That's not what I meant," Joel said, quickly. The last thing he wanted was to insult the first person to give him a chance here. "I meant that I'm serious about getting another job. You warned me and I like what I'm doing here. If I could make more here, great, but since I can't, I really am going to be looking this week."

He was relieved when Jack smiled a little. He didn't joke much. He didn't talk much. But Joel was coming to appreciate his straightforward approach to life. It was just that he couldn't read him very well.

"I don't care if you play, but only when I'm here. I'm not giving you a key to the bar."

"That's fine," Joel said. "I'll play for a bit and then I'll go up to my room and get out of your hair."

"Fine by me."

Joel nodded and walked over to the piano, noting that Jack went on with his own work which seemed to be paperwork. Even a bar had bills, Joel supposed.

He sat down and spent about half an hour plinking. He didn't really outright play anything. What he was really doing was going through songs in his head and seeing how many he thought he could reproduce. And there were a lot of them, but at the same time, Joel didn't think that he had much ability to read music. This was playing by ear. Maybe he could, but he didn't know if he could... but he did know that he could play by ear or by memory. What he played probably wasn't really very close to the real thing but it was recognizable. He went through a few Frank Sinatra songs, some Broadway songs, even some 60s hits. But then, as he played, his mind went back to Billy Joel again. He found himself thinking through how many songs he knew by Billy Joel and he knew a lot of them. Some, he was sure he wouldn't be able to pretend to play without lots of practice, but many he could do.

Absently, he started picking out a tune and before he knew it, he was singing along.

"They say these are not the best of times

But they're the only ones I've ever known."

The words stabbed him in the heart and he stopped for a moment. He couldn't keep playing that song, even though the rest of the words had nothing to do with his situation. He forced himself to start playing again, the first song that came to him.

Billy Joel, of course.

And it wasn't any happier than the previous song, but he started playing and he didn't stop this time.

"I've been livin' for the moment
But I just can't have my way
And I'm afraid to go to sleep
'Cause tomorrow is today."

As he kept playing and singing, the song dragged him down to the same place he'd been when he woke up. No matter how he tried to live in the present, his unknown past and his uncertain future pulled at him. He couldn't just live as he was, no matter how much he tried. He finished the first section and the bridge and then moved into a loud, almost defiant instrumental part. He didn't remember if the instrumental part had originally been defiant, but he was playing it that way, but then, he dropped the volume to finish singing the song.

"I don't care to know the hour
'Cause it's passing anyway
I don't have to see tomorrow
'Cause I saw it yesterday

Though I'm living and I'm singing
And although my hands still play
Soon enough it will all be over
'Cause tomorrow is today."

After he finished, he stopped playing and just ran his fingers over the worn keys of the piano. He didn't know how it could really be over. He didn't even know what the start or middle was. How could he know what the end would be?

That panicky feeling rose up inside him and he decided he was done playing until it was time to play for pay. He got up and hurried to the door.

"Thanks, Jack," he said, but he knew his tone was anything but grateful.

Still, he kept moving, barely looking over at where Jack was just standing up from whatever work he was doing. Joel left the bar and ran up the stairs, opened the door to his room, slammed it shut, locked it and then nearly collapsed onto the bed. For the first time in the weeks since his initial awakening, he let himself truly feel. He didn't try to pretend that it was fine. He didn't try to ignore the horror in which he was existing. He didn't try to stave off all those dark emotions roiling around inside him.

He lay on the bed, curled himself into a fetal position and covered his head with his hands. There were emotions begging to be let out and expressed, but while he would let himself feel them, he wouldn't let himself express them. Not when someone might hear him.

He let himself feel the panic. He let himself feel the fear. He let himself feel the grief, although he didn't know what the grief was for. He let himself be afraid of the fact that he knew nothing.

He didn't know how long he lay there, lost in the miasma of his swirling emotions, but the effort it took to feel them and not to let them out eventually exhausted him and he fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

And so the days went by. Joel found a temporary morning job filling in for an employee at a little café. However, it only lasted for two weeks. Then, he was out of work again except for playing the piano. He found another one shortly after, filling in for a checker at a grocery store who'd had a fall and needed recovery time. That one lasted a month. By the time he'd been in LA for three months, he'd had five different temp jobs and while he wasn't rolling in the dough, he felt like he was okay moneywise. He didn't dare go and get a real apartment simply because his employment status was so iffy. However, Jack had made no hints that he should and so he had a secure place to live. All in all, things really weren't bad on that front.

If only he could remember who he was. Every so often, he'd say something or think something and somehow he knew that it was from his nebulous past. He knew that he was a movie connoisseur. When he got into conversations with others in the bar, if they talked movies, he could hold his own. He was finding the limits of his piano abilities. He wasn't an amazing pianist, but he could play competently, and he felt that playing without music was normal for him, that he liked just playing what he remembered and making up the rest. It stood him in good stead in the bar. Occasionally, Jack would say or do something that would remind Joel of someone. There was something in his personality that Joel found almost familiar. The tantalizing bits were frustrating, but if that had been all, he would have been okay with that, too. Not thrilled but okay.

However, the dreams continued. More details had become visible in his dreams over the weeks. There was a man he was now seeing in the dream. There was enough detail that he would recognize the man if he saw him in real life. The problem was that he kept seeing this man dead. Or at least, he must have been dead. He saw him fall from a height and hit the ground. He saw the fear in the man's eyes as he fell. He felt grief at seeing it. Every time. Sometimes, the man had a gun and was firing it... at what? Sometimes, he didn't. Sometimes, Joel saw himself actually pushing the man before he fell. Sometimes, the man was grabbing for him as he fell. Sometimes, there were others in the dream, people he couldn't see well enough to identify. Other times, it was just the two of them.

What came out of the dreams was that something really bad had happened, something that he had been intimately involved with, even if he still didn't know what it was. But it wasn't anything simple. People didn't get killed over simple things. There was an edge in the dreams, too. Something about what was going on wasn't right.

What if the man he had seen die was real? What if he was the only one who knew that this man was dead? What if he wasn't dead? What if the version he'd seen where he seemed to be responsible for the man falling was the right one? What if the man had been trying to kill him? That wouldn't explain the grief he'd felt...unless the man had been a friend who stabbed him in the back.

There were far too many explanations for what he was seeing in his dreams... and he really couldn't even say that they were definitely real.

However, one thing he did know for certain was that, if the man from his dream ever showed up, he'd be very wary of trusting him. There would have to be a very good reason... like getting his memory back, before he'd just blindly accept that this man had good intentions. The only other people he knew of from his past had tried to kill him. And this man hadn't exactly been a pacifist...at least in some versions. So holding him at arm's length seemed like a good idea. If he existed.

Part of him wondered if that was the best course of action, but without knowing who was on whose side, including himself, he just didn't dare trust anyone suddenly appearing out of the woodwork.

With a sigh, he looked at the clock. Jack would have already been there for an hour. If he was going to get in some practice, he needed to go down.

It was with some reluctance that he did so. This morning had been one of his worse mornings, and he never really wanted to confront the world in this state, but he did it anyway. No choice really. Plus, practicing usually got him an extra free meal, even if it was just some leftovers. Free was not to be sneered at.

Squaring his shoulders, he crafted his usual unconcerned expression on his face and headed down the stairs. He knocked as usual and Jack let him in to play.

Joel walked over to the piano and started to run through a bunch of different songs. He'd started making a list of everything he knew he could play. A few trips to the local library had given him some other music to practice and add in, expanding his repertoire. But his melancholy and anxiety about his situation was still percolating in the back of his mind. After about an hour he started plinking around at random and his mind settled back on a song that had been coming up again and again in his mind.

"I've been livin' for the moment
But I just can't have my way
And I'm afraid to go to sleep
'Cause tomorrow is today.

People tell me life is sweeter
But I don't hear what they say
Nothing comes to change my life
So tomorrow is today."

He played through it, singing along, not loudly. He wasn't trying for attention or anything. It was just that the tone of the song, if not all the words, reflected how lost he felt most of the time. Finally, he reached the last bit.

"Though I'm living and I'm singing
And although my hands still play
Soon enough it will all be over
'Cause tomorrow is today."

Then, he sat there for a while, rubbing his fingers over the keys, wondering what in the world he had to look forward to when he didn't know who he was or where he came from. Even the lowliest drunk in the bar had an advantage over Joel... because at least he knew who he was.

And I've got nothing, he thought to himself.

"Don't play that song."

The voice startled him and he looked back to see Jack looking at him with some concern. Joel took a breath and forced a smile.

"It's not my best anyway. I wasn't planning on performing it."

"That's not what I meant," Jack said.

He came out from behind the bar and walked over to the piano. Then, he did something that Joel hadn't expected. He ran his hands almost reverently over the top of it and looked regretful.

"I don't have to play it, Jack. I'm not tied to it," Joel said. "You're the boss."

"This piano belonged to my uncle. He was a real musician." He smiled a little. "A lot of people can play music, but the music isn't inside them. I can play, but I'm not a musician. Uncle Mike... he was an artist. This piano has seen better days on the outside, but he always kept the inside immaculate and so do I. That song you keep playing... that's... that's all we got as a suicide note. He wrote those words down and left them on the piano. Aunt Darlene didn't want the piano after. It was too hard for her. His son, Louis, didn't really want it, either, although he protested when I got it."

"Wasn't the guy on the sidewalk the day you hired me named Louis?"

Jack nodded. "He never really got over what his dad did. Started drinking. Never stopped. I gave him a job to help him find his way. He didn't take the chance so I had to put my foot down. Aunt Darlene was upset, but she knows that Louis brought it on himself. I didn't know what to do with the piano. I didn't really have room for it at home. I put it in storage for years, but when this bar finally started paying for itself, I got it here, tuned it and played a little. Decided that I wanted to have it be used the way it should have been. The way Uncle Mike played."

"I won't play the song, Jack. I promise," Joel said.

Jack shook his head. "No, the reason I don't want you to play it isn't because it reminds me of what Uncle Mike did. The reason is that you play it like Billy Joel must have felt it. He wrote that song about a time when he attempted suicide. He would have been dead but one of his bandmates found him and saved his life. You get too stuck on it, you might decide to go the route Uncle Mike did. I don't want to see that happen. Whatever's going on in your life is your business. You don't want to tell me, that's fine. But I don't want to see you do anything that's going to be fatal. And the way you sing tells me that you could go that way if you let yourself."

Before Joel could think of a response to that, the door to the bar opened and Langston walked in. He was walking differently than he had been at the grocery store or when he usually came into the bar. He was more formal...but that wasn't quite right.

"Hey, Lang. What is it?" Jack asked.

"Business," Langston said.

Joel tensed a little. He didn't like the tone in Langston's voice. There was something very familiar about it. Authority. He was speaking with authority to command cooperation.

"What about?"

"There have been rumors."

Jack shrugged. This was a different kind of interaction than they had when Langston just came to the bar to drink. It was a little stiff, not very friendly.

"There are always rumors," he said. "They're not always true."

"What about this time?"

"I haven't heard anything, and that's the truth," Jack said. "Not a whisper in here, and I think I would have heard something if there was anything to hear. Come on, Lang, you know I don't hold back when there's something important."

Langston nodded and relaxed a little.

"I know that, Jack. Keep your ears open, okay?"

"I always do."

Then, Langston looked over and saw Joel sitting there, staring. He smiled.

"Got a new day job yet?" he asked.

"No. Are you a cop?" Joel asked.

Langston laughed. "Guilty as charged. Took you long enough to figure it out."

"You act different when you're just here as yourself."

"Are you surprised?"

Joel forced himself to laugh. "Yeah. You just didn't put off a cop vibe... until today."

"What's a cop vibe?"

Joel searched for the right words for what he meant. Then, he shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.

"Authority. You walked in here, knowing that you could ask for things Jack might feel uncomfortable sharing. You knew you had the right to ask, no matter how Jack felt. And Jack reacted to it."

Langston raised an eyebrow. "You're pretty observant, Joel. More than I'd expect from a guy playing piano in a bar."

Joel forced himself to smile. "I'm a maze of hidden talents."

So well hidden that even I don't know what they are, he added to himself.

For just a moment, Joel worried that Langston was going to start probing, and that glint in his eye said that he wouldn't be fooled by the prevaricating that Joel would have to do. ...but then, the moment passed and he looked back at Jack.

"All right. Thanks, Jack."

"You're not usually on call on a Sunday."

"Yeah. Rumors."

"Gotcha."

Langston nodded and then left.

After he was gone, Jack looked at Joel again.

"No talking about this to anyone."

"Why not?"

"Because people don't like knowing that the bartender talks."

"You think you have criminals coming in here?"

"Probably, or at least people who know criminals. This isn't a bad area, but it's still a bit grimy around the edges. Those of us running businesses know that business is better when you don't have to worry about drug busts and drive-by shootings. Some people don't like informers, even if it's just about passing on rumors. I don't want to lose business and I don't want to have to worry about myself. So no talking about this."

Joel mimed crossing his heart. "Won't hear about it from me."

There was a long pause. Joel was thinking about whether or not he should ask the question that was in his head. He decided just to do it, not sure what he should expect.

"You play?" he asked.

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Just curious. I thought you said that you could play."

"Yeah."

"Play me a song, then, Boss," he said.

Again, Jack raised his eyebrow, and Joel was struck with an overwhelming feeling of familiarity, like he should recognize everything about this interaction... except it shouldn't be Jack. It should be someone else.

But then, the moment passed and Jack stood and walked over to the piano. Joel stood and got out of the way. Jack sat down.

...and he started playing like a classical concert pianist. His fingers flew over the keys. The melody was familiar, but Joel couldn't place it. Apparently, classical music wasn't his forte.

Then, Jack finished with a flourish.

"Wow. What was that?" Joel asked.

"Rimsky-Korsakov. 'Flight of the Bumblebee.'"

"Oh, Green Hornet. I knew I'd heard it before," Joel said.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Rimsky-Korsakov," he said again. "From his opera, The Tale of Tsar Saltan."

Joel grinned at his irritation. "Green Hornet."

"They only use music like that because it's in the public domain."

"Right. So... why get someone like me to play for you? You can clearly play way better than I can."

"I can play. Classical. That's all I ever learned. It's not the same as performing for a bunch of people who are here to drink. Never was very good at performing. Besides, I run the place. I can't be performing and supervising at the same time."

"I guess."

"Now, I've got work to do. You done?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Get out of my hair," Jack said gruffly. "And grab something from the back on your way out."

Joel smiled. "Will do."

He went back to the kitchen and found some of the leftovers that kept well. He took the plate up to his apartment and warmed it up in the little microwave he'd purchased the week before.

He sat eating and looking out the window to the rest of the world. Everyone around him had hidden depths...but they knew what those depths were.

"What are my depths?" he asked himself.

Then, he sighed and finished eating his meal. He needed a rest before he started working that evening.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

"Why am I letting you do this? I'm the computer guy. I should be doing this and we'd be done already! We need to get this stuff out of here before something happens."

"Because I'm the one risking my neck by leaving this place every day and gathering all this information. It's only fair that I get to see if it's going to pan out like we hope it does. You just get to hang out. If I'm not worried about it, you shouldn't be, either. "

"Yeah, I get to hang out. On the top floor. Why did you pick this dump?"

"Because we can afford it. Besides, there's a fire escape. What are you so worried about?"

"That I might have to use the fire escape. Are you sure no one followed you?"

"Look, no one should know about this. ...unless you're secretly on their side. I'm not talking."

"Right. Yeah, that's exactly it. All my years of work is just so I can secretly be on the make. You've been reading way too many spy novels. Or I guess watching the spy movies since you don't really read."

"Uh-huh. I'm not the one who writes them."

"We have been spending way too much time together. This is going to kill me... or else I'm going to kill you before it's over."

"Ha. I'd like to see you try it."

Everything smeared away in a roar of noise that covered up the conversation. Roaring noises, repeated over and over again. Shouting, screaming, gunshots, the sounds building in intensity until it felt like the sound was permeating every fiber of his being.

There was a feeling of pursuit, the feeling of running through thick molasses and then a wash of fiery pain, followed by cold. A cold silence almost as intense as the noise had been before. He began to panic in that cold silence. He began to fear that he was going to die. He tried to scream but he couldn't make a sound that would punctuate the cold silence.

Then, a pounding pierced through the cold and he was completely disoriented. He began to struggle to get out of... whatever it was he was trapped in, but he couldn't. The panic intensified as he felt stuck.

A stinging feeling on his face.

"Joel, wake up. Snap out of it."

Joel's eyes flew open and he pushed against the restraint, breathing heavily, feeling a cold sweat all over his body. There was someone there! He was in danger!

"Joel! Joel, wake up! It's Jack."

Finally, he could see again and he was looking at Jack who was holding onto his arms, a look of deep concern on his face. Joel sat up quickly and tried to calm down, but for the moment, he couldn't. This was as bad as he'd ever had. He was shaking and he knew there were tears in his eyes. In fact, he closed his eyes and swallowed a few times, trying to get that horrible feeling dislodged from the pit of his stomach. For a few minutes, there was only silence...except for Joel's own loud breathing. However, gradually, he was able to push the horrible feeling away. He was suddenly very conscious of the fact that Jack was still there, most likely staring at him. He took one more deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. Then, he looked up at Jack.

"What are you doing in here?"

"I heard you in here, screaming bloody murder," Jack said. "I broke in, expecting to see you dying or something, not sleeping on your bed, tangled in the sheets."

Joel felt his face reddening a little bit, but he was also worried about what Jack might ask. There were far too many questions he couldn't answer and even more he wouldn't.

"What in the world was going on?"

"Just a bad dream, Jack. That's all."

Jack scoffed at that. "A bad dream doesn't leave you shaking like a leaf. Bad memory?"

It had to be the intensity of the dream that loosened Joel's tongue. He couldn't think of any other reason why he would answer as honestly as he did.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" Jack asked. "How could you not know whether or not your dream was a memory?"

"Nothing," Joel said, quickly. "I didn't mean anything by it. It was just a bad dream, Jack. That's all. It happens to everyone sometimes."

"It does?"

"Yes," Joel said, firmly.

"You know... asking for help is okay."

Joel looked at Jack in surprise. He opened his mouth to say that he didn't need any help, but since he knew he did, he was reluctant to tell an outright lie.

"I can't," he said, softly.

"What do you mean you can't?"

"What I need help with is not something I can ask anyone for."

Jack raised an eyebrow at him in that way that reminded Joel of something... or someone.

"I'm just going to ask this once. Are you hiding from the law? Are you a criminal?"

"Not as far as I know," Joel said, knowing that he was hedging but that he wasn't lying. He really had no idea, so as far as he knew, he could honestly say he wasn't.

Jack looked at him for a long moment, and Joel felt like he was under a microscope. Then, Jack just nodded.

"Okay. I'll still expect you tonight."

"I'll be there," Joel said.

"Good."

Then, Jack stood up and left the apartment. Joel felt a little guilty for not coming clean, but he still couldn't bring himself to reveal that level of vulnerability. He was at everyone's mercy if he let it be known that he had amnesia. Anyone could show up and claim to know who he was. They could accuse him of all sorts of things and he wouldn't be able to defend himself. They could pretend to be his friend while secretly being his enemy. He just couldn't take that chance.

But after four months like this, was he just holding onto useless hope that his memory would come back? All the dreams he had didn't seem to clear anything up really. They just left him feeling afraid, upset and confused.

Instead of thinking about it anymore, Joel decided to focus his mind on his set for that night. He pulled out his list of songs and decided after a few minutes that he really wasn't in the mood for just picking songs. He wanted to have people choose them for him...but hopefully choosing songs he knew. Then, he thought of a theme and it brought a real smile to his face. Maybe he couldn't share anything about himself, but others would be more willing in the form of a music request.

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

"Does it have to be by Billy Joel?" came a shouted voice from the bar.

Joel laughed.

"That's better, but it doesn't have to be. I just don't make any guarantees that I'll know the song if you go too far," he said.

"You pick the first one," another patron called out.

"Okay, okay, but it's going to be Billy Joel."

There was general laughter.

"Here's a tribute to the people who live in my new hometown," Joel said and then turned around to start playing.

"Los Angelenos
All come from somewhere
To live in sunshine
Their funky exile"

There was more laughter, but they were enjoying it, Joel could tell. He let himself get into the he continued singing the song, he even heard a few people singing along. This wasn't one of Billy Joel's more popular songs, so he was surprised. Still, he kept on until the last little bit of the song.

"Los Angelenos
All come from somewhere
It's so familiar
Their foreign faces."

After finishing, he turned back.

"Okay, your turn!"

There was a slight pause, but then, someone shouted out.

"'Take Me Home, Country Roads'!"

There was a smattering of applause at the suggestion.

"Well, it's not Billy Joel, but okay," Joel said. "Not 'Rocky Mountain High'?"

"He wasn't singing about the mountains being high," an anonymous voice commented.

More laughter. On a Friday night, the end of the week, Joel had found people much more willing to get into the singing earlier in the evening. Joel laughed as well and then turned around. Never mind that John Denver played guitar not piano. He could wing it.

He fumbled a little through the introduction but found his footing and started to sing. And to his surprise, two or three others sang along all the way through.

"Take me home, country roads
To the place I belong!
West Virginia, mountain mama
Take me home, country roads."

When he finished, there was more applause.

"Next?" he asked.

He played a few more songs of places people knew, places they loved, hometowns, and then, finally, he got back to where he felt most secure.

"'New York State of Mind!'"

"Thank you! I was beginning to lose faith in my audience," Joel said.

There were some laughs and Joel turned around and began to play.

"Some folks like to get away,
Take a holiday from the neighborhood.
Hop a flight to Miami Beach or to Hollywood.
But I'm takin' a Greyhound on the Hudson River line.
I'm in a New York state of mind."

Again, there were people singing along with him, some in the drunken way, but others in the way that said they really felt the words.

"It comes down to reality, and it's fine with me cause I've let it slide.
I don't care if it's Chinatown or on Riverside.
I don't have any reasons.
I left them all behind.
I'm in a New York state of mind.
I'm just taking a Greyhound on the Hudson River line.
Cause I'm in a, I'm in a New York state of mind.
Yeah, yeah."

There was a lot of applause for that one. More New Yorkers than West Virginians, apparently. After that, there was a spate of people being silly as the evening progressed and the drinks flowed. He played "Chattanooga Choo Choo" and "Do You Know the Way to San Jose?". They also asked for "Paris in the Springtime" and "Route 66" and "Sweet Home, Alabama." Someone asked for a song about a place called Coeur d'Alene in Idaho, but he didn't know it. One of the few times he was stumped and Jack gave the guy a free drink. He could do "The Big D" about Dallas. Luckily, a lot of the crowd sang along, so he didn't have to strain his voice as much as he might have otherwise. His tip jar finally got some love as well as the good natured drinkers were happy to give him a little extra for his time and effort.

"Last call!" Jack said from behind the bar.

While he'd enjoyed the night, Joel was glad of it. He was definitely feeling really tired. He played a little instrumental while everyone enjoyed their last round, but then, to end the night, he started playing one last Billy Joel song to send everyone on their way.

"Goodnight, my angel
Time to close your eyes
And save these questions for another day
I think I know what you've been asking me
I think you know what I've been trying to say
I promised I would never leave you
And you should always know
Wherever you may go
No matter where you are
I never will be far away."

He noticed that the bar got quiet while he played. They were really listening to him. He continued to play. It was a very quiet and gentle song, not at all like what he usually played here. But they were listening. Then, he got to the final verse.

"Someday we'll all be gone
But lullabies go on and on...
They never die
That's how you
And I
Will be."

The final chords seemed to echo, even though the bar had absolutely zero acoustics for echoing. There was a long silence and then applause. It was almost respectful.

"All right," Jack said. "Go home and get some sleep. I'm not selling anything else tonight and you can't sleep at the tables."

Laughter broke through the strange feeling and everyone began to filter out. Once they were out and the servers were cleaning up, Joel felt the urge to play a song he hadn't sung since being asked to see in a semi. He'd been told it was too melancholy to get people to listen. But he played it anyway. There were no customers. After all the songs about places, this seemed appropriate.

"A picture postcard
A folded stub
A program of the play
File away your photographs
Of your holiday

And your mementos
Will turn to dust
But that's the price you pay
For every year's a souvenir
That slowly fades away
Every year's a souvenir
That slowly fades away."

Then, he sighed. Dreaming of a wonderful life or a life that had faded away like an old, forgotten souvenir? Which was his future? But he pushed that away and closed the piano. Then, he stood up and arched his back after the long stint playing.

"Good thing you didn't play that one for the last call," said one of the servers.

"Why's that?" Joel asked.

"Way too depressing. Jack said that there are some leftovers you can take. They're good ones tonight."

"Thanks, Ken."

Joel walked back to the kitchen. Sanchez was just finishing up cleaning. He looked at Joel for a bit.

"You okay, man?" he asked.

"Yeah. Just tired. That was a lot longer with people paying attention."

"All right. Here you go. Bring the plate back tomorrow."

"Will do."

Joel took the plate up to his apartment, glad that Jack hadn't been there to watch him, not after what had happened that morning. As was his usual, he picked out the things that would save and ate the ones that wouldn't. Then, he sat, looking out the window for a while.

Four months he'd been here. And he knew this wasn't where he should be. If he only knew where he belonged. This wasn't bad, but it wasn't right. Nothing he had done so far had made it feel right. He'd tried but it still wasn't right. Nothing about what he was doing was right, but he didn't know what the right thing was so he was settling for something that was probably the wrong thing but at least wasn't really wrong.

Finally, with a last sigh, he decided to go to bed. He hated sleeping, but he was really tired.

Maybe he'd have a good dream this time.

Yeah, right.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

"So what are you doing here, Joel?"

The question came out of nowhere and Joel's fingers fumbled on the keys. He'd come in a little early to practice on Saturday because his latest temp job had ended and he had lots of free time again. Jack hadn't tried to get him to talk about things after the morning when Joel had been screaming in his sleep, and after six months here, Joel had decided that maybe Jack had simply accepted the way things were going.

Apparently, he was wrong.

He forced himself to look at Jack with an expression of simple curiosity.

"What do you mean? I'm practicing. Remember? You let me in twenty minutes ago."

Jack wasn't at all put off. He smiled.

"Yes, I did. I also have been watching you for the last six months. Anytime you sing a song about the past or about the future, you seem to feel it more."

"Maybe it's just a bad breakup," Joel said and started to turn back to the piano.

"Oh, no. It has nothing to do with a relationship going sour. It has nothing to do with other people, really. Whatever it is, it's all about you and your life. When you sing songs about relationships, you don't show anything, but you do when you sing a song about having nothing in your life. Why are you here? It's not because you're trying to make a career in music. It feels like you're waiting for something, but I don't know what that something is. ...and I'm starting to think that you don't, either."

Joel looked at the worn piano keys. Jack had been supportive ever since he'd hired Joel. He'd been willing to accept someone on faith and he'd helped out a lot more than Joel would ever have expected. Maybe he could trust that Jack wouldn't exploit his weakness. But he couldn't take it back if he was wrong.

"What is it, Joel? You need to trust someone."

"Jack..."

That was all he got out. There was a loud pounding on the door of the bar and an angry voice. A drunk angry voice if Joel was any judge. Jack looked toward the door, sighed and shook his head. He pulled out his phone and handed it to Joel.

"Call Lang," he said. "He's in my contacts. I think I might need him, but don't call the regular police number."

"What am I telling him?"

"That Louis is here again."

Joel raised an eyebrow. Jack just shrugged. Saying that Louis was here again implied that this was a fairly regular occurrence, but that he was supposed to call Langston meant that this could get violent. Jack just didn't want an actual arrest of his cousin.

"Okay."

He took the phone and dialed while Jack headed for the door.

"Langston. What's up, Jack?"

"It's Joel."

"Why do you have Jack's phone?"

"Jack gave it to me. He asked me to call you. Said that Louis is here again."

There was a sigh.

"I know he won't, but I wish he'd just let me arrest that idiot. I'll be right there."

Then, suddenly, there was a commotion from the door of the bar and Jack backed away. Louis was there all right. Joel recognized him from the day he'd been hired. He was drunk just like that first day.

...but this time, he had a gun in his hands.

"Hurry up, Langston," Joel said in a low voice. "He's got a gun this time."

"Five minutes. I'm there."

Then, the call ended. Joel put down the phone, but the movement got Louis' attention. He pointed the gun at Joel.

"Get away from my dad's piano," he said.

Carefully and slowly, Joel put up his hands and stood. He stepped away from the piano.

"Okay. That's fine."

"No! No, it's not fine! It's not yours!" Louis said.

And something about this made Joel revise his opinion. Louis didn't really seem drunk. It was more like he was on drugs. This was a stimulant, not a depressant. At the back of his mind, Joel wondered how in the world he knew this, but he was sure of it, now that he'd had a better look at Louis. It wasn't a guess.

"That's right, Louis. It's not his. It's mine," Jack said. "I gave him permission to play it."

Louis swung the gun back on Jack.

"You have no right!" he shouted.

"Yes, I do. It's my piano, Louis. It's not yours."

"It's not your piano! It's Dad's piano!"

"Your dad is dead, Louis," Jack said. "And it sucks, but he is. He killed himself and he's dead."

"No!"

"Yes, Louis. Uncle Mike died. Years ago. And he hated guns. What is his son doing with a gun in his hand?"

Joel was watching all this and he was afraid, but suddenly, completely inappropriately (he hoped), a song popped into his head. It was Jimi Hendrix instead of Billy Joel. He didn't sing it (since that seemed like a dangerous thing to do at the moment), but the lyrics were going through his head.

Hey Joe
Where you goin' with that gun in your hand?
Hey Joe
I said, where you goin' with that gun in your hand?

"I'm making things right, Jack. It's not right!"

"How is threatening to kill me going to make things right, Louis?" Jack asked, seeming completely calm. "You really think that this is going to bring your dad back? It's not. He's dead and if you want to go to Hell and never get a chance to see him in heaven, then you can kill one of us. If you want to see your dad again, you'd better put down the gun and stop being an idiot."

Joel wondered if this was the best approach, but he didn't know Louis. Maybe he would respond to it.

There was a long moment of silence. Joel was surprised, given the fear he always felt in his dreams, that he wasn't more afraid at this moment. He was afraid but not terrified.

Then, Louis focused on Joel again.

"Do you play?" he demanded.

"Yeah."

"Do you play?"

"Try me. What do you want me to play?"

"Play something about me. And you'd better get it right."

Louis was jittery and the gun was shaking in his hands, but Joel wasn't willing to test whether or not he was really going to kill one or both of them. So he slowly walked back to the piano and sat down. No quick movements. For a moment, he considered playing what Jack had told him was his uncle's suicide note, but then, that seemed like a bad idea when Louis was already off his rocker. But then, as he glanced over, he saw Jack unsure of what he was going to do and he saw Louis, boiling with drug-induced, self-righteous rage. A song popped into his head. Billy Joel, of course.

He turned back and started to play a song he'd been trying to learn, but the very beginning was way beyond his ability. He'd watched a recording of Billy Joel playing it live and his fingers had been moving so fast that they were blurred. So he skipped right to the main part of the song.

And he started to sing.

"There's a place in the world for the angry young man
With his working class ties and his radical plans
He refuses to bend, he refuses to crawl
He's always at home with his back to the wall
And he's proud of his scars and the battles he's lost
And he struggles and bleeds as he hangs on the cross
And he likes to be known as the angry young man."

Then, Joel kept playing, wondering if a bullet in his back was coming. But there was nothing. He kept going. Maybe if he could keep Louis distracted, Langston would arrive and would be able to take him down. He sang the second verse and then he got into a musical interlude and kept playing, although he was completely making the accompaniment up at this point. He was nervous enough that he didn't really remember how it went, but then, he got to the next verse.

"And there's always a place for the angry young man
With his fist in the air and his head in the sand
And he's never been able to learn from mistakes
So he can't understand why his heart always breaks
But his honor is pure and his courage as well
And he's fair and he's true and he's boring as hell
And he'll go to the grave as an angry old man."

Then, one more repeat of the first verse, a few loud, angry chords and he finished with a flourish and then turned around.

"Well?" Joel demanded. "Are you going to pretend that I didn't just describe you?"

Louis looked at him, almost in surprise, and the glaze in his eyes seemed to fade a little, as if he'd actually heard something in it.

"H-How did you know?" he asked, shakily. "Did Dad tell you?"

Joel looked at Jack for a fraction of a second and then made his own decision.

"Yeah, Louis. Yeah, he did. He doesn't want you to be doing this. He doesn't want his son to be a killer, and you're not yet. All you have to do is put down the gun."

He saw Langston behind Louis. His gun was drawn, but he wasn't aiming it yet. Joel was relieved to have a cop on hand, but maybe this could end without anyone dying.

"Come on, Louis. I'm nobody special, but I don't want to see you die and your dad chose to have me tell you that. You have a choice here."

There was a long pause.

Then, Louis lowered the gun. Before Joel could do or say anything else, Langston moved in and had disarmed and cuffed Louis in a second. Louis started struggling and crying, but Langston was strong enough to hold him and then pull him to his feet. Jack walked over.

"Wait a second, Lang."

"We have to arrest him this time, Jack," Langston said. "He's clearly high and he could have killed both of you."

"I know. I know, Lang." Then, Jack looked at Louis. "Your dad wouldn't want this life for you, Louis. If you actually want help, you know where I'll be, but I won't help you end up in the gutter."

Louis said nothing and Langston hauled him out of the bar. Jack sighed and shook his head.

"This is going to kill Darlene," he said, softly. "It's easy to blame it on Mike's suicide, but Louis was already starting this before he died." There was a pause and then Jack knelt down and picked up the gun. "Mike was my uncle, but I was actually really close to his age. That's what happens when you come from big Catholic families. He was the youngest of his family and I was the oldest of mine. Louis... I told Darlene I'd keep an eye on him, but that's hard to do when he's like this."

Langston came back into the bar.

"Can I take the gun, Jack?" he asked.

"Yeah. I don't even know where he got it. Mike never had any. So either he bought it or else..."

"Right. I'm sorry about this. I'll let you know what happens."

"Thanks, Lang."

"No problem. I'm glad you called for me." Then, Langston looked over at Joel. "You play pretty good and you're a pretty smooth talker."

"Good thing for me," Joel said.

"Right." Then, he looked back at Jack. "You going to open tonight?"

"No damage, no injuries. Of course I am."

Langston smiled. "All right. I'll try to drop in."

"All right."

Langston left. Joel was still standing in the same place he had been before. Jack turned and looked at Joel.

"You up for playing tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Come down early. You'll have dinner."

"You don't have to do that. I was saving myself, too."

"Yeah, I do. Now, go on. I've got things to do."

"Okay."

Joel started to leave.

"Hey, Joel."

He turned back.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Joel smiled. "You're welcome."

Then, he left and went back up to his apartment.

He sat down on the bed and looked at his hands. They were shaking a little. He had played probably as well as he ever did. He had read that Billy Joel only played "Angry Young Man" at the opening of his concerts because the beginning was so hard to play that he could only manage it when he was feeling the nerves of performance. He wondered if he would have been able to manage that had he known it well enough to try.

After a few minutes, he lay down and stared at the ceiling, not moving for a while.

Softly, he began to sing.

"Streetlife serenader
Never sang on stages
Needs no orchestration
Melody comes easy

His mind flitted around and he didn't sing the song in order. He just jumped from verse to verse. The lyrics sounded like such freedom, but at the same time, the tune was mournful. It wasn't a good thing to have no obligation, nothing to hold onto, to keep one living.

It was like saying one thing but feeling something completely different from it. Instead of finding freedom in not being tied down, it was as if he was stuck in the air, never able to land, even though he was tired of flying.

After a while, the words faded from his mind and he sighed before closing his eyes to try and get a little bit of sleep before the night's performance.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Over the next few weeks, Jack didn't return to what he had been asking Joel about. He was clearly distracted by what had happened with Louis. Joel didn't dare ask what the results were, but Jack was often on the phone. He had left Sanchez in charge one afternoon and Sanchez had asked Joel to come down and help out during that time. Besides that, Jack just had lost some of the spring in his step. It wasn't that he was usually peppier, but there was definitely something that was missing. So by the time the Saturday marking his eighth month at the bar arrived, Joel decided he would do a set that was meant to get Jack feeling better.

It would be all Billy Joel tonight. He might take requests as he often did on the weekends, but he was going to stipulate that it was Billy Joel only.

He came in at his usual time and started out with his usual instrumental stuff while people were getting their drinks, unwinding and eating. Then, he smiled to himself and started to play. There were some laughs as he got going.

They all recognized the song as he started to sing.

"It's nine o'clock on a Saturday.
The regular crowd shuffles in.
There's an old man sitting next to me
Making love to his tonic and gin."

As he played, the patrons in the bar began singing with every chorus, although they let him do the verses alone and they applauded with each musical interlude. Joel didn't know how Jack was feeling but this was about as good as he ever felt. People were enjoying what he was presenting. Then, he got to the last verse and he looked over at Jack and grinned. Jack just rolled his eyes, knowing what was coming next, but he looked less stressed than he had for a while. Joel wasn't good enough to look away from the piano for long, so he turned back.

"It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday
And the manager gives me a smile
'Cause he knows that it's me they've been comin' to see
To forget about life for a while."

For just a moment, Joel almost stopped playing, wanting to berate this fictitious audience for that desire. Forget about life. Who would want to do that? What person would really want to forget the life they'd had, the identity that came with the life they had? There was nothing good about it, and that fueled the intensity of the next few chords. They were louder anyway, but he really let himself go with it.

"And the piano it sounds like a carnival
And the microphone smells like a beer
And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar
And say man what are you doin' here?"

He forced himself to smile and kept playing.

"Hint, hint," he said.

Everyone laughed as he went into another short interlude and then the final chorus.

"Sing us a song; you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feeling alright."

Then, the final instrumental lines and he finished the song to riotous applause, and Joel was happy to see that they did indeed give him some good tips that time. Then, as was usual, he took his first break and went to the bar to get a drink. Sanchez gave him a glass of water and a few snacks, but Joel never wanted to eat heavy while he was playing. It took too much energy to entertain for long periods and he didn't need a heavy meal weighing him down.

He sat down at his usual spot at the end of the bar so that he was out of the way of the other patrons. Then, he ate a small fish taco and washed it down with the glass of water.

Jack walked over and leaned in.

"You okay?" he asked.

Joel just shrugged. There was really no way to describe that momentary feeling he'd had while playing.

"Are you?" he asked Jack.

"I'm okay. Louis is going to be arraigned next week. You might get asked to testify."

"I hope not."

"Don't know yet. Maybe Darlene has convinced him to plead guilty. I don't know. You sure you're okay?"

Joel just shrugged again and finished off his water. Sanchez already had another glass ready for him. It was the usual night. He left Jack there and headed back to the piano, carrying his glass. As he did, he caught a glimpse of someone in the audience. Someone familiar. He glanced over but only for a second. The patrons started calling for him to start playing again, so he sat down and started playing some Billy Joel instrumental music.

"It's all Billy Joel tonight," he said. "In my honor as a Joel!"

They laughed and applauded.

"Any requests?"

"'Always a Woman'!"

"Can do."

Joel turned to the piano and played and sang it. The night went on with enthusiastic requests from 'Zanzibar' to 'Still Rock and Roll to Me' to 'The Great Suburban Showdown' to 'She's Got a Way' to 'Scandinavian Skies' which Joel was sure he messed up. That was one he had heard but not really performed ever. They were forgiving on that one since the guy who chose it was probably just trying to find a Billy Joel song he didn't know. Then, there was another one shouted out.

"'Everybody Has a Dream'."

And that was one he hadn't ever performed and one of the few he really didn't want to perform. The words of this one got to him, even though a lot of it was about having a relationship, but given the literal dreams he was having and the fact that his figurative dream was just to know who he was, he wasn't sure he could get through it.

"Are you sure you want that one?" he asked.

"Yes!"

"Okay, then, you'd all better sing with me on the chorus."

Then, he turned back to the piano, took a deep breath and steeled himself to sing.

"While in these days of quiet desperation
As I wander through the world in which I live
I search everywhere for some new inspiration
But it's more than cold reality can give."

There was a tightness in his throat as he finished the first verse, but he swallowed that and kept his voice light.

"Okay. You all have to sing now, too."

There was laughter and he led into the chorus.

"I know that everybody has a dream
Everybody has a dream
And this is my dream, my own
Just to be at home
And to be all alone...with you."

Then, it was into the second verse that was easier to sing because it was about being in a relationship and that wasn't what bothered him, and he led right into the chorus again.

"I know that everybody has a dream
Everybody has a dream
And this is my dream, my own
Just to be at home
And to be all alone...with you."

Then, everyone sang with him as he repeated the first lines of the chorus over and over. In fact, he stopped singing and just let them do it. After the song was over, they applauded and then Joel heard the welcome words.

"Last call!"

"And last song," he said. "I'm picking it."

He started to play "This Night" as one that had no connection to his problems and was vaguely related to the fact that the night was over.

"Didn't I say
I wasn't ready for a romance
Didn't we promise
We would only be friends?"

He caught people swaying out of the corner of his eye and he smiled a little. It was silly but he didn't mind it at all. The meter of this song called for swaying. It just did.

"This night is mine
It's only you and I.
Tomorrow
Is a long time away
This night can last forever."

Then, a brief interlude and he called out.

"But even if it does, you still have to go after the song is over!"

They laughed, and Joel could see some of them leaving already. No problem with that. He could get back up to his apartment sooner. Then, he moved into the instrumental part where he just did some ad lib stuff. There was a saxophone in the original recording, and he didn't have one of those, but then, he moved into the key change that pushed the song a little bit higher than he was comfortable with.

I should haven't picked this as my last song after singing all night. Can I hit that note? Joel thought to himself.

"This night
Is mine
It's only you and I
Tomorrow
Is such a long time away
This night can last forever
Tomorrow
Is such a long time away
This night can last forever."

He sighed with relief as he got through the end of the song. The applause was a little bit thinner because more had left, but that was all right. He closed the piano and stood up, stretching as Jack began to usher everyone out. Joel headed toward the bar and his tip jar.

There was someone standing beside it.

A very familiar someone.

The man didn't look like he was in the best state, but he smiled, although the smile did little to lighten his eyes.

But none of that mattered because Joel had seen this man before.

In a dream.

Dying.

Then, suddenly, he spoke, his smile not quite expressing real joy, his voice somehow completely foreign and completely familiar at the same time.

"Man, Tony, what are you doing here?" he asked.

End of Part I

Chapter Text

Part II: A Matter of Trust

Chapter 10

He felt like he was stuck in molasses. He was trying to move, but he couldn't. He was trying to speak, but his mouth was full of his tongue. He was trying to escape, but he was too weak.

Every so often, he would feel something that would keep him from panicking. There was some kind of sound nearby but he couldn't really hear it.

Over and over, he would struggle and fail and then fall into oblivion, only to have the same thing happen again with each return to... whatever it was.

Then, after an unknown amount of time, he actually heard something.

Himself.

He could hear himself and he was whimpering.

"It's all right. You're all right. Relax. Rest."

The voice was soothing and familiar, and he let it lead him back to the oblivion.

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

The molasses was so thick. It was even keeping his eyes closed and he really wanted to open them. He struggled, but it was so hard. He began to panic that he would never get out. He tried harder and harder, desperate to escape whatever had him restrained.

He heard the sounds he was making as he tried to escape.

But the restraints were so tight. The molasses was so heavy.

He felt danger and he panicked even more.

"Timothy! Please, calm down."

No. Even that familiar and soothing voice wasn't enough. He needed to escape. He had to get away before it was too late! He kept trying to move but he couldn't. He could only hear himself making noises that should be words but weren't.

"Is there anything you can do for him?"

Another voice, one that wasn't at all familiar.

"It's possible that he's trying to wake up. If he won't calm enough to sleep, then, perhaps it's better to guide him to full consciousness if we can."

"How?"

"Just do your best. Talk to him. Keep him calm if you can, but give him that connection."

"Very well."

He heard all the talking but he still felt trapped and he couldn't seem to express it. But he really tried. It was just so hard.

"Timothy, I'm right here. You're perfectly safe. If you wish to awaken, you may do so and not be afraid."

Then, he felt himself lifted and held gently.

"I'll stay with you until you are feeling better, Timothy."

Then, he was almost being rocked back and forth. In spite of his panic, he liked the feeling.

"I don't know if you're dreaming or if you're awake and can hear my voice, Timothy, but I'm here. You're not alone."

He didn't know how long that comforting flow of words continued, but at some point, he stopped panicking. He still wanted to open his eyes, though. He tried and failed.

He tried again and failed.

All the while, he could hear that comforting voice talking to him, telling him that things were good and fine. He wasn't sure he fully believed it but he liked it.

Finally, he was getting tired, but he really wanted to open his eyes. So he gave it one more try. Then, he'd have to give up again.

"Timothy!"

He saw something for a moment and then his eyes closed once again. Things were blurry and definitely unclear, but he had seen something. He just didn't know what it was.

He felt a hand take hold of his.

"Timothy, if you can hear me and understand, squeeze my hand twice."

Could he really do that? Just opening his eyes had taken a Herculean effort. Could he move his hand?

Well, nothing to do but try it.

He thought about squeezing, but he wasn't sure he had managed it. His hand did move, however.

"Wonderful, Timothy. That's excellent. He's definitely awake."

"Very good."

There was a painful flash of light in his eyes and he tried to back away.

"Pupils are reacting to light. Deliberate movement. He's definitely coming out of it. I won't state categorically that he'll fully awaken from the coma, but this is very encouraging."

"I agree. Timothy, this is wonderful news. You are doing an excellent job."

He tried to open his eyes again, but he was feeling so tired now. It was enough that he had apparently done something well. He let himself relax.

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

He woke up again and didn't feel the same panic. There was someone with him still although not holding him this time, just someone holding his hand. He struggled to open his eyes.

And they opened!

Only halfway but they opened!

There was a word he needed to say. Something very important. He tried to think about it, tried to work through the molasses that was still there even if it wasn't quite as thick or deep as it had been.

What was the word he needed?

He closed his eyes again and thought about it more.

"Shoooooeee," he mumbled finally. That was the word.

"Timothy? What was that?"

"Shoooooeeeee," he said again.

He tried to open his eyes again to find the person who had spoken.

"Shooooeeeee." A third time.

"Timothy, it's all right."

"Shhhhooooeee."

"Timothy, we're already here. You don't need to get them to look in your shoe and call us. Do you know who I am?"

He struggled to open his eyes yet again and managed it once again.

There was a face right in his line of sight. A face he knew. How did he know it? He did, though. He knew it. He had to think of why.

"Hello, Timothy."

"Duuuuuu-ckyyyyyy."

"Yes, lad. Very good. Very good."

He was glad, but that wasn't who should be there. He had to think why he felt that way. Someone else should be there. Who?

"Whre?" he managed to get out.

"You're in a hospital, Timothy. You have been for days."

"Nooooooo. Whre."

"Where what?"

"Whre...Duuuckkyyy?"

He really wanted to ask where the person was who was supposed to be there, but that many words seemed impossible to get out. He was stuck trying to say words without being able to say words.

Who was it that he thought should be here? He fought through the molasses that seemed to coat everything and make it all sticky and hard to deal with.

Finally, the name was there.

"Whre...Tony..."

There was a long pause.

"He's not here right now, Timothy."

"Whre..."

"We'll... we'll bring him here as soon as we possibly can. For now, just rest. You're doing better and that will continue if you give yourself time."

He wanted to push for more information. Even through his molasses-coated brain, he could tell that there was hedging going on.

He wanted to do that, but he couldn't. It was just too hard.

"Just relax. Rest."

He wanted to say that he couldn't do that, that there was too much he had to understand, but... he couldn't.

He fell asleep.

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

He opened his eyes. He woke up, thought about it and they opened. That was an improvement over his confused memories from before. What he saw was still a bit blurry, but he could see. He looked around. The room was dim and quiet.

He seemed to remember that he was in a hospital, and he felt really terrible so he could believe that was the case.

He took a deep breath and that seemed to signal pain to make itself known across his body. He tried to force himself to take stock of the sources of the pain before he asked for someone to make it go away. His head really hurt and his shoulder, but otherwise, he just felt like one massive bruise.

"Timothy, you're awake again."

He managed to turn his head toward the voice. There was someone there, someone he knew. He was sure of that this time.

"Ducky," he whispered. "...hurts..."

"Oh, dear. Of course. Let me call for someone to come."

"...okay..."

He clenched his fists and closed his eyes tightly. It seemed an eternity that he was feeling the pain. Then, he felt a hand gently open one of his fists. He grabbed the hand and held it tightly, wishing that could make the pain go away.

"I'm right here, Timothy. I won't leave you alone."

After another eternity (or maybe a minute), there was someone else in the room saying something, but he wasn't listening. Things did seem to be happening around him. Maybe they were good. Maybe not. Who knew.

"There, Agent McGee. That should take effect shortly."

Shortly it might have been, but it definitely seemed too long before, finally, the pain began to ebb and the mental fog began to increase. Still, he really wanted some information because he was definitely lacking it at the moment.

"What... happened to... to me?" he asked.

"We're not sure."

He forced his eyes open and blinked a few times, trying to focus on this new person. But his eyes insisted on closing again.

"What... happened?" he asked again.

"Timothy, from all we can tell, you fell from a fire escape," Ducky said, distracting him from the new person.

"How?" He got his eyes to open and stay open this time.

Ducky's eyes looked away from his and to... someone else. He tried to follow Ducky's gaze, but moving his head was really hard. He squeezed Ducky's hand again, getting his attention.

"What happened?" he asked yet again. "...need to know."

"We don't know for sure," Ducky said. "But we know you were found in an alley dumpster that had only just enough garbage to keep you from being killed. You had a serious head injury and your collarbone is broken although healing. You had internal bleeding and plenty of contusions."

"All injuries that can be explained by a nearly-fatal fall."

That was the other voice.

"Did I... fall or... was I pushed?"

"We don't know, Timothy. We were hoping that you would know what had happened."

He let his head fall back and his eyes close yet again. He tried to think about what had led to this situation, but there was a gaping hole there. What had he been doing before all that must have happened?

He was so tired again. He wanted to sleep.

But then, something pushed into his consciousness. Tony should be here. He had been there before. He couldn't muster the energy to open his eyes again but he could still ask.

"Where's... Tony?" he asked. "He was... there before... I... remember... he was there."

"Do you remember what he was doing, Agent McGee?"

"I..."

"What had you found?"

That was a demanding voice and not one that he liked hearing. He couldn't remember who that was, but he knew he didn't like it. He didn't get a chance to try to answer (or not). The other voice that he didn't know intervened.

"Excuse me, but this is not the time for an interrogation, Captain. This man is only just coming out of a coma. He's barely coherent right now. The last thing he needs is for you to storm into his room and demand answers of him."

"One of my men was killed, Doctor."

"And this man was almost killed, Captain. I don't know who let you in here, but I am going to have to ask that you leave. Now. In this hospital, I outrank you. Even if you were an admiral, I would outrank you in this room. Leave and I will make sure that, in the future, you're not admitted to this room."

There were quiet footsteps but no words. Then, much louder footsteps, followed by a loud sound that startled him and he tried to open his eyes again.

Ducky was there, soothing him.

"It's all right, Timothy. You have done nothing wrong, and you're in no danger."

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter right now. What matters is that you relax and rest. I'm sure you're tired."

He was. Achingly so. Everything was really foggy, too. It wasn't as bad as the molasses but it was bad enough.

He nodded.

"All right then. I think..."

Those same quiet footsteps and there was a gentle hand on his uninjured shoulder.

"Tim, I need you to think about one question. Just one."

"Jethro, I think that you..."

"Bosss..."

"Just one question, Tim."

One last time, he managed to get his eyes open, but he was fading fast. There was Gibbs, staring at him. Like everyone else, he was kind of blurry, but there was no mistaking his boss.

And there was no refusing a question, even if he wasn't sure he could answer anything with even a modicum of coherency as the fog thickened ever more.

"Wha–?"

"Do you know where Tony is?"

He heard the words, but he was losing a battle with lucidity along with his consciousness.

"He's... Joel... the piano man. Always. Never say... our... names...Said... so..."

"Tony?"

"Joel... don't... break our... cover... Bosssssss..."

"We won't. Sleep, Timothy."

"Okay..."

He let his eyes close one last time and the rest of the world faded away.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

Tim woke up, finally feeling like he was himself. He still ached. He still felt terrible. He still felt very fuzzy about what was going on, but he felt like he was himself and that was a wonderful thing.

He opened his eyes and there was some blurriness, some dizziness, but overall, it wasn't bad.

At least, he thought that until he tried to move. Then, he felt a stab of pain in his head, another in his shoulder and he felt an incredible weakness that hadn't been apparent before. He started trying to sit up, but instantly, there was someone stopping him.

"Timothy, you need to stay still. You're in no condition to be moving around or even sitting up at this point."

Tim managed to turn his head to the side.

"Ducky," he said, reassuring himself that he did indeed remember him.

"Yes, lad. How are you feeling on this awakening?"

"I was awake before," Tim said.

Ducky nodded with a smile. "Yes, a number of times, actually."

"Oh. I remember... one... maybe two."

Ducky smiled encouragingly.

"That's all right. All things considered, any memories you have of your recent past are good. How are you feeling? I would guess there is still some pain?"

"Yes," Tim admitted. "Plenty."

"I'm sure of that. I'll get your doctor in here."

Ducky started to turn away, but Tim reached out.

With the wrong hand. He groaned at the sharp pain. Ducky turned back in a moment and pushed his hand back to the bed.

"Keep your left arm still, Timothy. I know it's your dominant hand, but try not to aggravate it," Ducky said. "Your doctor should be close by. He thought you might be waking soon. I'll get him."

"Wait," Tim said, through his pain.

"What, Timothy?"

"I can't... think when the pain is gone. Everything gets so fuzzy."

"I know that, but you need that relief."

"Just wait a minute," Tim said. "Please."

Ducky sat back down in the chair.

"Very well. What?"

"What's going on, Ducky?" Tim asked. "I need to know. How long has it been? Where am I? Where's Tony? Why won't anyone answer my questions? Who was that in here before that the doctor kicked out? What is happening? The last thing I really remember is Tony and me being undercover in Norfolk."

Tim could tell that Ducky was not sure about answering his questions. That made him worried. If the answers were straightforward, Ducky would have been quick to respond.

"Ducky, please."

Ducky sighed. "Very well. It's been two weeks since you were brought here."

"Two weeks?" Tim repeated, stunned. "I've been... in the hospital for two weeks?"

"Yes, but you were in Norfolk for a few days before that. You're in Bethesda now. You were found in Norfolk in a large dumpster and taken to a hospital there, but we had you transferred here once we learned your location and you were physically stable. We felt it was safer than leaving you where you had been injured. From all we can tell, you only barely missed the sides of the dumpster when you fell but you hit hard enough that it caused a TBI and you must have landed somewhat on your left side since your collarbone is broken on that side. We don't know how long you were there before you were discovered. From what we could discern, there were shots fired in the apartment building beside the dumpster because there were calls to 911 reporting gunshots shortly before you were found. The police came to investigate the reports and, when they went out to the fire escape, they looked down and saw you."

"Was I shot?" He didn't think he had been, but he would never have guessed more than two weeks of unconsciousness, either.

"No. However, there was an apartment with numerous gunshots through the door and some windows. It was right above where you were found. And both your fingerprints and Anthony's were found in the apartment later. So we can only assume that was where you were staying."

"What about Tony?"

Ducky looked uncomfortable, which was very odd for him.

"I'll go get your doctor now."

Tim started to reach out again, but Ducky stopped him.

"Stay still, Timothy. While you're definitely on the mend now, your injuries could have been fatal. You can't rush things."

Tim ignored that even though the pain was getting hard to think through. "Tony, Ducky. Where is he?"

Ducky sighed and put a gentle hand Tim's arm. That made Tim more worried than anything else he could have done. Again, Ducky wouldn't have been acting like this if things were normal.

"We don't know where Anthony is. There has been no sign of him since that day. Nothing at all. However..."

"What?"

"Some of the evidence we've found is pointing to Anthony as being... involved."

"Involved? What do you–?" At first, Tim couldn't understand what Ducky meant. Then, his eyes widened and he started to sit up again. "No! No, Ducky. There's no way that..."

A sudden surge of pain cut him off mid-sentence and Ducky again held him back.

"Timothy, I'm getting your doctor."

"No... Ducky, Tony can't be... dirty," Tim said, gritting his teeth. "He can't be!"

"Timothy, you must relax. I agree with you, but we have nothing to combat what we've found so far. Not even a... not even Anthony himself."

Tim let Ducky push him down and the pain was enough that he had to breathe through it for a few seconds. Then, he looked at Ducky again.

"You think he's dead. Don't you."

"It's been two weeks. We've been searching ever since you were found. We've put out BOLOs through the entire area around Norfolk. Nothing. He's made no effort to contact anyone, not using any of the methods we set up before you went undercover. Not the burn phones, not the message hidden in your shoes, nothing. We've searched the hospitals and now..."

"Now?"

"They're searching the water, hoping to find... his body."

Tim shook his head again. "No. Tony can't be dead and he's not dirty! You thought he was dead before. I was the only one who wouldn't believe it and I was right!"

Ducky's expression was sympathetic. "Timothy, that was when he was missing for one day and he contacted us as soon as he could. It's been over two weeks and nothing."

"Maybe he can't contact us."

"It's possible."

"But not because he's dead!"

"Timothy, calm down. The reason I'm here alone is because everyone is still searching for information. Abigail has been running searches and tests nearly every waking moment, trying to get more information. Jethro and Eleanor are investigating possible leads. Now that you're more awake, they'll likely come to visit you. We're not giving up. But right now... things aren't looking good."

"But... it's just not..."

The pain in his head increased dramatically and he closed his eyes in reaction to the throbbing. In that moment of distraction, Ducky clearly took advantage and went out of the room because the next thing Tim knew, the voice of the person who must be his doctor was speaking to him.

"Agent McGee, I'm glad to see you so much more aware today. That bodes well for your recovery. Now, Dr. Mallard told me that you're feeling some pain."

Tim nodded. He was reluctant to get the painkillers that fogged up his brain, but at the same time, he really wanted to stop hurting.

"All right. So we're going to relieve your pain now, but we'll also give you a PCA which will allow you to control your pain to some degree."

"Okay."

In moments, he felt the fog increasing as his pain was reduced. But it was a relief not to hurt so much. For the moment, he could still think somewhat coherently.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, do you remember me?"

Tim opened his eyes and looked at the doctor.

"I remember your voice... I think."

The doctor smiled.

"Well, you definitely heard me more than saw me. I'm Dr. Crittendon. I'm the physician in charge of your case here at Bethesda."

"Oh. Nice... to meet... you, I guess."

Dr. Crittendon smiled again.

"And you. I must say that you are doing much better than I originally thought you would so soon."

"I don't feel good. Not at all."

"But you're relatively coherent. The head trauma was our biggest worry and it appears that, as the swelling has gone down, you're much more connected. As long as you take your time and follow our schedule, you should hopefully make a full recovery."

"How long?" Tim asked.

His eyelids were getting heavy again. He tried to resist that for the moment. He wanted to get as much information with this waking as he could.

"I'd estimate at least another five weeks for your collarbone to heal. As for the rest of you, we'll start you on some simple PT next week and that will tell us how long you'll need. As you get more able, we'll discharge you and you'll be seen on an outpatient basis but..."

Tim saw Dr. Crittendon look at Ducky who quickly shook his head.

"What?"

"Nothing, Timothy."

"No. That wasn't... nothing... What?" Tim asked.

"Later," Ducky said firmly. "You've had quite enough emotional upset at the moment and you've had enough shocks to your system. Right now, I can tell you're tired. You need to sleep. Everything else will keep until later."

Tim wanted to insist that he needed to know everything right now. He realized that Ducky had never told him who had come into his room before. He wanted to push for more information. He wanted to keep stating that Tony wasn't to blame for what happened. ...whatever had happened. He wanted to shout that they couldn't possibly think that Tony was corrupt.

He wanted to do all of that, but as the painkillers took hold, they seemed to sap all his energy. He slumped down on the bed and couldn't even protest as Ducky helped Dr. Crittendon rearrange him so that he could be as comfortable as possible.

"I know you're worried, Timothy, but we're doing what we can," Ducky said in a low voice. "The best thing for you right now is for you to heal. If you give yourself the time you need, you'll be that much better later. Just rest. Sleep because you need it."

Tim let his eyes close again but he shook his head.

"Can't... let that... stand. Can't do that... Ducky."

"We won't. You can't help right now, Timothy, except by healing. So focus on that."

His tiredness now became outright exhaustion, but still he resisted.

"What... about... Tony?"

"If Anthony is truly alive as you say, he's very resourceful and he will be better served by you letting yourself heal than by you pushing yourself too far."

"What if... this is my fault?"

"It's not."

"Don't know. No one... there but... me... and... and Tony."

"It doesn't matter. It's not your fault."

Ducky's voice was starting to sound like it was coming from a great distance.

"Can't... remember," he whispered.

"It doesn't matter," Ducky said again. "None of it matters right now, Timothy. Just sleep."

He had to. He didn't want to, but Tim just couldn't stay awake any longer. He had to give in to his exhaustion and sleep.

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

"Timmy? Are you awake?"

That was a familiar voice. He tried to wake up, fighting through the fog of painkillers back to the waking world.

Tim opened his eyes just a bit and, as he had thought, there was Abby. She looked very worried, but she smiled when she saw that he was looking at her.

"Oh, Tim. I'm so glad to see you awake!" she said. "Ducky told me very firmly that I can't hug you right now, that it would only make things worse, so I'll just give you a kiss."

She leaned over before Tim could say anything and she kissed him right on the forehead. Great. Now, he probably had lipstick on his head. But still, Tim couldn't help but smile a little.

"Thanks, Abby," he said. "Anyone else coming?"

"Not yet. We're keeping things as quiet as we can right now."

Tim furrowed his brow. Abby wasn't always the clearest about things in the best of circumstances and he definitely wasn't at his best.

"What do you mean? Why?"

"Well..."

The door opened and Tim managed to switch his attention from Abby to the door.

"Boss," he said. "Why keeping things quiet?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at Abby without speaking. Tim managed to switch his attention again and he saw that Abby looked more than a little sheepish. Perhaps even a bit guilty.

"What's... going on? Why quiet?" he asked again. "It was undercover, but... it's all ruined now... right?"

Gibbs was still being his usual taciturn self, but he walked over to the bed and sat down beside it. Abby took hold of Tim's hand and squeezed it tightly.

"We're trying to keep you out of the public eye, Tim," Gibbs said.

"Me? Why?"

"Because everything was ruined. And Tony's been implicated. That means you are, by default. The less people think about you, the better."

"What?"

"Abby wasn't supposed to say anything until you were better."

"But..." Tim wasn't sure if it was his brain or the situation that was more messed up. "This doesn't make sense."

"I know. It won't for now. Has to stay that way until you're better."

"But..."

"I really miss you at work, Tim," Abby said. "You need to get better. We'll all be better off and then, you can help us, and everything will get back to normal again."

But Tim was not to be distracted by that obvious attempt to change the direction of his thoughts. He kept thinking about what was going on. Who wasn't there besides Tony.

"You haven't... told my family. Or Delilah."

"No."

"Who was here before?" Tim asked, remembering what he'd forgotten before. "The... person who was asking me questions."

"Ensign Reyes' commanding officer. Captain Blaine."

"Boss, what's going to happen?" Tim asked.

"Nothing. You're going to get better and we'll figure it out."

Gibbs was categorical about it, but he always was. Tim was starting to see that there was way more to this than just a failed undercover mission.

He couldn't do anything about it if he didn't recover.

I'll just have to do that as fast as I can, he thought to himself.

He settled back docilely and let Abby start chattering. He could feel Gibbs watching him, as if he was suspicious of this easy capitulation, but he chose to focus on Abby.

He couldn't leave it this way, but he could force himself to get better faster than they thought he could. He'd do it and find Tony, bring him back, and fix things.

Yes, he could do that. He would.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

Three weeks later...

"Thirty more seconds, Tim. You can do it."

Tim kept at it, even as he was feeling on the verge of collapse.

"Can't."

"Yes, you can. Fifteen more seconds. You're almost there! Ten seconds. Nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one! Stop."

The timer went off and Tim gladly stopped, although part of him wanted to keep going, wanted to bully his body back to normal functioning, but he knew that was pretty much impossible.

"All right, take a rest and we'll get onto the next set in about five minutes."

"Okay," Tim said, breathing heavily. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling as his heart rate gradually slowed to normal levels.

He had never thought that it would be so easy to break his body down. But two weeks in a hospital bed had sure done that. His endurance was gone. His muscle was gone. His balance was way off kilter, and his collarbone was healing but still very weak. Which was why he was currently not getting the exercise he needed on that part of his body. His collarbone couldn't take it. The PT would help eventually, but so far, they'd had to be more conservative. Which meant his dominant hand was weak while he was exercising everything else. Everyone kept telling him it would come in time, but it wasn't enough that he had to wait. He needed to get better so that he could know what everyone else knew.

He knew everyone was keeping things from him about how the case was currently progressing, but at least, he knew that they still had no sign of Tony, living or dead. That was the most concerning thing to him, well that and the fact that there was apparently a lot of evidence saying that Tony had been to blame for what had happened. Tim still couldn't remember that night at all and Dr. Crittendon had said he likely never would because of his TBI. That meant he couldn't just clear Tony's name by explaining what had happened which really rankled. But he didn't even know what evidence there was that Tony was dirty. Just that they had it and they were trying to find some kind of hole in it and they weren't.

He thought back to the operation itself and what had begun it.

Ensign Miguel Reyes, a man he'd never even seen alive. He had contacted them, saying that he had evidence of a massive smuggling operation going on within the Navy, coming out of Norfolk. He'd been involved in it but his conscience had got the best of him. He said he had evidence but he wouldn't give it over the phone. He was afraid of being heard.

"Okay, this is where he said he'd be," Tony said. "I don't see anyone. Do you?"

Tim looked around the park and shook his head.

"No, I don't. This had better not be a joke," he said.

"Yeah, even if it's not right in Norfolk, we still had to drive all this way to meet with him."

"Maybe. What if it wasn't really him? They just used a name that was legitimate to get us here?"

"Yeah, that would suck, too. Okay, let's look around and see if there's anything."

Tim nodded.

"Stay in sight," he said.

"Yeah," Tony agreed.

They started to spread out across the park, but always keeping each other in view.

Then, Tim saw something in the bushes. He walked closer.

"Tony! Over here!"

He knelt down and lifted the branches. Tony leaned over to see.

A man in his Navy uniform.

Dead.

Initially, it had been ruled natural causes by the team at Norfolk, but the timing and location seemed far too suspicious. Supported by Reyes' family, Gibbs had insisted on a full autopsy to be conducted at headquarters and Ducky had found evidence that he had been killed by the so-called "gray death" drug. The dangerous combination of various opioids had been known to cause death by overdose just by handling it with bare hands. No natural death at all. So Gibbs had made the decision to send Tony and Tim undercover in Norfolk to see what they could find out about Reyes and about the smuggling he had claimed was happening.

"All right, Tim. Let's check your heart rate."

Startled out of his thoughts, Tim looked over at Ian, his physical therapist.

"It's not normal yet," he said.

"I wouldn't expect it to be," Ian said, with a smile. He checked Tim's pulse. "Yeah, you're still a little high. We'll wait for another minute or two before we start the next set. You want to sit up and get a drink?"

"Yeah."

Ian helped Tim sit up and then he took a drink. As he rested, his mind went back to the case and how irritated he'd been initially when they were setting up their undercover operation.

"Tony, I know you have more experience being undercover than I do, but come on. I'm not going to be able to leave our base at all?"

"Look, we can't have both of us out and about asking questions. That will be too suspicious. If we have one of us always at the base, we have a potential contact with backup. All the time."

"We already think we'll need to be getting into computer information. How are you going to manage that? You don't know how to do that stuff."

"That's why I'll take it and let you do the work. In the apartment."

Tim sighed. "Tony..."

"Hey, Gibbs put me in charge of this. It's my decision."

"Yeah, and you're in charge, but that doesn't mean autocratic ruler," Tim retorted. "We need to talk this out and if I don't understand why you're making the decisions you're making, I'm not going to be in the best position. And I don't. We're not going to be on base. We're going to be near the base and seeing how far this extends... if it goes anywhere at all. We could both be going about our lives and be listening at the same time. It doesn't need to be just you... unless there's something you're not telling me."

Tony sighed. Then, he looked around for a moment and gestured. Tim's brow furrowed but he stood and followed Tony out of the building and over by the Anacostia.

"What, Tony?"

"The more we're looking into this, the more I think it goes a lot higher than Ensign Reyes. He said it was big, but I think it's more than just big. It really stinks of someone high on the totem pole, and... I'm a little afraid of what we're going to find."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "You're thinking it's going to be political?"

"If that's all, we'll be lucky."

Tim looked out at the river and then back at the building.

"Tony... are you thinking that there are people in NCIS involved in it, too?"

"Maybe. There's a reason why Ensign Reyes called us and didn't report it to the NCIS people at Norfolk. He could have. It would have been confidential there. There's a reason why the preliminary cause of death was natural causes. It's not like the gray death is hard to detect. They could have found it themselves."

"Unless they're in on whatever this is."

"Yeah. Or it's so big that even confidential things aren't really confidential over there."

"Okay. So why not tell me that? Why beat around the bush?"

"I was going to once we were heading to Norfolk and I could be sure that there wasn't anyone listening in," Tony said. Then, he smiled a little although his expression was still serious. "I thought you might trust me enough to wait that long."

"I trust you, Tony," Tim said. "I just need you to trust me in turn. If we're doing this, if it's as serious as you say, then, we both need to trust each other. When we go under, we're not going to have any outside contact except for the messages we'll be sending once a month. And if I feel you're holding out on me, it's not going to make me feel that you're trusting me. It's more like you're stuck with me and making do with the dregs. Like you're going to do the important stuff so that I don't mess it up."

"That's not what it is."

"Good. Then, act like it. Trust me, and I'll do the same."

"Okay, Tim. Let's do the next set," Ian said, again pulling Tim out of his thoughts.

"The collarbone stuff?" he asked, trying to refocus on the present.

"Yep. I know you love it so much."

Tim smiled a little reluctantly and let Ian help him up and balance so that he could get working on his exercises. These things were necessary, but he hated them, and they were complicated by his other need for recovery. All in all, he hated all of this, and he hated even more that this was all he could do, that he couldn't be helping find Tony, helping to clear his name. Every time he tried to push a little beyond what Ian had told him to do, he was reined in very quickly. Tim resented it. He needed to get better and this pace seemed extremely slow. The more time that passed the harder it would be to fight against what was being said. He needed to get going on it.

"Tim, you're not even trying today and that's the polar opposite of what you usually do," Ian said. "What's up?"

"This is taking too long," Tim said. "I'm just sitting around doing this stuff and there's too much going on all around me. Too much that I can't do because I'm stuck here."

Ian helped him back to the bench and let him sit down.

"Tim, what you're doing is important. I know you're worried about all the stuff outside of your own health, but you can't do anything about it if you don't get yourself in hand first. How can you look for anyone if you're still getting those dizzy spells? How can you defend yourself if you can't use your dominant hand? How can you even do an effective computer search if you can't sit up for the lengthy periods required by that kind of work?"

Tim gave a long sigh and leaned back, resting his head against the wall.

"It was just the two of us out there. We were each other's only backup. For weeks, we could only rely on each other and no one else. We both knew it and we both knew that we had to deal with anything that happened on our own. There's no indication that I was pushed off that fire escape. So that means I fell, and now Tony's missing. The only way I can see it is that I dropped the ball and did something stupid. I didn't do my part. I wasn't able to be his backup and he's gone."

Ian put a hand on Tim's shoulder and gave him a gentle shake.

"No, Tim. What that means is that something went seriously wrong out there and the two of you needed more backup than you had. It doesn't mean you were to blame for it."

"But I'm here! I'm not missing. Tony is missing. Where's Tony?"

"Tim..." Ian's voice was very gentle. "Are you afraid he's dead?"

Instantly, Tim bristled. "No. He's not dead. We would have found him by now if he was dead. Tony's not dead. I don't know where he is or why he's not here, but he's not dead."

Tim felt a tightening in his throat. Over and over, he had tried to bring up memories of that day, but it was gone as if it had never happened. He had no memory of falling, no memory of an invasion, no memory of being attacked. Nothing. All he had was what came before it and what came after. Before that gap, Tony had been there. After that gap, Tony was gone.

"I can't remember what happened. I keep trying to remember it, but I can't remember. I'm failing Tony by not knowing what happened. If I knew..."

"Maybe nothing would be any different than it is now," Ian said, his voice soft and encouraging.

Tim leaned forward, resting his right elbow on his knee and then dropped his head onto his clenched fist. After a few seconds, he started hitting his forehead with his fist.

"Why can't I remember?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Hey, stop." Ian grabbed Tim's wrist and stopped his motions. "Tim, you can't look at things like this. It's good to want to heal. It's good to want to recover your memory, but you're not a failure if you don't. It doesn't mean you did anything wrong back then."

Tim sat where he was and he felt the tightening increase until he was breathing irregularly, trying to control himself.

He felt Ian put his arm around his shoulders. He didn't squeeze tightly which Tim was glad of since that would hurt.

"Tim, it's okay if you're feeling overwhelmed. It's okay if you want to do better. ...and it's okay if you need to cry about it sometimes."

"There's no reason to cry," Tim said, although he could feel the tears starting to gather in his eyes. "None."

"Maybe there's not. Still doesn't mean you can't cry if you feel like you need to."

Tim tried to resist it. He didn't want to because that would be like saying he thought Tony was dead and he would not admit to that possibility, not until he saw Tony's body. He wouldn't accept the possibility even existed. He had been right that Tony was alive the last time they had thought he was dead. He was right this time, too. He wouldn't believe. So he didn't need to cry.

The silence extended and the tears wouldn't go away.

"Tim, it's okay. And I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to."

Tim laughed, but letting that much out led naturally to the tears he'd tried to stop.

He started to cry.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

Captain Blaine started pushing for answers not long after Tim began his physical therapy. Dr. Crittendon held him off as long as possible, but Capt. Blaine refused to be put off forever. He apparently called in a number of favors and Tim was forced to let himself be interviewed by Capt. Blaine for his actions during the undercover operation. More than once he implied that Tim was dirty, questioning whether or not Tim really remembered what had happened that night, pushing to know everything they'd found, why they hadn't contacted anyone sooner, why weren't they prepared to end the operation as had been agreed upon before.

He had shown Tim the bank accounts in Tony's name with large amounts of cash that no one could explain. He had shown the computer that supposedly all the work they'd been doing had been saved on and how Tony's log-in was the only one used just before someone had wiped all the data. And now, Tony was gone and Tim had nearly been killed. What other conclusion could there be but that Tony had been in someone's pay, had assisted in the murder of Ensign Reyes, had used the undercover operation to get rid of the evidence and absconded when he'd finished? And Tim was either the victim of Tony's duplicity or else he was an accomplice. So he needed to decide what he was going to be. Was he going to protect a murderer and smuggler or was he going to get justice for a member of the U.S. Navy?

Tim had tried to protest that interpretation, but he still wasn't at the top of his game mentally, and he knew there was no real evidence he could bring to bear on it, only his absolute conviction that Tony was the last person who would be a dirty cop. He just wasn't that kind of person. But Capt. Blaine was not to be deterred and he kept pushing and pushing until Tim was even confused by what was being asked and he couldn't think straight, but even then, it didn't end.

The interview had gone on and on until Tim was so exhausted and overwhelmed by it that he had almost been willing to admit to everything just to get it to stop. Fortunately, that was when Gibbs had come storming in to stop it, forcing Capt. Blaine out of the room and threatening to report him for his interrogation that violated far too many laws and had been little more than badgering someone still recovering from a serious injury. Later, Capt. Blaine had registered an official protest at Tim's lack of cooperation in trying to solve Ensign Reyes' murder, claiming that he and Tony were in on it together and the whole operation had been a sham. This had led to more investigations, more digging. Eventually, even Capt. Blaine had to admit that there was no evidence linking Tim to what had happened, so he turned his attention back on Tony. It was only the NCIS refusal to admit that the case was closed that stopped it from being ended. Vance had pulled some strings, but who knew how long that magnanimity would last.

Not long after the interview, Tim began begging to be allowed to come back to work. He said that he'd follow whatever restrictions placed on him as long as he could come back and start working on the case, trying to find Tony, knowing that only by showing that Tony wasn't dirty could they make any headway. All the data they'd collected was gone from the computer. There had been a flash drive that they'd been storing as a backup, but that was apparently missing as well. Tim knew that they had been planning on doing a major correlation of all the data to see if any commonalities popped out of it, but whether or not they'd actually done it, he couldn't remember.

All he knew was that he had to do what it took to find Tony and stop the accusations against him even as the voices got louder and came from more people. Tim wouldn't believe it until Tony himself said it was true.

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

Two months later...

"Tim, you're done for the day," Gibbs said.

"No. I'm fine," Tim said, not even glancing away from the screen.

"No, you're not. Your therapist only allowed you to come if you agreed to doing part time. The part is done."

"No. I'm not done with this file yet," Tim said. "It might have something in it."

He wasn't ready for Gibbs to grab the chair he was sitting on and spin it away from the desk, but that was exactly what happened. In a moment, he was staring at Gibbs instead of at his monitor.

"You can't do this, Tim."

"Do what? Work?" Tim asked, even though he knew what Gibbs meant.

"Ignore the facts."

"I'm not ignoring any facts," Tim said. "I'm ignoring people's interpretations. My interpretation is just as valid!"

Gibbs sighed. They'd been over this many times, but Tim had always been able to resist long enough that Gibbs had let him keep going. Ellie was sitting at her desk, pretending she couldn't hear any of it.

"Tim, it's been four months. Tony must be dead. It sucks but that's the way it is."

"No, it's not! You haven't found a body, have you? You haven't found who invaded the apartment, have you? No! So you don't know that he's dead."

"Then, where is he?" Gibbs asked. "You know that people are saying the only two options are either he's dead or he's on the run. Which do you want them to decide on?"

"I don't know where he is, but I know that I'm not giving up until we find him. And until I see a body, he's still alive. And I'm not letting Capt. Blaine put the blame on Tony when he's not here to defend himself," Tim said, hearing his own voice rising. "I don't care how many times he says that I was attacked by Tony, that there's no evidence of anyone else in the apartment. It doesn't change the fact that I know he didn't do that. Tony's not guilty of anything!"

"I know that."

"Could have fooled me!" Tim said, knowing that he was crossing the line in accusing Gibbs of thinking Tony could be dirty. He knew that Gibbs and Vance were the only ones able to keep Tony's official record clean. He knew that, but he was wound up and he didn't care.

"With me."

Tim grimaced. He didn't want to stop for any reason, whether that be to receive a lecture or to be sent home. Reluctantly, he got up and followed Gibbs to the elevator.

He wasn't surprised when it jerked to a stop, but he was surprised at what followed.

"Tim, why are you doing this to yourself?" Gibbs asked.

Tim looked at him in surprise. That was not what he had expected at all.

"Doing what? I feel like I'm the only one who cares about finding Tony... alive or dead."

"No. That's not what this is. You know that we're all still working on it when we can, but we can't just ignore every other case and focus on this one. It's not possible. Crime doesn't stop because we want it to. What are you doing?"

"I'm not giving up on him, Boss. I can't. Not for anything. No other case matters to me except finding out what happened."

"You're running a risk."

"Of what?"

"Capt. Blaine going back to accusing you of being part of the corruption he says explains it all."

"So? I was implicated before, but nothing came of it. Why would that change now?"

"Because you're being too loud."

"I don't care," Tim said. "I'll quit before I'll stop. Maybe I should just quit now and save time. Then, you couldn't stop me from working when there's more to find. In fact, that's what I'll do. I quit, Boss." He pulled out his badge, dropped it to the floor and then flipped on the elevator.

Gibbs flipped it right back off again and gave him his first headslap in a long time. It wasn't very hard, but Tim felt it. He grabbed the badge off the floor and shook it in Tim's face.

"You can't get rid of the guilt you feel by giving up everything in your life," he said.

There was a pause.

"You're one to talk," Tim retorted and then turned away as his throat tightened.

It didn't help one bit when Gibbs put a hand on his shoulder (his right shoulder) from behind and simply squeezed it lightly.

"Tony being missing isn't your fault, Tim. If he's dead, it's not your fault either. This isn't your fault. Just because you can't remember it doesn't mean you did anything wrong."

Gibbs' voice was almost gentle and Tim struggled not to give in to the comfort and support being implicitly offered. He said nothing and didn't turn around.

"Tim, I won't force you to accept that Tony's dead and we just haven't found his body, but I won't let you quit. Not when I know you don't want to."

"I'm not giving up," Tim said, softly. "I can't. I don't know what happened. No one does... at least, no one who will admit it. I can't stop until I know. And right now, no matter what you say, we don't know. Maybe you're ready to write Tony off, but I'm not."

"I'm not writing him off. But I won't write you off, either."

There was a long pause. Nothing but silence in the elevator. Tim refused to turn around and face Gibbs again while there was still a chance of showing weakness. Gibbs' hand was still on his shoulder. Then, there was a sigh.

"All right, Tim. You can keep working on it, but be careful."

"About what?" Tim asked.

"Anything. Tony thought this was big. You never found anything to prove that it wasn't. We don't know who killed Ensign Reyes. We don't know who broke your cover. We don't know who's pulling the strings. This is dangerous."

"I don't care."

"I don't care if you don't, but you be careful anyway. You can't do anything if you're dead."

Then, the hand was gone from his shoulder and Gibbs turned the elevator back on. It went back up to the bullpen and Gibbs got off without looking back. Tim hesitated and then got off as well. He headed for his desk.

"You're still done for today," Gibbs said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Tim thought about protesting but then he nodded and grabbed his bag. As he walked toward the elevator, Ellie suddenly stopped trying to be invisible.

"Tim, you have your PT today, right?"

"Yeah."

"I think I'll have this analysis done in another hour or two. Maybe I can put in some time on those files you were searching."

Tim paused and looked at her in surprise. He knew Ellie assumed Tony was dead, just like everyone else at NCIS did. No one thought he was dirty, but no one thought he was still alive either. They all assumed that the people who had almost killed Tim had succeeded with Tony and just had been very good at disposing of the body.

"Thanks, Ellie," Tim said softly.

"You're welcome," she said, equally softly.

Then, he left and went home. He had therapy later in the afternoon, but for now, he sat on his bed and then let himself fall back. He stared at the ceiling for a while. Every waking moment, he had this feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. The longer they went without finding out where Tony was, the worse his situation was. If they took too long, Tony really would be dead, and Tim wasn't sure he could take that, not knowing that he had probably contributed to it in some way.

No. He wasn't going to accept that or even entertain the possibility. He'd said it over and over again and he wasn't going to change that now. In fact, he had some time before he had to go to his therapy. He could do some work here.

Tim didn't know if Gibbs was aware that he'd taken a copy of the case file home. ...but he was pretty sure he didn't care if Gibbs knew or not.

He was going to find something. Somehow, somewhere, he'd find something.

No matter what it took.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

Two weeks later...

Tim kept coming back to two things about the operation. First, the bank accounts in Tony's name. He knew that they had to be newly created, but he couldn't figure out how they were made to look older. ...unless they had been in someone else's name and that name was changed to Tony. But still, that should be obvious. They should be able to find that. He should be able to find that.

Unless the person who did it had a lot of pull and could get someone who could change things around so it looked like it had always belonged to Tony.

The second thing was that he and Tony had been found at all. Tony was good at what he did. He knew how to be undercover. He knew how to detect when he was being followed. He'd been on his guard the whole time. He was cautious every time he went out of the apartment, and Tim had never left it. Even if they'd been able to track them to the building, they shouldn't have been able to figure out which apartment was theirs. Only Vance and Gibbs had known their location.

Unless someone very highly ranked was able to get that location and pass it on to whoever had invaded the apartment.

Ensign Reyes had insisted that the reason he was being so secretive and wouldn't report over the phone was because it was big. And it couldn't get big unless there was someone pulling the strings on the inside. An important someone.

Someone who had access, not only to people but also to resources. Someone who had position and clout to make the smuggling disappear. Someone who could, after the fact, use that same position to cast the blame on the law enforcement investigating it.

Someone who could have had Ensign Reyes killed...and tried to have it passed off as natural causes.

Tim could admit it was partly because he didn't like the guy, but his mind kept going back to Capt. Blaine. He kept hearing Capt. Blaine saying that nothing else made sense but that Tony was dirty. The thing was that it wasn't even close to true. There were a lot of ways to interpret what happened. Or at least what they thought happened. And someone as intelligent as Capt. Blaine was should be able to acknowledge that there were multiple possible interpretations, even if he favored one in particular.

So why?

Unless he himself was the dirty one and he was trying to cover his own tracks by putting the blame on a missing NCIS agent.

But a captain in the U.S. Navy running a smuggling ring just seemed so ridiculous. How could he have got to such a high rank and not been discovered? It wasn't that high-ranking officials couldn't be criminals, but this wasn't just a murder, crime of passion or even a determined hit. It wasn't even embezzling. If Ensign Reyes was right, then, there was a large-scale crime ring being run through the U.S. Navy, using Navy resources and, if Tim was right, being coordinated by a high-ranking official. That was something that took time to establish. Time, effort, money. How would this get through the cracks? Not even cracks. It would take a gaping hole to let this happen.

...unless he could use his influence to convince people that there was no hole there at all. Wave his hand and send them looking in another direction.

How could he prove it, though? The whole purpose of going undercover had been to find just that. While Tony had been getting information that was indicating the smuggling operation was real, they had yet to get through everything.

Unless they had and Tim had forgotten it.

It always came back to that. No matter how many times he was told it wasn't a failure, Tim still felt that it was. He was failing by not remembering what had happened. He was failing Tony, yes. But he was also failing Ensign Reyes, and if it was as big as it seemed to be, he was failing the entire U.S. Navy by not knowing what they'd found.

That was why he couldn't stop. That was why he had to keep pushing, maybe further than he should.

To mitigate that failure.

"Tim."

He looked up from his computer at Gibbs, ready to resist being stopped. He still couldn't put in a full day, much to his chagrin. He just ran out of energy too soon and when that happened, he started getting dizzy. He hated that he was still held back by his own physical limitations. But he knew he hadn't reached his limits yet today. He was prepared to do battle.

"With me."

Something about the way he said it made Tim a little worried. This wasn't the same as the usual argument. The words were the same but the tone was different.

In fact, Gibbs led him up the stairs to Vance's office instead of to the elevator. Now, Tim had no idea what was going on. Maybe Gibbs had been right and Capt. Blaine was about to start pushing his original theory that Tim was part of his imagined conspiracy.

He followed along, wondering if he should ask what was going on in advance.

He decided to chance it.

"Boss, what's going on?"

"Not out here."

Tim swallowed. Maybe he was going to be fired for what really amounted to insubordination. He was refusing to follow orders to work on other things. He knew it. Everyone knew it. They also knew why.

They were quickly admitted to Vance's office.

Vance looked up from his desk.

"You've been looking at Navy personnel files," he said with no preamble.

"Yes, Director. I have."

"Why?"

"To test a theory."

"About what? Or do I already know?"

Tim chanced a humorless smile. "There's only one case I'm working on."

"I know that."

"Then, yes, you know."

Vance raised an eyebrow.

"Why are you looking at personnel files?"

"Because I think Captain Blaine is the person behind the smuggling Ensign Reyes reported."

Vance glanced at Gibbs. Tim didn't dare look away to see what Gibbs thought of this. Tim hadn't ever said anything.

"Captain Blaine? Do you have any evidence to support this accusation?"

"None that isn't circumstantial," Tim said.

"Then, why are you convinced of it?"

"Because it makes sense."

"Agent McGee, that is no more satisfactory than Capt. Blaine's attempt to blame you without anything more than circumstantial evidence, and quite frankly, neither has your performance been satisfactory over the last month."

"I know that, Director," Tim said. "If you feel you have to fire me, I understand, but until we find Tony, I'm not stopping. If I have to do it as a private citizen, I will. Nothing you can say will change my mind. Nothing Gibbs has said has changed my mind, either."

"If you feel that way, then..."

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Director?" Gibbs suddenly interjected, interrupting what Tim was sure had been a dismissal.

"Very well. Wait outside, Agent McGee."

"Yes, sir."

Tim stepped out of the office and sat down, wondering if he was about to lose his job. If so, well then, so be it. He could lie and pretend that anything else mattered to him, but nothing else did. He didn't care about himself. He was fine, but Tony wasn't. No matter the situation, Tony wasn't fine. If he was fine, he'd be here.

Because he wasn't, Tim needed to find him. To be his backup as he had failed to be before.

He was halfway tempted just to leave and get on with it. He knew he didn't deserve to be at NCIS. His current attitude and his past failures made that a certainty, but he still couldn't quite give it up ever since Gibbs had stopped him before. So he sat where he was and waited.

After a few minutes, the door to Vance's office opened and Gibbs stood there, his expression unreadable.

"Come back in, Agent McGee," he said.

Did that mean that he was fired? Or that he wasn't? Gibbs never called him by his title. Never. Tim stood up and walked back into the office.

"Agent McGee, have a seat," Vance said, gesturing to a chair at the table.

Tim sat down.

"Now, Agent Gibbs has persuaded me not to fire you."

"Thank you, sir," Tim said, not sure who he was really speaking to at the moment.

"This is not a permanent situation," Vance said, sternly. "I want Agent DiNozzo found and this case solved. However, the lack of headway due to what happened when Agent DiNozzo disappeared and you were injured has made that very difficult, as I know you are aware."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm giving you the chance to work on this exclusively, to pursue it as you see fit. ...for one month. Not one day more. If you have nothing to show for it, you'll have to make a choice. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Then, get to it."

"Yes, sir."

Tim stood up, ready to get right to work. He turned and strode to the door.

"Agent McGee," Vance said.

Tim turned around.

"Good luck."

Something about the way he said it, Tim knew that Vance genuinely meant that. While his words were stern (and deserved, Tim could admit), he did want Tim to succeed. That gave him enough confidence to nod and then walk out, knowing that Gibbs would stop him from getting very far.

"McGee."

He stopped.

"Your office?"

"No."

Tim turned around and saw an expression on Gibbs' face that he never expected to see.

Worry.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"Start over."

"You're not going undercover again."

Tim smiled and shook his head. "No. I'm going to figure out where Tony went from the apartment. I'm starting over from square one and I'm going to find out every step he took. Every moment until I find out where he is."

"How?"

"I'm going to ask every person I see if they saw him back then. If I find one person who saw him, I'm going to follow as far as that person saw him. Then, I'm going to ask everyone I see at the next place if they saw him."

"That'll take more than a month."

"Then, I'll take more than a month. Vance only said he'd fire me if I had nothing to show. If I have something..."

Gibbs walked over and grabbed Tim by the shoulders. He shook him a little bit.

"Tim, you don't need to do it this way."

"Yes, I do. Nothing else is working. It's been five months. Tony has been missing for five months. Vance is letting me do it, so I'm doing it. I can't do anything else, Boss."

Gibbs sighed. "I know," he said.

There was a moment when they were staring at each other in complete silence. Tim was ramrod straight, noticing as he had on occasion, that he was actually a little taller than Gibbs was. At least an inch. Maybe two.

"We'll look into Blaine as quietly as we can. You keep in contact. Check in, every day. To me. Got it?"

"Yeah, Boss."

"Good. If I think you're overdoing it, I'll pull you out of there myself. Physically, if I have to. Clear?"

"Clear."

Then, Tim walked down to his desk and got his bag. He could see Ellie staring at him. He looked over.

"I'm going to start looking again."

"With permission?"

"Grudging."

Ellie smiled a little, but she looked worried.

"Should you be doing this alone?"

"I'll be checking in with Gibbs."

"Should you be doing this alone?" she repeated.

"Probably not, but I think it might work best. People might be more willing to talk."

"But if you're right about the smuggling, they might be watching for someone to start asking questions."

"I won't be asking about the smuggling. Only about Tony, and if everyone is right and he's dead, then that won't matter. If I'm right and he's alive, well, then, they obviously don't know where he is."

Ellie walked over to him. "I'm not Abby, but..." She hugged him tightly. "Be careful, okay? I know you have to think of Tony as still alive, but whether he is or not, you still are. Don't change that."

Tim smiled. "I'll try not to."

Then, he left, determined to find out where Tony was and ready to follow any trail, no matter where it led him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15

Three weeks later...

Tim sighed with discouragement. He was running out of steam again and he was getting far too close to Vance's deadline. He didn't want to lose his job, but he was prepared to in order to keep looking. He'd been walking around Norfolk for days, asking people if they'd seen Tony anytime in the last six months. It was tedious doing it this way, but Tim was willing to forgo a computer if it wasn't helping.

And it wasn't helping.

A few people had recognized Tony from the picture Tim was showing them, but when he got down to the details, it had always been before the end of the operation. It hadn't helped Tim track down where Tony had gone, only where he'd been. It was getting harder to believe he was going to succeed.

He glanced down an alley and saw a man standing there. It wasn't someone he'd seen before. He sighed a little. What were the odds that this would be any different?

Worth a shot.

"Hey, got a minute?" he asked.

The man froze.

"I just have a question, that's all. I'll even pay if it helps," Tim said.

"Ask the question first," the man said.

Tim pulled the picture of Tony out of his pocket and held it out.

"Have you seen this man before? Sometime in the last six months?"

The man shuffled over and looked at the picture. Then, he looked at Tim with squinty eyes.

"Who's asking? You a cop?"

"Kind of. I work for the Navy. So does he. We're partners."

"Navy, huh. Don't look like a Navy haircut."

Tim smiled. "I'm not a sailor. I get seasick."

"Ha. You said you'd pay?"

"If you have something."

"I seen him. About six months ago."

"You did? Where?"

"You pay, first."

Tim pulled a twenty out of his pocket and handed it over. Even if this was nothing, he would lose twenty bucks just for the hope of something.

"What did you see and where?"

"You pay more?"

"If you have something."

The man shrugged and shuffled out of the alley. He started walking down the sidewalk and Tim followed him. After a minute or two, Tim realized that where he was headed now would put them on a direct line to the apartment building. But then, he turned away from the direction that would lead them to the building and started walking toward the river.

Halfway there, he stopped again and turned to Tim.

"Pay again."

"This is where you saw him?"

"This isn't where I was. You pay more."

Tim pulled out another twenty and handed it over.

Without another word, the man kept walking. Tim wasn't sure that this guy wasn't just putting him on and he was really starting to feel tired and his usual dizziness was coming on again, but he pushed it away in the hopes of finding something.

But he needed to know one thing.

"Look, I know you're going to drag this out so you can get as much money out of me as possible, but I really need him to be alive. You're not taking me to where you found his body, right?"

The man glanced at him and finally seemed to soften a bit. Not much but a bit.

"Nah. He was alive."

"Okay."

Tim kept walking and they got right to the river.

"You pay."

Tim handed over another twenty.

"This is where I saw him. Guys chasing after him. He was running. I heard shots and ducked, but they weren't at me. They were at him. They hit him and he went into the water."

"You said you weren't taking me to a body."

"I'm not. He ain't here. Saw him in the water and he was struggling. So I went and helped him out. He was muttering stuff about getting away. He was bleeding but head wounds always do. Look worse than they are. He was dazed and stuff. I helped him to a shelter. Figured he'd ticked off the wrong people and they were cleaning up."

"What shelter?" Tim asked, eagerly.

"I'll show you... for two more of these," he said, waving the bills around.

"When we get there."

The man smiled and nodded. They set off.

"No lightweight, that guy. Lead weight on my shoulders. So he was a cop, huh? He didn't say nothing about that."

"He was undercover."

"Going after someone who might not like that?"

"Yeah."

"So why weren't you with him? If you're partners and all."

Tim tried to suppress the guilty feeling that question brought up in him.

"I was dying in a dumpster," he said bluntly.

"So they wanted both of you?"

"Seems like it."

"Huh. Well, he didn't say nothing to me about it and he didn't say nothing to the doc either. Not while I was there."

"What did he say?"

"I asked if he was doing drugs."

"He wasn't."

"Nah. I didn't find any when I searched his pockets."

Tim raised an eyebrow at him. The man grinned toothily.

"Gotta meet expenses."

"Yeah, right. What did you find and did you keep any of it?"

"I didn't keep none of it. Might've took drugs but not other stuff. No drugs. He had a wallet with a bit of money in it and some paper, but I don't know what was on it. He had a key on a keychain. Had a button in his hand. Wouldn't let go of it for nothing. When I got him here, he fell asleep. Woke up and talked to the doc a bit, but I told him he should get out of town if someone was after him and before the doc called the cops on him since he'd been shot."

"And did he?"

"Guess so. When I came round later, he was gone. And that's the truth."

So Tony had left the clinic pretty quick, but why not go back to NCIS? He obviously hadn't gone back to the apartment. Otherwise, the police would have found him there. Maybe the doctor would know more.

"There it is," the man said, pointing at a homeless shelter. "Forty bucks."

Tim passed it over easily.

"Anything else you can tell me?"

"Nope. Didn't see the guys after him. He wasn't talking much. Don't blame him, really. Probably was a little out of it."

"Yeah. Thanks for all your help."

"You paid for it."

Tim smiled. "It's worth a lot more than I paid you if I can find him after all this time."

"Then, I hope you do. Don't remember the doc's name in there, but he should be there now."

"Okay."

Tim headed straight for the shelter. He'd made one step forward. One man who had seen Tony alive after whatever had happened. It didn't clear up where he was, but it helped. He knew Tony had been pursued by someone. He knew he'd been injured. And now, he might be able to find out more.

He was still tired, but he felt more able to ignore that. He saw the entrance to the clinic on the side and he stepped inside.

"Be right with you!"

The voice startled him because he didn't see anyone.

"Okay," he said uncertainly.

After a few seconds, a man came out, probably a doctor. He was a little past his prime, but he smiled.

"Sorry about that. Usually people who come in here aren't willing to stay and I don't want to lose them. You don't look like my usual clientele," he said. "I'm Dr. Mattson."

"I'm probably not," Tim responded. "Tim McGee. I work for NCIS."

"Navy, huh. What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for a friend of mine who went missing about six months ago. A guy I met out on the street told me he'd brought him here to you injured but that he didn't know where he'd gone after that. I was hoping you could help."

"Six months?" Dr. Mattson repeated. He shook his head. "That's a long time and a lot of people in between."

"I know. Believe me, I know."

"Well, you might as well show me."

Tim pulled out the photo and handed it over. Dr. Mattson took it and looked at it.

"I don't know. Maybe? It's hard to say."

Tim sighed and closed his eyes as a wave of dizziness swept over him, accompanied by a headache. He winced and rubbed his head. He felt a hand on his arm.

"Hey, you all right? You're looking a little pale."

"Yeah. I'm okay."

"Have a seat."

Dr. Mattson directed him to a chair and Tim sat down gratefully.

"Thanks."

"So... can I ask what's wrong with you?"

Tim smiled and opened his eyes after a few seconds.

"Professional curiosity," Dr. Mattson said, smiling.

"Fell off a fire escape a few months ago. Hit my head... and some other things."

"TBI, then."

"Yeah. I was in a coma for a few days. Spent too long recovering."

"So should you be doing all this already? Even after a few months, that's probably pushing it."

"It is. It's okay."

"Is it really?"

Tim smiled again. "It's okay enough."

"Well, why don't you tell me about what I would have seen when your friend came in here? That might jog my memory."

Tim took a deep breath.

"Okay. According to this guy..."

"Wait. Who was the guy?"

"He didn't introduce himself. I'm guessing he was homeless. He made me pay him twenty bucks each time we went a few blocks. He said he saw Tony go into the river and he pulled him out. He also said he rifled through his pockets but that he didn't take anything because Tony didn't have enough that was worth stealing."

Dr. Mattson chuckled a little. "Sounds like Arthur. He hasn't been in here much, but he's a regular at the shelter next door. You said he was the one who brought your friend in?"

"Yeah. He would have been bleeding from a head wound."

Dr. Mattson nodded slowly. "Gunshot?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Two wounds. One on the head and a flesh wound on the arm. Through and through. Not fatal but painful. The head wound would have been fatal if it'd been any deeper. He was really disoriented when he came around."

"You remember," Tim said, eagerly.

"Somewhat. Give me a little time to think it through."

Tim was quiet, ready to wait until doomsday if it helped.

"Yeah... I think I remember. This guy, when he woke up, couldn't really tell me what had happened, but I wasn't sure I believed him. Still, he was injured so I did my best to help him out. I was going to call NPD to report the injury, but when I came back to check on him, he was gone. I thought he might have gone to the shelter so I went over there. They said he'd asked if he could get some clothes...and then, he asked... where the nearest truck stop was."

"The nearest truck stop?"

"Yeah. And you say he's a friend of yours?"

"Yeah."

"He's NCIS, too?"

"Yeah."

"I wonder why he didn't just ask to use the phone and call you. He could have waited until Arthur was gone to say something. I would have let him use it. I wonder why he didn't call for you or someone else at NCIS to come and get him."

"I have no idea."

"Strange."

"The nearest truck stop? You know where it is?"

"Well, I sure don't, but my wife has finally convinced me to get one of these things," Dr. Mattson said and pulled out a smartphone. "Let me pull it up."

He pulled up a map of the area and then pointed.

"There. That's about a mile from here. It's the closest truck stop to this place."

"Thanks. That's one more step forward, even if I don't understand the direction," Tim said.

"I don't, either. I will tell you that he probably wasn't thinking really clearly at the time. I'm not kidding about how serious that graze could have been. So maybe he just knew he had to get going but didn't think about where."

"But that's still six months ago."

"Right. Well, I can't tell you what's best to do, but there's the truck stop. Good luck finding him."

"Thanks."

Tim shook hands and left the clinic. Then, he walked back to his car and debated. Did he have the energy to go to the truck stop? Yes. Yes, he did. Not any farther than that, but he could do that much. He drove over to the truck stop.

Then, he looked with dismay. This place was huge. There were probably twenty semis parked here just right now. What were the odds that he'd find someone who saw Tony six months ago?

He sagged against the car and ran his hands over his head.

It seemed impossible.

But no, he'd found the needle in the haystack today, and if it took another month of talking to truckers before he found another needle, he'd do it. He couldn't stop now.

With that thought, he took a breath and walked into the restaurant attached to the service station. He looked around until he picked out a few of the truckers. Then, he took another breath, pushed away his tiredness and walked over.

"Hi, do you have a minute?"

Chapter Text

Chapter 16

One week later...

Tim walked back to his hotel room feeling tired and discouraged. He'd been spending every day at the truck stop ever since Dr. Mattson had told him where it was. He'd talked to every single trucker coming through. In fact, the people there were starting to recognize him when he showed up. They even told some of the truckers what Tim was doing before Tim himself could. Because he could demonstrate some progress, Vance hadn't carried through on his threat to fire Tim, but at the same time, Tim still worried about whether or not he could produce something concrete.

He kept coming back to the question of why Tony hadn't asked anyone for help, why he'd apparently left the area. What would cause him to do that when he knew that there were people ready and able to come if he called. Where had he gone and why? Gibbs was reluctant to put out a BOLO for him just in case there really was a good reason why Tony was apparently in hiding. He hadn't ruled out the possibility that Tony had simply been killed later and the same situation applied as before, but if there was something going on that they didn't understand, then, it behooved them to be cautious about it.

So he was keeping up his low-tech methods, no matter how tiring and hopeless it was.

As he reached the door to his hotel room, he sensed there was someone coming up behind him. He tensed and tried to get his key out without looking like he was actually in a hurry to get inside.

"Timothy?"

Tim let out a whoosh of relief and turned. Sure enough, there was Ducky walking down the hallway toward him.

"Ducky," he said, unable to hide how he felt.

"I'm sorry if I startled you, lad."

"It's all right," Tim said. "What are you doing here?"

"Checking on you," Ducky said, seriously.

"Why? I've been checking in with Gibbs every day, just like he told me to. Why would you think you needed to come all the way down here?"

"May I come into your room?"

"Of course."

Tim opened the door and held it open for Ducky.

"Now, why did you come down here, Ducky?" Tim asked. "I don't mind, really, but I don't understand."

"Because you've been checking in with Jethro and he doesn't like what he hears."

"What?" Tim asked.

Ducky sat down but Tim stayed standing, even though he wanted to sit.

"You are pushing yourself too hard, Timothy. He could hear it in your voice every time you called and I can see it just looking at you now."

"All I'm doing is going to the truck stop and asking questions."

"For how long?"

Tim shrugged. "Most of the day, but it's not like I'm overexerting myself."

"You are overexerting yourself, Timothy. No, you may not be running around, but you are giving yourself no real rest. You are anxious and worried and you are pushing yourself too hard."

"You haven't seen what I'm doing," Tim said. "I'm just..." Then, his usual tiredness at the end of the day chose that moment to reveal itself in the form of a headache. He couldn't hold back the wince and he closed his eyes.

"You're doing too much, lad, and your body is telling you so. Sit down."

"I'm fine, Ducky," Tim said, forcing his eyes open.

He didn't sit, but he couldn't keep his eyes open as the headache didn't fade. His eyes closed again.

Suddenly, he felt Ducky's hand on his arm. It wasn't supporting. It was controlling, forcing him to walk over to the bed and then, hands were on his shoulders, pushing him down.

"You would be more fine if you would simply acknowledge when you need help, Timothy," he said.

"I don't need any help right now. It's the end of the day and I'm tired. Lots of people have that."

"No, most people do not feel tired enough that they have headaches and dizziness at the end of the day. Those who are recovering from a serious head injury do, and if they're smart, they back off on their activities and allow themselves the needed time to recover."

"I'm not recovering. I'm recovered. It's been nearly seven months," Tim said. "I'm fine!"

"On the contrary, a moderate TBI, such as you had, can take a year or more for full recovery. Certainly, most of the healing takes place in the first six months, but if full recovery is truly possible, it takes longer than that, no matter how fortunate you've been thus far. And denying it doesn't change the facts."

Tim sat up and looked at Ducky who was now towering over him. It was only possible when Tim was sitting. And his expression was one of frustration. He put his hands on Tim's shoulders again and shook him gently.

"Timothy, you need to let yourself heal. Take a day to rest and then resume your search."

Tim shook his head. "No. I'm staying there all day so that I don't miss any truck driver who comes through. What if there's one that saw Tony and I miss him because I'm not there to ask? Then, my one chance to get it right is gone!"

"Timothy, get what right?"

Tim dropped his eyes and stared at the floor.

"Tony's alive, Ducky. He's been alive for the last seven months. He got away from whatever happened. Someone tried to kill him. And because of whatever I did, I wasn't there to be his backup. We only had each other, and I must have dropped the ball."

"No, lad. There's no reason to assume that."

"Except that I fell. I probably tripped or something. I probably panicked or..."

"Or you were under attack from unknown persons and, in a bad situation, you were injured."

Ducky let go of Tim's shoulders and sat down beside him on the bed. He put an arm around him.

"Timothy, I know you feel guilt about the way the operation ended, but there is no reason to."

"Except that I'm fine and Tony's not. They're accusing him of being dirty and because I can't remember what happened, I can't defend him. He's lost and in danger and I can't stop it because of my stupid brain."

"Even so, I wouldn't say that you are fine, Timothy. You don't need to punish yourself for being here while we don't know where Anthony is. You don't need to feel that you have failed for suffering from a very common symptom of brain injury."

Tim felt his throat tightening ominously. He couldn't even answer. And then, Ducky squeezed his shoulders once and spoke in a gentle tone.

"And while I understand your need to find Anthony, wherever he is, and I know he would appreciate being sought for, he wouldn't want you to harm yourself in the process. I am sure of it. What you are doing is more than enough. It is too much. You are allowed to rest on occasion."

He hadn't let himself cry since the day he'd broken down in therapy, but he was getting closer to it than he wanted.

"Timothy, you are not to blame for this situation. Your safety and well-being are no less important than Anthony's."

Tim couldn't speak. If he did, he knew he'd cry.

"Care for yourself. Just a little. Just one day. Let yourself rest and recharge so that you can better continue the search."

Tim swallowed hard.

"I have to find him, Ducky. I have to... do something right."

"You already have. You've made it farther than anyone else. You're good enough, Timothy. You really are."

Finally, Tim began to cry, even though he really didn't want to. Ducky was being too comforting and too kind for him to resist it.

"It's all right, lad."

Tim kept crying for far too long, but eventually, he was able to master his feeling again and stuff the tears back. He took a couple of shaky breaths.

"Do you feel any better?"

"Not really," Tim whispered.

"Will you take a break tomorrow? Just one day that you're not pushing yourself. Just one."

Tim wanted to say no. He wanted to push away Ducky's kind concern and just focus on what he knew he needed to do. ...but at the same time, he did want a break. He just didn't feel like he could take one.

"One day only, Timothy. Just to rest."

"What if I say no?" Tim asked, forcing a smile. He had the feeling that this wasn't really a choice being given to him.

"Then, I believe that Jethro is prepared to come down here and force you to."

Tim laughed a little.

"I thought so."

Ducky squeezed his shoulders once more and let him go.

"Your dedication is admirable, Timothy, but you must take it easy sometimes."

"There's plenty of time for that."

"But you're not taking it."

Tim took a breath and let it out slowly.

"One day of rest, Timothy." Ducky's voice was quietly cajoling.

One more breath and then, reluctantly, Tim nodded.

"Okay. One day."

"Good."

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

Tim did take one day of rest, but he was antsy throughout the day, wondering if the one person who had seen Tony would have gone through on the day he wasn't there. Ducky stayed with him as if to make sure he really did rest, but then, he had to wish Tim good luck and get back to DC.

Tim went back to the truck stop and for another week, he struck out every day. As he neared the end of his second week, Tim almost ran out of hope that he'd find anything, but he kept trying. Today, he started out feeling tired. He wasn't sleeping well out of worry at the lack of progress...and the lack of understanding of what was going on.

Still, he took a breath and prepared for a long day. One thing this had done was burn away his worries about what people were thinking of him. He didn't care if the people he asked questions thought he was nuts. He didn't care if everyone at NCIS thought he was wrong. He was focused on what he needed to do and he would do what it took to accomplish it. That was all that mattered.

Two truckers came in together. Tim got to his feet and walked over to them.

"Hey, do you have a minute?"

"Not much more than that," said one of the drivers. "I'm a little behind schedule."

"I'll be quick then," Tim said. He pulled out the picture of Tony. "Have you seen this man sometime in the last seven months? He might have been trying to get a ride."

The one in a hurry looked and then shook his head.

"Nope. Never seen him. Gotta go."

"Thanks."

The other man was quiet, looking at the photo.

"Have you seen him?" Tim asked.

"What's his name?"

"Tony DiNozzo."

"No one by that name, but he does look kinda like a guy I picked up in Oklahoma about seven months ago. He was a singer, he said. He was a lot more scruffy than this picture, but it could be the same guy."

Could Tony have been using his undercover persona? Why?

"What's the name he gave you?"

"Oh, what was it... Joel."

Joel Williams. Tony's silly name he decided to use as an aspiring singer. The reverse of Billy Joel. Why would he be doing this and what would he be doing in Oklahoma?

"Could you tell me where you dropped him off?"

"Texas. He was heading west, he said, and I wasn't going any further west than Texas. Dropped him outside of Amarillo on I-40. He probably had to walk a bit, but he didn't want to keep going south so I let him off."

Texas. How far had Tony gone? Why? Tim had no idea, but he now knew where he was headed next.

Amarillo, Texas.

"Thank you. Thank you very much."

"Who is he to you?"

"My friend. He's been missing and I need to find where he went."

"Well, good luck to you."

"Thanks."

Tim left the truck stop and headed back to his hotel, ready to check out and leave, but he had to call Gibbs first.

Once he got back to his room, he sat down and prepared to do battle if need be. He could be out of Norfolk before Gibbs got to him anyway. No matter what, he was headed to Amarillo.

He got out his phone and dialed.

"Gibbs."

"Boss, I'm headed to Texas."

"Why?"

"Because Tony apparently got a ride from a truck driver who dropped him off there. Said he was headed west."

There was a long silence and Tim figured that Gibbs was going to try to convince him that he should wait for something more, more evidence that this was right or something. However, he wasn't willing to do that and so he was prepared to resist any such suggestion.

"Are you planning on driving?"

"Yeah. I don't want to have to wait to get a flight over and having a car available will be a lot easier. It'll take some time, but I'll get there."

"How far will you go?"

"As far as I have to."

"Thought you'd say that."

Tim smiled a little grimly. "Boss, what Tony was doing doesn't make sense. He didn't follow any of the stuff we set up. He didn't try to reference the number he had. He didn't call NCIS. He didn't contact police. He apparently tried to avoid the police. He didn't even stay on the East Coast. This guy picked him up in Oklahoma! If he was hitchhiking it would take forever to get that far. Whatever Tony was doing doesn't make sense. Something has to be going on, and it's more important than ever that I find out why."

"You want to do a BOLO, then?"

"No. The trucker I talked to said he was still using his undercover persona. There must be a reason for that and I don't want to spook him or get him in trouble by having people watching for him."

"Except you."

"Except me. I'm his backup, Boss. I'm the one who should be looking out for him."

"It's not your fault."

Tim wasn't interested in getting into that again.

"I'm going to Texas. Is Vance going to fire me?"

"Not if you have something. You do. You want someone with you?"

"No. It's working well this way. People aren't as suspicious when it's just one guy asking questions instead of two cops."

Another pause, but then, Gibbs sighed a little.

"All right. You still check in every day or I'm going out there after you. And be careful."

"Yes, Boss."

Then, the conversation was over. Tim didn't waste any time. He packed up his stuff, checked out of the hotel and started on his way to Amarillo.

Chapter Text

Chapter 17

Two weeks later...

Tim sighed listlessly as he sat in a booth in a truck stop near Amarillo. Because he didn't know where exactly Tony would have gone after being dropped off, he'd had to make the rounds of all the truck stops, hoping that he could make the assumption that Tony would be there and not somewhere else. He'd been in this particular truck stop for a few hours and he was trying to get up the energy to move on to the next one. He'd been at this all day. Most of the truck stops were open 24 hours and so he'd spent very little time in his hotel room in Amarillo the last couple of days...without letting anyone back in DC realize it.

But he could admit to himself that he was having trouble keeping up with this kind of schedule. He might have to give in and spend the night in his hotel room just so that he could get the rest he knew he needed.

In fact, he could feel a headache starting and that was always a bad sign. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

Suddenly, he was startled by someone plopping down into his booth, sitting across from him. For one wild second, he thought it might be Tony and he opened his eyes quickly.

It was not Tony.

For one thing, it was a woman, an older woman, probably in her seventies. She had a bit of a weathered look, but she also looked like a tough cookie, not someone to cross. She was looking at him with a quizzical smile.

"So, what brings you here?" she asked.

"I don't want to seem rude," Tim said, "but what brings you right here?"

Her smile widened. "I own this place. I've been on vacation the last week or so, visiting my grandkids. Just got back today and my manager told me that you've been hanging around here for the last few days, talking to all the truckers, but you don't look like a trucker groupie... if such people even exist, and this doesn't seem like the place for someone like you to be except when you're passing through."

"I did make a point of buying stuff so I'm not just sitting here."

The woman chuckled. "I wasn't asking because I was worried about losing money. You just don't look like you belong here. So what's the story, hon?"

Tim smiled a little and then sighed.

"I've been looking for a friend of mine. Someone I work with. He disappeared almost eight months ago without a trace. I started looking for him and I've managed to track him this far, but... I don't know where to go from here, and I can't understand what's happened."

"Who is he?"

"His name is Tony, but he was probably going by the name of Joel. This is him," Tim said, pulling the photo out of his pocket and sliding it across the table to her. "He was probably looking more scruffy than he is in this picture, according to the driver I talked to before. I think he was hitchhiking."

The woman picked up the picture and looked at it.

"Technically, it's illegal for truck drivers to give rides to hitchhikers. There's always a problem of liability, either if there's an accident or if the hitchhiker isn't what he seems to be. Lots of the drivers won't give rides anymore, but some will if they're asked. They just won't do anything that will let the company know they've done it. They'll drop them off outside of any town they're headed to, sometimes, not even at a real stop, but if you're bumming a ride, you can't really be too choosy."

"I've been going to all the truck stops around here. Spending time at each one. But I don't know if I'll be able to get any further."

The headache began to assert itself and Tim tried not to let it show.

"Actually, there was a man wanting a ride a few months ago. Couldn't tell you if it was your friend or not. I don't remember what he looked like. He wasn't here for very long. He walked in, asked for a ride and got one. But he apparently needed to pee first so he ran into the bathroom and ran back out like thirty seconds later." She chuckled. "That's why I remember it. He was determined not to be left behind. All the guys in the place were laughing a little. Part of it was that he looked too old to be acting like he was. Still, I couldn't tell you if this was him."

She slid the photo back across the table. Tim took it with a sigh.

"Okay. Thanks."

He took a breath and started to slide out of the booth.

"Wait. There might be something I could do to help you out."

"What?"

"I remember the driver who picked him up. His name's Dave. He's been driving this route almost as long as I've run this store. That's been twenty years. He always stops here when he comes through."

"Do you know when he'll be coming through again?"

"No, I'm sorry, but I don't. Haven't seen in him in a while. He could be coming soon or not. ...but I do have a CB radio. Why don't you come with me and we'll see if he's in range?"

"Okay."

Tim stood up and felt the dizziness he had known was coming. He leaned against the booth for a moment and waited for it to pass.

"You all right?"

Tim nodded slowly and then opened his eyes which had involuntarily closed.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just tired."

"I don't know too many people who go white as a sheet when they get tired. You sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just stood up too fast."

The woman looked singularly unconvinced, but she just nodded and led him to a back office.

"Have a seat. Looks like you need it."

"Thanks."

Tim sat down and watched as the woman (who hadn't introduced herself) pulled out an old CB radio.

"Break. This is Cadillac Mama. You 10-6, Little Britches?"

She waited for a moment and grinned at Tim's expression.

Then, there was a sound on the radio.

"Cadillac Mama. Been a long time. 10-18?"

"Got a man here needing to talk to Davey Jones."

"Haven't seen him lately."

"Got a 10-44 for him. Can you deliver?"

"Sure can try. Go ahead."

"Got a man here looking for a friend. Davey Jones would have picked him up close to eight months ago near me, given him a ride west."

"He would have said his name was Joel and he was a singer," Tim added quickly.

"Singer by the name of Joel," she said. "You 10-4?"

"10-4. I'll let you know."

"Thanks for the break."

"10-7."

She put the radio away and then looked at Tim who raised an eyebrow.

"Cadillac Mama?" he asked.

"Otherwise known as Jill, but that's no good as a CB handle," Jill said, grinning. "Now, mister, Dave'll get a hold of me as soon as he gets the message. If you give me your number, I'll give you a call when he does. Until then, you'll have to wait."

"Unless this isn't the right guy," Tim said. "And then I'm losing time searching by just waiting."

"Here now, sonny, don't go making me feel like I have to be all maternal. I'm a tough old broad."

Tim smiled a little. "Who just got back from a vacation to see her grandkids."

"Ha. Good one. You're pretty quick for a guy who looks like he hasn't had enough sleep in a decade."

"A few months ago, sleeping was all I was doing," Tim said. "How long do you think it'll take to get an answer?"

"I wouldn't think it'd be more than a day. It all depends on where Dave is. These radios are mostly for local conversation, not much more than 150 miles. So it might take a bit if he's further away than that, but I promise that I'll give you a call. So give me your number."

Tim leaned over and wrote out his name and number and then slid it over.

"All right, Tim. Go back to wherever you're staying and take a rest. I'll call when I hear from Dave."

Tim nodded and took a deep breath before he stood. He didn't want to have a repeat of his dizziness and he didn't want Jill expressing any more concern for him. But he really was tired.

He walked out of the office and out of the restaurant. His headache reasserted itself and he had to give in and go back to the hotel. He drove there and went into his room and then let himself fall onto the bed. He lay there for a while in silence.

But he didn't really like the silence.

He pulled out his phone and suddenly decided to listen to some Billy Joel. He didn't really know a lot of his songs. He knew a few. Probably nearly everyone did, but he didn't know a lot of them. Tony did. That was why he felt he could pull off pretending to be an aspiring singer. He could say that it was all about the love of Billy Joel. Even down to his own name.

So he started the music going and heard a few of the more popular songs as he lay there. He should call Gibbs and report in, but he didn't want to right now. He never did, but right now, he just wanted to be in this little dingy cocoon of the hotel room and do nothing at all.

A song started up that he didn't recognize at all. The piano introduction was really nice, almost soothing with a bit of melancholy to it.

"They say that these are not the best of times,
But they're the only times I've ever known,
And I believe there is a time for meditation in cathedrals of our own."

He lay there, letting the song wash over him. It wasn't really about his situation since he wasn't worrying about a relationship, but there was a feeling to the song that fit him. When the song ended, he repeated it. Again and again. And he tracked in different lyrics each time through.

"Now we are forced to recognize our inhumanity,
Our reason co-exists with our insanity.
And though we choose between reality and madness...
It's either sadness or euphoria."

He wondered if Tony knew this Billy Joel song. The thought made him smile a little and then he sighed. After the umpteenth time of listening to it, Tim turned off the music and then lay there, staring at the ceiling. What had happened? Why had it happened? What now? What next? What in the future? The questions piled up. Somehow, he had thought that, if he did find clues to where Tony was, it would make things more clear, but every step he took on this road only made them more confusing. He just didn't know what was going on or why things were this way.

But he had no choice but to follow them where they led... and hope there was some clarity to be found. Somewhere.

Eventually, he decided he couldn't deal with talking to Gibbs tonight. So he sent a text message instead that just said he was fine and he was tired and going to bed. There was an eventual response of Gibbs' usual eloquence, comprising the single letter K.

Tim kicked off his shoes, didn't bother to change his clothes and just curled up on the bed and went to sleep.

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

"I think we need to take what we've got and start working on what it might have to tell us," Tim said. "I'm starting to get through the encryption on some of these files, and there's something to what Reyes was telling us."

"Something, but what is that something?" Tony asked.

"That's what the analysis will tell us. I've been working on a program that will help pull out the important names."

"I thought you'd already decided they weren't real."

"I had, but even so, we'll get a sense of the leadership and maybe, by getting some sense of how they're running things, we might get some clues as to who is in charge. The more I see of this, the more I agree with you. This is big."

"I don't know if I like it when you agree with me."

Tim smiled a little but his heart wasn't in it.

"I don't know if I do, either. This might be too big for just the two of us."

There was a strange sound intruding on his sleep. He couldn't identify it. It just kept going and going and going.

His eyes opened and he looked around groggily.

Then, the sound started again.

"My phone," he mumbled and reached out for it.

He fumbled a bit, only barely half awake.

"Hello?" he mumbled.

"Hello! This is Cadillac Mama."

"Huh?"

The laughter woke him up a little more.

"Who is this?"

"It's Jill from the truck stop. You're in luck. Dave is heading this way and should be here tonight. He said he'll have time to talk to you when he gets here. So be prepared."

"Oh. Thanks, Jill. Uh... sorry. You woke me up."

"Good. Glad you got some sleep. Try and get some more. Sounds like you need it. Catch you later."

The call ended before Tim was really awake.

Suddenly, he realized what Jill had said.

"Wait," he said lamely.

It was possible that this person knew what the next step was going to be. How many more would there be before he made some sense out of this?

Tim had no idea, but he needed to wake himself up so he could be prepared to find out.

He had a feeling that he was getting closer.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18

Tim was feeling antsy. He had called Gibbs and let him know that there was a possibility of making more progress. Then, he was just waiting for a call from Jill, letting him know that this Dave had arrived. He was trying not to be too excited because it could fizzle. It could be that it wasn't Tony. It could be that it was just some random guy. It could be that by relying on this he had missed out on the one person who really did know where Tony had gone. That one person could already have driven through Amarillo and he'd missed it. It could be that...

His phone rang.

Tim scrambled to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Wow. You're quick. It's Jill. Dave just rolled on in. So you can come over. He knows you're coming."

"Okay. I'll be there in a few minutes," Tim said.

He hung up without another word, grabbed his stuff and ran out the door. He jumped in the car and drove over as quickly as he could get away with.

When he arrived at the truck stop, he didn't know which truck was Dave's, but he hurried into the store and saw Jill talking to a man. He walked over. Jill saw him as he approached and she smiled.

"You didn't waste any time, Tim," she said. "Dave, this is Tim. He's the one looking for his friend."

"Hey," Dave said. "Jill said you have a picture?"

Tim pulled it out of his pocket and showed it to him.

"He probably was a little more scruffy than this picture shows," he said.

Dave looked at it silently for just long enough that Tim was sure this was going to be the worst outcome that he had thought of.

...but then, he nodded.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's the guy I picked up. He was really eager to get a ride. I don't normally give rides, but he was pretty open and even offered to let me check his bag. I told him I didn't want any noise. He was quiet the whole ride."

"How far did you take him?"

"End of the line. L.A."

"Did he tell you what he was going to be doing there?"

"He said he wanted to get into music," Dave said. "I don't know if he meant it, but I gave him a suggestion of where to start. He thanked me and went on his way... to wherever."

"Can you tell me where that was?" Tim asked.

"Sure." Dave got out his phone and pulled up a map of Los Angeles. He pointed to a street that seemed to be lined with bars and restaurants. "This is the place. It's far from high-class dining, but there are some bars there that do live music. Some that don't. Lots of wannabes play around there."

"Thanks," Tim said. "I still don't get what's going on here, but if that's where he went, maybe I'll find him."

"Well, good luck. He seemed like a nice enough guy. Little strange, but nice enough."

"Thanks again," Tim said. He looked at Jill. "Thank you, too. I don't know how long I could have been wandering around Amarillo trying to find word of him."

Jill just waved her hand at him. "Oh, it was easy enough. When you solve your mystery, let me know somehow, all right?"

Tim smiled. "Will do. Even if I have to use the CB, Cadillac Mama."

Jill laughed. Then, Tim turned to leave.

"Hey, Tim."

He turned back.

"Yeah?"

"You're heading out right now?"

"Yeah."

"Figured. Get yourself some coffee before you go. And pull up to pump 3. On the house."

Tim's mind had been all on getting to Los Angeles to find Tony, but suddenly, it was as if Jill had managed to drag him back to Amarillo, back to the present instead of the uncertain future.

"Oh... you don't have to do that," he said. "I'm not hurting for money or anything. I can pay."

"Course you can. Do it anyway."

Tim actually felt quite touched by the gesture.

"Thanks."

Jill smiled and nodded.

"Pump 3."

"Right."

Tim got a big mug of coffee, a few donuts (he paid for those) and then filled up his tank. He waved to Jill and pulled out of the truck stop, heading for California.

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

Five days later...

Tim took a breath and prepared for a day of walking up and down the street, asking people if they had seen Tony. It had taken him a lot longer to get to L.A. than he had intended. He had stopped at a hotel when he just couldn't stay awake any longer. ...and then, he'd ended up sleeping for nearly a full day. He had awakened at three in the morning and he had to admit that he was too tired to push himself like he was and he had stayed in the hotel until daylight came. Then, he had forced himself to eat breakfast before getting in his car and starting out again. But then, after only a few hours, he ran over something in the road and got a flat tire. That required pulling over, putting on the spare and driving slowly to a service station, only to wait around for long enough that he'd ended up having to stay the night in a little town with one motel. Then, it was back on his way again. He got to L.A. too late to start looking so he got a hotel and then had slept too long again. Still, he was finally there and he could get looking.

His first mistake was thinking that he could start asking people in the morning. Nothing was open on the street Dave had indicated. Nothing opened until at least noon and many were later than that. Irritated, Tim forced himself to wait until the afternoon when there were more people about. Then, he started walking and asking. This went on for a few hours until...

"Oh, yeah. I've seen him lots of times. He plays piano at Jack's bar down the street."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He's pretty good, too. No Billy Joel, but he doesn't do too bad. Gets the crowd going with request nights and stuff like that."

Tim nodded, accepting that description as if he wasn't completely weirded out by what he was being told. Tony was playing piano in a bar? Why?

"Thanks. Which one is it?"

"Three down on the right. They won't be open yet, though. Jack doesn't encourage all-day drinking. It's weird, but he makes up for it by having good stuff."

Tim laughed because he knew it was expected.

"Thanks a lot."

"No problem."

Tim looked at the indicated bar. He walked over to it, but as the man had said, it was closed, not opening until four.

He decided to go back to his hotel room to wait. When he got there, he sat down on the bed. As he sat there, his mind was going a mile a minute, trying to figure out what was going on. He'd spent so much of his time the last few months only focused on finding Tony. To be told that he was playing in a bar was a strange discovery. It just felt wrong. But why would Tony be doing that in the first place? Why had he come here? Tim supposed that the easy answer would be the one Capt. Blaine would give, that it just proved Tony was dirty. But if Tony was dirty, he wouldn't be playing in a small bar in L.A. That's just not what he would do with himself if he was hiding from the law. Tony knew how the law worked. He'd know how to avoid it, and this was not the way. But why? Why would he have left in the first place? And to come here?

His mind was running in circles, to the extent that he didn't notice the passing of the time until it was six o'clock. He rolled his eyes at himself and hurried back to the bar.

It was packed on a Saturday evening, but he found a spot to sit. He didn't see Tony, but everyone seemed to be expecting him. He could hear them talking about what the theme would be tonight, would he actually avoid Billy Joel for one performance, and on and on. Tim ordered some food, but then, finally, it came around to seven o'clock.

...and there was Tony. Months of nothing, months of people assuming he was dead, and here he was. He looked... normal. He looked like himself. His clothes weren't the greatest, but he seemed fine. He walked in and then went over to the piano and started playing. At first, it was just instrumental. Tim wanted to walk over there and talk to him, yell at him, hug him, something, but what if Tony was being watched? He might ruin something if he did. So he stayed where he was and watched as Tony played some instrumental stuff.

Then, suddenly, he started playing a song that even Tim knew. "The Piano Man" by Billy Joel. He sounded pretty good, Tim had to admit. But at the same time, he just couldn't figure out what he was seeing. It was clear that Tony had been here for a while. People knew him. They knew what to expect. He was not new to this job. All this weirdness combined to leave Tim feeling more than a little troubled.

"It's all Billy Joel tonight! In my honor as a Joel!"

Everyone laughed. Tim sat there and watched.

The night stretched on into the early morning hours, and Tim was still sitting there watching as Tony played and performed and kept the audience going.

But then, finally, he heard someone say it was last call. Thank goodness.

"And last song!" Tony called out. "And I'm picking it!"

He started to sing another song. Tim really hoped that this would be the last song. He started to maneuver his way through the crowd to the tip jar on the counter. If this was Tony's, then, he'd have to come over to it eventually. People were leaving and the bar was getting quieter as Tony played his last song.

Finally, finally, he was done. People were leaving, the staff was clearing up, and Tony got up from the piano, stretching after what seemed like a long time to be playing the piano.

Then, he came closer and made eye contact. Tim could see that Tony was surprised to see him there. It was nothing to what Tim felt to see Tony in this place. He plastered a smile on his face.

"Man, Tony, what are you doing here?" he asked.

End of Part II

Chapter Text

Part III: Famous Last Words

Chapter 19

They were standing there, staring at each other for a few seconds. Tim was waiting for an answer, but it didn't seem like he was going to get it. For just a moment, Tony froze in place. He didn't move, didn't say anything, but then, it was like he just planned on ignoring Tim completely. He walked over to his jar and emptied it out and then started to walk away. Tim grabbed Tony by the arm.

"Tony, what..."

Tony pulled away. "Hey, let go! My name is Joel, thank you very much. You must have me mixed up with someone else."

"No, I don't," Tim said, feeling more confused than ever.

He looked around the bar. There was almost no one there and definitely no one who was paying attention to them. No reason for Tony to be acting like this. He looked back at Tony.

"Tony, I've been looking for you for months. Why are you here?"

"Listen, I don't know you! Leave me alone," Tony said, sounding almost afraid.

...which made Tim pause. Why would Tony be afraid? Why would he be afraid of Tim? And if he was, why would he be showing it at all?

Unfortunately, he didn't get to pursue that because another man came over.

"Hey, I'm sorry, but the bar is closed," he said. "You're welcome to come back tomorrow. But right now, it's time to leave."

Tim got the feeling that there was no negotiating with this man. There was no question that he was the authority here, probably the owner. And he had a very stern expression even as he smiled politely.

"Okay," he said, not knowing what else to say.

Reluctantly, Tim watched Tony walk away and then, he turned and left the bar, feeling somehow lost and adrift. He wandered back to his hotel room and sat down, feeling numb.

He had spent almost every waking moment since coming out of his coma worrying about Tony, defending Tony, searching for Tony, insisting that Tony was alive when everyone else believed he was dead. He had put his career on the line. He had put his health on the line. He had spent weeks doing absolutely nothing but search for Tony.

To find him after all this time and all this fear and be so firmly rejected was like a punch in the gut. Tim knew that there might be a very good reason for what had happened tonight, but he had no idea what it was.

All he knew was that he had no idea of what to do now.

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

After escaping the bar, Joel ran up the stairs to his apartment, closed the door, locked it and then sat down on the bed, shaking.

That man from his dream. He was real. He was alive. He was here.

And he called me Tony. It was like he knew me. And he was familiar to me.

But which version of his dream should he accept as the real one? This guy was real, but what did that mean? Was he a friend or enemy? Attacker or victim?

Is my name Tony, then?

He was terrified and that was a feeling he wasn't used to having... except in his dreams.

Joel sat there for a long time, not noticing the time passing, not seeing anything but the realization that someone he'd been dreaming dying was alive and here.

He said he'd been looking for me for months. It's been months since I woke up. Was he looking for me then?

There was a panicky feeling of indecision. What did he do about this?

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

After a while, Tim decided that he had to call Gibbs and report, but at the same time, he wasn't sure he wanted to say that he had found Tony but that something had gone spectacularly wrong with this discovery. And he felt that he needed to keep doing this himself until he understood what was going on. He was afraid that too many people confronting him might spook him and might lead to Tony vanishing again. Tim wasn't sure he could take that kind of thing.

So he lay there for a while, just thinking about what he was going to do.

Maybe he'd call Ducky instead. That would still count as checking in, right? He was still calling someone back there. It just wasn't Gibbs, and maybe he could ask Ducky what he thought about this. He knew he'd at least have real words from Ducky, not awkward silences.

Decision made, he pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Hello, Timothy. What has you calling me right now? It must be very early for you. I'm only just out of bed myself."

"Hi, Ducky," Tim said, unable to muster any energy. He'd forgotten how late it was. Tony's response to seeing him had completely thrown everything else out of his head.

"You sound upset. What is it?"

"I found Tony."

"You did? Alive? You found him alive? And well?"

"Yeah."

"That's absolutely amazing, Timothy! It's wonderful that Anthony is alive. You were the one who never doubted it. What's wrong?"

"I don't know."

"Timothy, you're not being very clear. Explain what you mean. This should be a reason for celebration, but you seem discouraged."

Tim took a breath and the words started pouring out of him. "I found him in L.A. He's been playing piano in a bar, apparently for a long time. I watched him tonight and when he was done, I talked to him. ...and he pretended like he didn't know me, like he wasn't Tony at all, but he is! All this time... and the only thing I got from finding him was him basically pushing me away, saying his name was Joel, that he didn't know who I was. It was like he really was just this guy playing in a bar. Ducky... I... I don't know how to take this. I don't know what to do! I don't... understand. I..."

"Timothy, slow down. Take a deep breath. Calm yourself."

Tim tried to do as he was told.

"Now, is it possible that Anthony is in a situation where he might be under duress or under observation? Some reason that he might need to put on an act?"

"Unless there's a camera in the bar... or the owner of the bar is somehow controlling him, I don't think so. He didn't use any of the signals we'd set up just in case of that before."

"Could you see any sign of injury? Was he not well? Was he... perhaps mentally disturbed?"

"He didn't seem like he was," Tim said, but then, he remembered that strange reaction. "But at one point, he did seem scared of me."

"Scared of you or scared for you?"

"No. Of me. I'm sure of it."

"What did you say to elicit that reaction?"

"I told him that I'd been looking for him for months and I asked him why he was here."

"What did he say in response?"

"He just said that he didn't know me, and then, the bar owner kicked me out because it was closing time."

There was a long pause.

"Timothy, I'm not sure what to tell you. There exists the possibility, however remote, that Anthony truly doesn't know who you are."

"But..."

"Think, Timothy. You yourself have no memory of what happened on that night. Your injuries were incredibly serious."

"But Tony's weren't! They could have been, but they weren't. Besides, that's one night, a couple of days. Not everything."

"But you were found and taken to a hospital and cared for by people you knew. By the accounts of those you spoke to in Norfolk, Anthony was found by complete strangers, in a situation far removed from his usual life. If he was disoriented enough, it's possible that Anthony might have been confused to the point of not knowing his identity and without anyone to help him with it, he might not have had any way to clear that up."

"But why would he come here?"

"Didn't you say, at one point, you and he had been wondering where their base of operations was, with the possibility that it might be centered on the West Coast?"

"Yes, but..."

"But it doesn't make sense to you. I agree that it seems very odd, but if Anthony is not under duress, and if he is not the dirty cop that Capt. Blaine wishes him to be..."

"He's not!" Tim interrupted.

"...well, then, there must be an explanation for this out-of-character behavior. Something that would remove his character, so to speak."

"If so... what do I do about it?"

"I'm not sure. Would you like us to come and join you?"

"No," Tim said, quickly. "No, I think I need to be the one doing it for now. He seemed so nervous just with me here. If it was a lot of people all looking for him, he'd feel cornered. Maybe he'd run again. Give me a few days, Ducky. Let me see if I can catch him when he'd be willing to talk to me. Please?"

"You know that many people will be wanting to know that Anthony is alive. While your concern has been serious, others also care about him."

"I know that... but please, just give me some time. If you're right, maybe he just needs to have a little bit of time not to be afraid of me and let me talk to him. He knew me. I know I wasn't a complete stranger to him. I know it."

"All right. If my guess is correct, it's possible that he just needs something more to jog his memory and get around whatever has blocked him from remembering. I will tell Jethro for you, since I know that's why you called me first. I will convince him to give you some time before he comes charging in, but you know he won't stay away for long."

"I know. Thanks, Ducky."

"You're welcome. And for now, Timothy?"

"Yeah?"

"Sleep. Take care of yourself. You need to. You know your limits."

"Yeah. Okay."

"If only I believed you."

Tim smiled a little.

"Thanks," he said again. "Bye."

"Good-bye, Timothy."

Tim hung up and sighed.

Could Tony really have simply forgotten everyone and everything? But if so, why wouldn't he have remembered when he saw someone he definitely knew?

The questions were still running rampant in his brain, but with Ducky's support in giving him time, he gradually relaxed enough and fell asleep as his usual tiredness reasserted itself.

He didn't bother changing his clothes or anything. He just curled up on the bed and slept.

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

Tony didn't sleep much that night. He couldn't pull his mind away from the man who had shown up at the bar. He couldn't stop going over why this man would know him, why he knew the man without knowing him.

Why did I just push him away? I know that I know him. If I had talked to him right then, Jack would have been there to help if I needed it. Why?

Jack.

Hadn't he been considering telling Jack his real problem? Hadn't he been considering trusting Jack with his secret weeks ago, the day that Louis had come in and threatened them?

If ever he needed help, this was the time. He needed something to help him know what to do. Maybe this was it.

He got up off the bed and went down to the back door of the bar. Jack wasn't there yet, so he sat down and waited in the alley, hoping that Jack would get there soon. Now that he'd decided to ask for help, he just want to be able to do it and not put it off.

He ended up waiting for a couple of hours, but he didn't leave. He just watched for the man to show up again so he could avoid him until he had a chance to talk to Jack.

Finally, at around noon, Jack came as usual. He looked surprised to see Joel standing there. He raised his eyebrow in that way that seemed so very familiar.

"What are you doing out here, lurking around the door like some kind of street urchin?"

"Urchin?"

"Yeah. I'm not giving you scraps. What do you want, Joel?"

"I need some help, Jack."

The joking vanished instantly.

"With what?"

"Can I come in and tell you about it? What I've been not telling you for the last eight months?"

The eyebrow went up again but Jack nodded without hesitation and turned around to open the door to the bar.

Joel followed him inside, hoping that this would finally get him on the path he needed to be on.

Whatever that was.

Chapter Text

Chapter 20

"What's going on, Joel?" Jack asked. "Is it about that guy who was bugging you last night?"

"Kind of." Now that the moment was here, Joel didn't know how to start explaining himself.

"Only kind of?"

"Yeah." Joel took a deep breath and stared at the counter, noting its old, worn surface. He started picking at it. It had definitely seen better days.

After a second, Jack smack his hand.

"Hey. Knock it off. I don't want to have to varnish that counter. It has a few years left in it."

Joel laughed a little. He stopped fidgeting, but he kept staring at the counter rather than making eye contact with Jack.

"Joel, come on. If you want my help, you have to tell me what it's about. I can't do anything if I don't know anything."

Joel tried think about how to start. Then, he remembered one of the times Jack had tried to get at what was happening.

"You asked me once what I was doing here. I told you I was trying to find myself."

"Yeah. I remember. I didn't buy it."

"Well... you should have... because I meant that literally." Finally, Joel looked up. "Jack, I don't know who I am."

"What?"

"I have no idea who I am. I don't know my name, where I'm from, anything."

Jack's brow furrowed and he looked skeptical. "You're trying to tell me that you have amnesia?"

"I guess so. About eight months ago... I woke up in a homeless shelter. I'd been shot. Once in the arm and a graze on my head that... the doc said it would have killed me if it had been any deeper. Guy pulled me out of the river and he said he saw people running after me and shooting at me. He told me I should get out of town as fast as I could. I don't even know what town I was in. I just did what he said and I left. It was on the East Coast, though. Somewhere in... Virginia."

"So why come here?"

"I don't know. When I was deciding where to go, California kept coming up in my mind. I didn't have anything else and if there were people trying to kill me, then, I'd be that much further away from them. And I remember all this music. I don't know why I remember that but not my name. My ID isn't real. I know that's not my real name."

"How?"

"Because I looked up the town listed on it and it doesn't exist. It's a fake ID...only it looks real. Someone made a really good ID. I don't know why I would have that. I was hoping that coming to California would somehow tell me what had happened, but it didn't. Coming here didn't clear anything up. So I just decided that I'd be an aspiring musician until I figured out what to do. Only I haven't figured out what to do. So I'm still doing this."

"Okay, so what does this have to do with the guy in the bar last night, then?"

Joel took another deep breath. He didn't want to talk about this but he needed to. He looked at the counter again, not seeing the worn wood. Seeing something else. Someone else.

"I started having these dreams. At first, all that I heard or saw was blurry and muffled. No details but I was scared of it anyway. After a while, I started seeing this guy in the dreams. I didn't know if he was real or if I'd made him up, but he's always in the dreams. Always. And I'm still afraid. They're so violent. People dying, shooting. They're so loud and every time I have them..."

"That why you were screaming a few months ago?"

Joel looked up and nodded. He swallowed.

"Yeah. That was a bad one." He looked at the counter again. "The guy who was here last night is the one in my dreams."

"So... he's real. Not just a dream."

"Yeah. ...and he seemed to know me."

"Then, why did you look like you wanted him gone?"

"Because of the dreams," Joel burst out after a few silent seconds. "He's always dying or dead in them. He always falls. But sometimes, I pushed him. Sometimes, he trips. Sometimes, someone else comes up from behind and knocks him off. But he always falls and dies. I don't... I don't know if he's on my side... I don't even know what side I'm even on! And he was right there, just appearing out of my dream but I didn't know what to do about it. So I ran away."

"So what do you need my help for?"

"What do I do, Jack?" Joel asked. "I don't know what to do. The reason I never told you before was because... because I don't know who to trust. Not even myself. I don't know if I'm a criminal. I don't know if I'm a hero. I don't know if I'm just some random guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I don't mean anything at all. All I know is that I was shot by someone I don't know, for reasons I don't understand. And someone who was probably connected to all that just showed up out of the blue saying that he's been looking for me. What do I do?"

Jack settled back on a stool. He sat there silently for a little while.

"Now, I don't know how you'll feel about this, but maybe you should talk to Lang about it."

"No... I mean... I don't know." Joel sighed. "Does the fact that I automatically don't want to tell the cop mean I'm a criminal?"

Jack chuckled a little. "Man, Joel. I don't know. I don't know anything about this psychological stuff. But I do know Lang, and you can trust him. And he'll be able to look into things without being dishonest about it. Maybe he can figure out who you are."

"What if I don't want to know?"

"Do you not want to know?"

"I do. I just want to know that I'm a good guy, that the reason I'm like this isn't because I did something wrong. I want to find out who I am but only if I'm a person worth knowing."

Jack gave him a thump on the back. "Guess what, Joel. No matter what your name is or who you are, you're worth knowing."

Joel smiled a little and looked over at Jack once more.

"Thanks."

"Now, do you want me to call Lang or do you want to think about it?"

Joel took a breath and let it out in a whoosh.

"Let me think about it for a day. I'll tell you tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure. No skin off my nose. But for your sake, think about it. Really think about it. I'll give you the support you need, but I don't know how to actually help you with your problem."

"It helps just knowing that someone else knows about it," Joel said.

"What if this guy shows up again?"

"I don't know. Maybe he won't."

"If he was telling the truth and he's been looking for you for months, then, I doubt that he'd give up that easy."

"Yeah... you're probably right. I have to play it by ear for now. Maybe... Maybe I can talk to him when I know I'm not alone and if he's bad news, I'll have backup."

"Well, you always have that."

"Thanks, Jack."

"You going to practice this afternoon?"

"No. I'm going to go... and think."

"All right. You want to play tonight?"

Joel nodded. "Yeah. Music is the one thing that makes sense, even if I don't like the sense it makes sometimes."

"All right. Come down early. You need a square meal."

"Okay."

Joel left the bar and walked back up to his apartment. He lay down on the bed and tried to think, but he was mostly tired because he'd slept so little. So he tried to let himself relax.

Eventually, he slept.

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

"They say that these are not the best of times,
But they're the only times I've ever known,
And I believe there is a time for meditation in cathedrals of our own."

The song woke Tim up, and he rolled over to look at the clock. It was after noon. How many times had he pushed snooze before waking up? Oh, well. Did it really matter? With all that had happened, waking up late was the least of his problems.

"What am I going to do?"

He had no idea. Tony had already rejected him once. How could he get to the point where he could get Tony to listen to him? Let him talk?

It was probably pointless trying to talk to him at the bar. He'd have to figure out where Tony was living and try to catch him there. And if he was wrong and Tony really was under duress from someone at the bar, he would be more likely to open up away from the bar. So he'd have to try that, but in order to do that, he'd have to find out where Tony lived.

Maybe he could stake out the bar and follow Tony when he left. He wasn't really very good at that, but he could try it, and if Tony was outside the bar, then, maybe he'd be alone and Tim could still try to talk to him anyway.

That would mean another late night, and Tim could feel that he was still tired. He hadn't fully recovered from the night before. Even though he'd slept, it had been fitful at best.

He'd have to get some more rest if he was going to be able to handle this... something he was already starting to question. Gibbs probably would have known what to do if confronted with Tony acting like he was a complete stranger. Maybe he should just ask Gibbs to come out right now.

But no. No, Tim knew that this was his responsibility. Even though he was struggling, he had to get through to Tony before bringing anyone else here.

So more rest. He'd have to eat, too, but later. He rolled over and tried to sleep.

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

Joel was watching for the man to show up again all evening. His playing wasn't quite up to snuff because of it. He was too distracted, but he'd been doing this long enough that people were a little forgiving.

The thing was that he didn't show, and for some reason, Joel felt disappointed. He was conflicted about what to do. He wasn't sure he trusted the man. ...and yet, he felt disappointed that he wasn't there. Why couldn't he just pick an emotion and stick with it? It was so frustrating.

"Last call!"

Finally. Joel took a breath. Tonight had been pretty slow in comparison to the night before. That was all right with him. Not many people in the bar.

"Last request?" Joel called out.

"'Summer, Highland Falls.'"

That was a familiar voice. He fumbled on the keys a little, but he put on a normal expression.

"My first Billy Joel of the night," Joel said with a smile. Then, he leaned over and started playing.

This song hit too close to home for him, but he'd never refused a request yet and it was a nice mellow song to end the evening, even if it seemed to be a song written for people struggling with depression. He finished the first verse and then played some instrumental. Then, it was back to the words that were almost painful to sing.

"So we'll argue and we'll compromise,
And realize that nothing's ever changed,
For all our mutual experience, our separate conclusions are the same.

Now we are forced to recognize our inhumanity,
Our reason co-exists with our insanity.
And though we choose between reality and madness...
It's either sadness or euphoria."

Another instrumental. He could hear the bar emptying out, and he was afraid of what would happen when it was empty, but he tried to remind himself that Jack said he'd be there to back him up. It would be okay. He finished out the song. He finished with a flourish and waited. There was some applause, but he had to get a hold of himself before he could acknowledge it. Finally, he turned around.

The man wasn't there. Joel was sure that it had been the same man who had made that request of an obscure Billy Joel song. The voice was the same, but he sure wasn't here now. Just a couple of stragglers that Jack was now urging to the door. None of them were the man he was looking for. Why come in here, request a song and then leave?

Joel stood up and stretched as usual. Jack walked over to him.

"Well?"

And right then, he made a decision.

"If he can come over tomorrow, I'll talk to him," Joel said.

"Okay. I'll call him."

"Okay."

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

Tim waited outside the bar for more than an hour after it was closed, but he never saw even a glimpse of Tony. He had walked inside once to make sure he was there. He was. And he had been playing the piano again. So when he had asked for requests, Tim had found himself making one. That same song he'd been playing for himself, but it had hit him a little too much and so he had withdrawn to wait for the chance to follow Tony to wherever he was living.

But that part of it wasn't happening. There was no Tony to follow.

Cautiously, Tim walked down a dark alley beside the building. He wanted to see what the back of the bar looked like.

But he only got halfway down before he heard something. He turned and in the darkness, there was just not enough to know if he'd heard someone following him or if he had heard his own feet or a cat scrounging. Quickly, he turned on the flashlight on his phone and shone it around behind him. He saw nothing. Not even a hint of something.

Tim was far too aware of the fact that he didn't have backup at the moment. He was completely alone.

He couldn't stay here in this alley. He'd have to try tomorrow.

He ran out of the alley, back to the relative safety of the sidewalk and then returned to the hotel. When he got there, he was exhausted again so he ate some snacks and then fell asleep on the bed, relieved that he was there and not back in that dark alley.

Tomorrow. He'd try again the next day, even if it ended up having the same results. He'd keep trying until something gave.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21

Joel was only just waking up when there was a knock on his door. He was wary until he heard Jack.

"Joel, wake up. Lang's here!"

"Already?" Joel asked, getting out of bed.

"Already? It's nearly ten. You're sleeping the day away."

Joel opened the door and there was Jack, looking far too awake.

"Lang is here before his shift starts, so if you're going to talk to him, it needs to be now."

"Oh..." Joel was suddenly hesitant to do this. Maybe it was a mistake to let more than one person know about what was going on. "I don't know... Jack, maybe..."

Jack shook his head. "Nope. You already decided. Get your clothes on and come down and if you're not down in a few minutes, I'll be back up here and I have a key. I'm willing to haul you down if I have to."

Joel laughed a little and rubbed one hand over his head, feeling nervous.

"Hey, don't worry. Lang will treat you right."

Joel took a deep breath and nodded.

"I'll be down."

"Good."

Joel closed the door and walked back to his bed. He sat down for a few seconds. If he was going to be telling a cop stuff, he should show him what he had with him. He'd need to know that kind of detail probably. He reached under the bed and pulled out the bag he'd had with him eight months ago. He pulled out the button, the piece of paper, the key on the keychain, and after a moment of hesitation, the knife in the sheath. Langston would need to see all of these things, not just the ones Joel felt comfortable showing. With a deep breath, he put them all back into the bag and then quickly got dressed.

He didn't want to do this, but he kind of figured that it was his only option.

So with one final deep breath, he left the apartment and went down to the bar. He knocked on the back door and Jack let him in quickly.

"Lang's right in here," Jack said.

"Okay," Joel said, apprehensively.

Jack led him into the bar and there was Langston sitting at a table, obviously waiting.

Joel sat down and didn't say anything. Langston raised an eyebrow at him

"Jack said you weren't sure about telling me whatever you have to tell me but I can't help you if I don't know what's going on, Joel."

"I know."

"You seem like a good guy, so tell me what you need to tell me."

"It's just that... I know how this is going to sound. Even Jack is skeptical. ...but I promise it's the truth as far as I know it."

"Okay. I'll keep that in mind. Go ahead."

Joel tried to maintain eye contact, but he couldn't. He didn't want to see the disbelief he was sure that he'd see in Langston's eyes.

"I don't know who I am. My ID is fake. My name isn't really Joel... well, maybe it is, but I don't know if it is. My memories go back about eight months and that's it...except for the music. That was all I had in my head, really. I know it sounds like I'm lying, but I promise that I'm not. Everything I'm telling you is what I know."

"Actually, the music part makes sense to me if you're telling the truth," Langston said.

"It does?" Joel asked in surprise.

"Yeah. I read this thing once about a guy who had Alzheimer's or some kind of dementia. He'd been an organist but he didn't recognize anyone anymore. He didn't know anything. Until they put him on an organ bench. Then, he would play and play without any problems. It was like he was his old self again. When they took him off the organ, he went back to being the guy with dementia. What they said was that music is something that's more than just memory. It's beyond that and people know music more than they know other things. So yeah, if this is real, then, the music part really doesn't contradict you."

"Oh." Joel wasn't sure what else to say since he had expected that part of it to be the hardest part to believe.

Langston smiled for a moment and then got down to business. "Okay, so if this is true, and I'll admit that sounds like a bad movie or something, but I want to know if you have anything that could get me started on this."

Joel nodded and looked up. "Yeah. Not much but a few things that I had when I woke up back on the East Coast."

"East Coast? Where?"

"I don't know. Virginia, I think. I didn't know where I was and I didn't dare ask anyone. I just left."

"Okay. So what do you have?"

Joel pulled out his wallet and slid it across the table.

"Here's the ID that I had. That city doesn't exist. I looked it up."

"Holbeck, New York," Langston read. "Sounds like it could be real."

"It's not. I looked it up. There's a Holbeck in England, but not one in New York, but would you guess that's a fake ID?"

"No. That's pretty legit. What else?"

"I apparently had this button in my hand and I wouldn't let go of it. It looks like it got torn off someone's clothes. But it wasn't from the clothes that I was wearing."

Langston looked at it and nodded.

"Then, there's this piece of paper," Joel said.

Langston's expression was a little incredulous.

"Okay. Why keep that? There's nothing on it but smudged ink. I would have tossed it myself."

Joel shrugged. "I had it when I woke up. I don't know what it says. It was wet and I couldn't read it. I kept hoping it might mean something to me."

"Has it?"

"No."

"Okay. What else?"

"This key," Joel said. "There's tape on it, but if there was ever anything written on it, I don't know. Maybe a key to an apartment or something."

Langston looked at that, too, and then nodded.

"Is that everything?"

Joel looked over at Jack for a moment.

"No, it's not. I'm sorry I lied to you, Jack. I was carrying a weapon. It just wasn't in my bag."

Jack looked surprised when Joel pulled out the knife and set it on the table. Langston picked it up and looked at it closely. Then, he looked at Joel with an unvoiced question.

"It was in a sheath strapped to my ankle. That's not normal, is it."

"No, and this is a switchblade," Langston said. "Those are illegal in most states."

"Oh. Uh..."

Langston smiled even as his expression was serious.

"I'm not going to arrest you for that, Joel. But that means something. I just don't know what. You not only have a blade that is more-or-less illegal for people outside of law enforcement, but you admit that it was concealed."

"Yeah."

Langston looked at him and the skepticism was gone. In its place was an expression that Joel couldn't really identify, but he could tell that Langston wasn't dismissing his statements now.

To his surprise, Langston slid the knife back across the table to him. Joel hesitated and then took it.

"All right, Joel. I have two things I want to do, but they require your cooperation."

"What are they?" Joel asked, feeling a little wary.

"First, I want to take this piece of paper and see if we can clean it up enough to read whatever was written on it. No guarantees, but maybe we'll get something. Second, I want to take your picture and see if you've been reported missing anywhere."

"I looked once."

"Yeah, but you're not finding some of the stuff we have as cops."

"Oh."

"Well?"

Joel shrugged. "I... I don't know. I mean, it's one thing to tell you about it. It's another thing to have it be plastered all over creation."

Langston laughed. "I'm not suggesting we contact the evening news with your story, although if we did that, we'd probably have someone pop up who knows who you are. I'm suggesting that I use some resources I have access to that you don't to see if we can figure something out."

Joel still felt unsure about that. He was still nervous about sharing his problem with a cop, even though he didn't know why he was.

"Okay. You think about that while we take care of the last thing."

"You said there were only two things."

"Well, this last one isn't negotiable."

"What?"

"I need a description of the guy you said talked to you and seemed to know who you are. Regardless of anything else, you need to know if this guy is dangerous or not. I mean, what if it's the guy who shot you who's here?"

"Oh." Joel was surprised to realize that he'd never even considered that possibility. He wasn't sure if that meant something or not. He'd wondered how the guy knew him, he had wondered if they were friends or enemies, but he'd never thought of that as an option.

"How about security footage?" Jack suggested. "My cameras aren't the best, but if he came in here, he should be on the cameras."

Langston nodded. "I'll still need a description unless he got up close and personal with the camera. I've seen your security cameras."

"Some of us don't have a lot of disposable income to get the fancy stuff," Jack said.

"Description first," Langston said.

"Okay." Joel thought back. "He didn't look like he was... really healthy. I can't really explain it, but he looked like he'd been through a lot."

"Drugs?'

"No, I don't think so. He was pretty skinny and about my height. Blond hair. Green eyes. He didn't say his name."

"Okay. Can I see the footage?"

"Sure," Jack said.

They got up and went into the back, but Joel stayed sitting at the table. He looked at the piece of paper he'd been carrying with him for so long. What good was it doing him to keep it when Langston might be able to get something from it? He might as well hand that off, but if he did that, he was asking Langston to do something more than listen and he'd have to accept having his photo taken as well. Sure, he could pretend that he didn't know that agreeing to one was agreeing to both, but he knew it was.

So... what was he going to do?

To distract himself from that decision, he walked over to the piano and sat down. He plinked around for a little bit, but then, he started to play.

Billy Joel, of course.

But it was the same song that the man had requested the night before.

"Summer, Highland Falls."

It was mainly the first couple of lines that really hit him hard every time he played it.

"They say that these are not the best of times,
But they're the only times I've ever known,
And I believe there is a time for meditation in cathedrals of our own."

Over and over, he heard them repeated, wishing that he could escape these times and find the better ones.

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

Tim sat in his hotel room, his mind running relentless circles, trying to figure out if his plan was going to work or if he'd have to admit that he was failing miserably and get someone more competent out here to figure out what to do.

The only reason he hadn't done that yet was because he still felt that he should be the one to fix this. He felt like it was his fault Tony was here, like if he hadn't done whatever he had done in that apartment, none of this would have happened.

He had to clean up his own mess, and no matter how many times people told him that there was a different interpretation, he didn't believe it.

So now, he pulled out his phone and started looking at the street where the bar was located. He got onto the street view and noted that there was a second floor that could easily be apartments. If that was the case, then, Tony wouldn't need to come out onto the street at all. He could just be living above the bar. If so, he'd be hard-pressed to catch him out on the street unless Tony was going a lot of places, and Tim just couldn't rely on managing to be there unless he was literally there all day long. It might come to that, but if he was playing in the bar every night, he'd have to get down there somehow and Tim was skeptical that any apartments would have their entrances right in the bar itself.

He looked around a bit more in the maps on his phone, but he couldn't get back into the alley with the street view. So there was no way to see what this was like unless he went back there.

For some reason, he felt really worried about doing that. Was his feeling from the night before simply influencing him or was there something else that he hadn't consciously processed yet?

Well, he knew that Tony didn't play until later in the evening. Maybe he could go there before it got to be fully dark and catch him on his way down. He'd just have to go back into that alleyway and wait.

He'd try that tomorrow.

For today, he'd try to plan out what he could say to get Tony to listen to him, to explain what was going on and why he'd been here for so long without contacting anyone.

Decision made, Tim reluctantly called for room service. If he started neglecting himself too much, he wouldn't be able to tolerate a long day as he was planning to have.

He had to do this and he had to do it right.

Somehow.

Chapter Text

Chapter 22

The man didn't show up that day at all at the bar, and that made Joel nervous. Two nights in a row he'd been there and now his not being there was grounds for concern.

He looked at Jack for a long moment before he started for the piano. Jack walked over and spoke in a low voice.

"Just play. I'll keep my eye out for him. Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks."

Jack patted him on the back and Joel went and sat down. He plastered a smile on his face and started playing. For the first time in all the months he'd been here, Joel didn't care one whit about what he played. There was so much else going on that he didn't feel like he could give any attention to what he was playing. He did his regular set, took a break, took a few requests, did his second set and finished up without caring at all.

And the man who had come before never showed up.

When he finished, he walked over to the bar and sat down heavily.

"Am I off the clock?" he asked Jack.

"Yeah."

"Good. Can I have a beer, then?"

"Sure."

Joel knew that his worry was obvious. Somehow, he felt much more exposed that he had before. When Jack set the bottle in front of him, he took a long drink and stared at it for a while. He hadn't done much drinking while he'd been working here, partly because Jack didn't allow any of his employees to drink on the job and partly because alcohol was more expensive and not something he needed.

"Everything feels wrong, Jack. Everything."

"You'll figure something out, and if you don't, then, Lang will."

Joel shook his head and sighed. "Yeah. Maybe."

Then, the door to the bar opened and Joel turned around, ready to see the man from before coming in.

But it was Langston.

"Do you have something already, Lang?" Jack asked.

Langston shook his head, all business.

"No, sorry. I've had to put that on the back burner for now. Things are heating up. Have you heard anything?"

"Not recently," he said, but then, his brow furrowed. "There was something a week or so ago, but before you say it, I wouldn't have thought of this unless you'd asked."

"What?"

"Couple of guys came in here who never have before. They were here for three nights in a row and they seemed excited about something. Don't know what. I couldn't hear what they were saying." Jack's eyes flicked over to Joel and then back to Langston. "Someone was playing too loud."

Joel forced a laugh. "Not my fault. You're the one paying me to do it."

Langston pulled out a photo and slid it across the bar.

"Was one of them this guy?"

"Could be. I didn't get a good look, but it could be him. Not positive, but he was with someone else. Wasn't ever here alone and I haven't seen him in the bar since then."

Joel looked down casually at the photo. He didn't often pay attention to all the patrons in the bar. Too many people and he was usually busy, but he figured it didn't hurt to look, even if Langston was showing it to Jack and not him.

And then, his vision tunneled. For a long moment, everything vanished except for that photograph. Sound, light, everything. It was all gone and whatever else Jack and Langston were saying to each other completely passed him by.

"I know him," Joel said, almost inaudibly.

"Did you say something, Joel?" Langston asked.

"I know him," Joel said again, a little louder this time.

Both Langston and Jack looked at him in surprise.

"What?" Jack asked.

"I've seen this picture before. I've seen this person. I know him."

"Who is he?" Langston asked.

"I don't... know," Joel said, starting to feel really tense and more than a little scared. He stood up and backed away a couple of steps. "I don't know who he is... but I know him. Somewhere, I've seen him before and... and not in a good... way. I..."

There were black spots in his vision, but a vise-like grip on his arm pulled him back to the bar and forced him to sit on a stool.

"Okay, Joel. Just take a breath, a deep breath. Calm down."

Joel breathed as instructed and his vision cleared.

"Okay, if you're pretending, give up on music and become an actor because that's not something I would say you can fake," Langston said.

Joel took another deep breath and let it out.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that kind of... visceral reaction to a picture. You looked like you were about to pass out."

"I'd be okay with not having that reaction again."

Langston smiled. "I don't blame you. You think you could try to answer some questions about it?"

"I don't know. You can try. I don't have anything in my head about him, but I wouldn't have guessed that I knew anyone you were looking for anyway. I mean... I came here from Virginia."

"Virginia, huh. Maybe around Norfolk?"

"Maybe... I..." As he hedged, suddenly, it popped into his head and out of his mouth without giving him much chance to analyze it. "Yeah. That's where I was." He looked at Jack and then at Langston, feeling more than a little surprise. "...but I didn't... know that until just now. Why would you suggest it?"

"Can't tell you that, I'm afraid. Okay. It's really late, but I want you to be careful, Joel. Don't go anywhere on your own. If you're going to your apartment, I'll walk you to the door right now, but watch yourself. I don't know if it's necessary. I mean, if these guys have been around for days and not done anything to you so far, then, there's no reason to expect that they would... unless you were a witness. So be careful but don't be afraid. If you see them, call me right away. Your stuff is not on the back burner anymore. For some reason, you're involved in what I've been tracking off and on for the last year. I hope you're just an innocent bystander but I've got to check this out. Hopefully, I'll have at least a few answers by tomorrow."

Joel swallowed and nodded. He wasn't sure about this whole "don't be afraid" thing. He didn't like the way this sounded...and why would he be part of something that Langston was investigating?

"Joel, you want to stay at my place tonight instead?" Jack asked.

Joel shook his head.

"No. I'll just go up to bed. Thanks, Jack."

"Okay, if you're sure."

"Yeah. I'm sure."

Langston nodded and led him out of the bar and the two steps it took to get to the stairs leading up to his apartment. The door was locked but Langston came up and checked everything out before bidding Joel a good night.

Alone, Joel sat on the bed and realized that he was wishing that the man he'd seen before would show up. With a dangerous element from his unknown past showing up, at least the other man had been ambiguous, not instantly seen as dangerous.

There was a knock at the door and he instantly grew tense.

"Yeah?"

"Joel, it's Jack."

Joel let out a loud exhalation and walked to the door. He opened it and smiled a little when he saw Jack standing there with a plate of food.

"I know you're probably not hungry right now, but you should eat something and then save the rest. Most of this stuff will warm up pretty good."

"Thanks, Jack. For everything."

"You're welcome, and I mean it. If you want to stay somewhere else, my place is free and it's better than this place."

"No. I'd rather stay here."

"All right. See you tomorrow."

"Okay. Thanks."

Joel took the plate and closed the door. Jack was right. He should eat something. With a sigh, he picked out a couple of things from the plate and packed the rest of it away. He ate without noticing any taste. Then, he went to bed.

...but he didn't really sleep.

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

Tim was ready. At least he told himself he was ready. He'd spent all day figuring out what to say and what to do. Now, it was getting later and he needed to get back over so that he could hopefully catch Tony before he got into the bar, before he was around anyone who might be stopping him from being honest about what was going on.

And if Ducky was right that Tony could genuinely have forgotten them, well, then, maybe Tim could talk to him enough that he'd get his memory back...or something.

He hadn't described his plan to anyone. He was far too uncertain as it was. He didn't need anyone kibitzing his technique and giving him unwanted suggestions about how it would work better. If this failed, then, he'd reach out.

At least that was what he told himself. He still felt that he needed to do it himself, that this was his responsibility to fix. Not anyone else's.

He took a breath and headed out. As he walked toward the bar, he still felt uncomfortable. He didn't know why this had happened or if his interpretation of what was going on was at all valid. All he knew was that something was wrong.

Determined, Tim walked into the alley behind the bar. It was light enough at the moment that he could see there was a definite second story. There could be an apartment there. Well, he'd wait here as long as no one else came along and told him to stop loitering. There was no real exit from here which made him a little nervous. He didn't like the idea that, if something went spectacularly wrong, he'd have no escape.

That was what he had, though. So he'd deal with it.

He waited around for about half an hour with no sign of anyone. He was starting to get discouraged again, but he was determined to see it through, even as it started growing darker. There were a couple of lights back here, but not many.

Then, suddenly, he heard a voice.

"Well, well, well. We were wondering where you'd slipped off to, Agent McGee."

He spun around and saw two men walking into the alley. He didn't know them... but he'd seen one of them in a photo before. His heart began to pound in his chest. This was not good, but he tried to keep them from knowing how afraid he was.

"Ensign... I thought you were stationed in Norfolk," he said, trying to keep his voice even.

"I'm on leave. Special. Just for me."

"I wasn't aware that ensigns were able to choose their own leave times."

"We're not. But when our commanding officer gives us the time off, we take it and no one can say anything against it."

"Your commanding officer... is Captain Blaine."

Ensign Lloyd Thomas grinned and glanced at his silent companion.

"That's correct."

"Who's your friend?" Tim asked.

"No one you'd know. You didn't get that far."

"So we would have?" Tim asked, cursing anew that the computer they'd been using had been wiped and the flash drive they'd used as backup was missing.

"Probably. You were definitely getting too close for comfort. I'm surprised you're up and about after that fall. Pretty nasty. Even your partner thought you were dead and made a run for it. We should have checked."

"Your mistake."

"And yet, here you are, playing right into our hands. We finally tracked down your partner here and we were told to take care of him. Won't Capt. Blaine be happy to know that we took care of both of you in one night?"

Tim figured that his current lifespan probably could be measured in minutes. However, this guy was enjoying gloating far too much. That could give him a chance to be more in control. But his silent companion was just as worrisome. Hired? Committed? Tim didn't know, but he was probably the one taking orders from Ensign Thomas.

The nameless man pulled out a gun and Tim was ready to die right in that moment, but then, Ensign Thomas put out a hand.

"Wait. We're in LA. Did you know that gang violence is on the rise here? It's one of the reasons we've been able to do so much. We can hide our activities among all the gangs and no one's the wiser."

"Certainly not you," Tim said.

Ensign Thomas' expression hardened.

"How about a vicious gang beating, meant to send a message?" he said. "We can leave behind a tag for... which one should we blame this one on? How long has it been since we used the Sureños?"

"A few months," said his companion softly, speaking for the first time.

"That's right. Okay. We'll use their tag. We'll get started with you and then we can take care of your partner later. His could easily be a home invasion. Then, we'll have both of you out of the way."

Before he was ready, the silent man was on the move. He was fast, and Tim was grabbed and thrown hard against the wall before he had a chance to defend himself.

His head exploded in pain and he staggered, although he did his best to stay awake and aware and on his feet. He fought back weakly, but he could barely see and his head was spinning. Two quick jabs in the stomach had him doubling over and a heavy thwack on his back knocked him to the ground. He pushed himself up on his hands and knees and another hit sent him back to the ground. The sounds were fading, but then, he heard something.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

"Get out of here."

Tim lay on the ground, unable to make himself move or speak or anything. He just lay there limply, idly wondering if that first hit to the head would put him back in a coma or something. He didn't know.

Then, someone was turning him over. He tried to open his eyes and he heard someone swear. The same someone? Who knew?

"Joel! Get down here!"

Chapter Text

Chapter 23

Joel heard Jack yelling and, while he was still nervous about how things had been going, he could never leave Jack to face something alone, not after all he'd done.

So he ran down to the alley behind the bar and was surprised to see Jack kneeling beside someone who was lying on his back.

"Come and help me, Joel," Jack said.

Joel walked over closer.

"What happened?"

"It looked like two guys were beating this guy up. They ran when I shouted at them."

Joel looked down at the ground where Jack was kneeling and then swore. This was far too familiar. It was like his dream. It was like... more than his dream. He'd seen this view before and he hated it. He had seen this man before. He knew it. He had seen this man looking just like this before.

"It's the guy from before," Joel said. "Jack, it's the same guy who talked to me."

"Doesn't matter. Right now, he needs help. I don't care who he is. Sir, can you hear me?" Jack asked while he pressed a rag on the man's head.

The man's eyes opened, but he looked up at Joel, not at Jack.

"Tony... they're... here... after you... have to... get away from them. Stop them from..." He didn't finish.

"Who?" Joel asked, although he wasn't sure what identity he really wanted.

But the man didn't seem to be entirely connected.

"Can't... they... won't... be..." Then, his eyes closed. "Tony... get away..."

"Here, you keep holding the rag on his head. I'm going to call 911," Jack said.

Joel was reluctant, but he nodded and took Jack's place...but he didn't want to be there. In fact, he felt extremely tense. Jack skewered him with a piercing look.

"Don't you dare run away, Joel," Jack said. "I can see you want to. This man apparently was trying to warn you of some kind of danger. You're not abandoning him after that. No matter what."

Joel felt his cheeks warm. He hadn't realized his feelings were so obvious. But at the same time, as the man lay there, unconscious, he had a different feeling.

A need to protect.

He'd seen this man die in his dreams over and over again. He really didn't want to see him die again, especially not when he was awake... when it would definitely be real. The initial reaction was to run away from that possibility, but now, with Jack not letting him give in to that instinct, he wanted to make sure that this man didn't die. This wouldn't become another one of his dreams.

Jack reported tersely what had happened on the phone and within five minutes, there were sirens coming closer. The man hadn't awakened, but the bleeding had slowed.

Jack went out to direct them where to come. Once the EMTs were there, Joel backed away... but Jack had other ideas.

"Hey, I know I'll need to stay and talk to the police, but could Joel go with you?"

The EMT nodded.

"Sure. Come on. We'll get him to the hospital and make sure there's no serious internal bleeding."

Joel hesitated. He really just wanted to hide in his apartment again, but Jack gave him a shove.

"You need this, Joel," he said in a low voice. "Do it. Talk to this guy when you can. He knows you. You can't fix your life if you keep hiding from it."

"Okay."

Joel followed the EMTs and the gurney on which they'd placed the man. Somehow, Joel felt that, by leaving with them, he was making it impossible to go back to that dinky little apartment and live the life he'd been living for the last eight months. He was changing things so dramatically, that his life could never be that simple again.

What he didn't know was whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

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

He struggled to awaken. He knew there was an important message he had to convey, something he really needed to tell people. He couldn't let himself forget it this time. He needed to remember it.

"Hey, it's okay. Don't worry. You're all right now."

That voice. He knew that voice. It was an important one. Who was it?

"I'm not sure what else to say until you can actually talk back, so I'll just sit here. When you're ready... well, I don't know if I'll be ready or not, but I'm not sure I ever will be so... when you're ready will have to be okay."

There was silence once more. He lay there, listening for the voice again, but really, he just needed to open his eyes. That was what he needed to do.

Then, there was another sound.

"Any sign yet?"

"He started stirring a while ago, but he hasn't really woke up... waked up ...awakened? Which is it?"

"I'm not sure I know. I'm a doctor, not a grammarian."

"Your name better not be McCoy."

There was a chuckle.

"No. It's Bates, but you said he was stirring?"

"Yeah."

There was a flash of light in his eye and he was startled by it.

"Good. A definite reaction. Agent McGee, can you hear me?"

He made a noise, although it wasn't anything coherent.

"Good. You're currently in the hospital and we're treating you for your injuries. Can you open your eyes?"

Tim tried and he did get his eyes open part way. He could see a blurry shape leaning over him. But it was really hard to think clearly and see clearly. He blinked a few times, but it was hard to do that.

"Well done."

"Blurry," he managed to mumble. He wasn't sure how clear he was.

"That's all right. Your vision will clear up."

He remembered that his doctor had told him how sensitive his brain might be to further injury. He tried to think of what to say that would share that information.

"Hit on the head," he mumbled.

"Yes, you have a concussion."

"No... before..."

"You've had another head injury recently?"

He thought he nodded.

"Fell."

"All right. Thank you for telling me."

"Welcome," he said and his eyes slipped closed.

"Just rest, Agent McGee."

"'kay."

Then, he let himself fall asleep again.

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

Joel waited for a couple of hours before the man woke up again. Tim McGee. The name did sound familiar.

As he sat there, he stared at this man who apparently knew him. He really didn't look good. Even besides the obvious injuries from being beat up, he didn't look very strong, very solid. Maybe that was because of what he'd told Dr. Bates. Multiple head injuries weren't a good thing. Even Joel knew that much.

...and if it had happened when Joel's own memory stopped, then, it was probably the fall he had seen in his dreams, the one where the man had looked dead. Bad enough to look dead might mean bad enough to cause serious injury.

The man stirred again, but this time, his eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling. He seemed a little off, but he didn't seem quite as out of it as he had before.

"Hey," Joel said, softly. "How are you feeling?"

The man's eyes moved a little slowly, but they did move over to him. There was a long silence and then the man fumbled with the controls on the bed and lifted it so he could look Joel in the eye.

"Terrible," he said. "My head is... throbbing... and spinning... at the same time."

"Sounds unpleasant."

"It is."

"So... uh... you know me."

"Yeah."

"And I should know you?"

"Yeah."

Joel felt like this wasn't really going anywhere, but he was reluctant to ask questions and this man seemed to be not at his best. So taking control of the conversation probably wasn't going to happen.

"So... who are you?" Joel asked finally.

"So you really don't know me. Not at all?" the man asked. He seemed almost hurt by that. Joel didn't know why.

"I've seen you in a dream... dying. I never knew if it was real. But you're alive."

"Yeah... but I almost wasn't. I fell from the fire escape. Cops found me in a dumpster. I was in a coma for days. And you were gone."

"Who are you?" Joel asked again.

"Tim McGee."

"Who am I?"

"Tony DiNozzo."

"And... who is that? I know what I am right now, but that's just a name."

"And what are you?" Tim asked. "A guy playing piano in a bar?"

"Yes. There's nothing wrong with that!" Joel protested angrily, getting to his feet.

"Except that's not who you are. That's a persona you made up when we went undercover. Tony, you're a cop," Tim said, his voice rising. "A Navy cop, but a cop. You're not a guy trying to make a living playing piano and singing Billy Joel songs. You're a cop who disappeared when we were undercover. They tried to kill you and they almost succeeded in killing me. That's who you are! Someone I have spent months trying to find! Someone I've risked my career trying to find! ...only to find that I still haven't found you because you think you're someone else. Everything I've done... and it means nothing."

Then, he sagged back against the bed and closed his eyes, wincing. He began rubbing his temples, clearly feeling a lot of pain.

Part of Joel wanted to walk out right this moment, to get away from what Tim was saying to him, to go back to the crappy apartment in which he lived. It wasn't much but it was simple and easy. Part of him wanted that more than anything else, but there was another part, the part that had been horrified and grief-stricken at seeing Tim fall to his death over and over in a dream, the part that had known from day one that who he had said he was wasn't really who he was, the part that felt a stab of almost-physical pain when he sang songs about a lost life, lost meanings. That part began pushing to be heard. That part knew something that the rest of Joel didn't know. Was that part this Tony that Tim said he was?

Should he trust that Tim was who he said he was? Should he trust that Joel was who Tim said he was?

The silence in the room extended as Tim was apparently trying to rub away his pain and Joel was standing there, dithering about what to do now.

Then, the door opened and Dr. Bates returned. Joel stood to the side to get out of the way. Tim opened his eyes but looked like he wished they were still closed.

"Ah, Agent McGee, you're awake again and you're looking much more alert."

"My head is throbbing."

Dr. Bates nodded seriously.

"You said that you'd had a head injury recently?"

"Yeah. About eight months ago."

The same amount of time that I remember, Joel said to himself.

"What happened?"

"I fell off a fire escape and apparently, I hit just right because I didn't die. I broke my collarbone and I was in a coma for a few days before I started waking up. Spent some months in rehab."

That could have made him look dead. If I'm a cop, that's probably the only reason I'd leave him behind.

"And do you still have symptoms from your previous head injury?"

"When I'm up for too long, I get headaches and dizzy spells. That's really it."

"All right. Agent McGee, I am concerned that you might end up with more serious repercussions. It's important that you take it easy. We're going to schedule an MRI to make sure there are no slow bleeds developing and you need to take the time to recover. The other injuries don't appear to have been as serious, and if you hadn't told me about this previous injury, I would have been surprised at how much this concussion has affected you."

And he's here because he was trying to talk to me and I made that too hard to do.

"Okay."

"For now, I'd like to keep you in the hospital, at least overnight, and we're going to make sure that scan happens before you're allowed to leave. Understood?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Now, it's fairly late and the best thing for you would be to sleep. Someone will come by to check on you periodically, but sleep will help you."

"Okay."

Dr. Bates withdrew from the room and the awkward silence returned. Tim looked at Joel for a moment and then sighed and closed his eyes.

There was still that feeling of wanting to run away from all the complications, but he couldn't do that now. No matter what came out of all this, Joel knew that he couldn't just walk away.

Finally, he walked back to the bed and sat down on a chair.

"Hey... Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to sleep right now?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I can wait."

"For what?"

Tim forced open his eyes again and looked at Joel.

"What do you mean, Tony?" he asked.

"Could you tell me how I got here?"

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Don't you know how you got to California? From what I can tell, it must have taken you days to do it."

Tony felt a little heat in his cheeks, embarrassed by the way his question had come out.

"I mean... how did I get like this ...not knowing who I am and... and all that."

"Oh." Tim's eyes closed again. "It's a long story. Do you need to hear it right now?"

"I guess I can wait. ...hey, do you need me to call someone?"

Tim's eyes opened, although they were heavy-lidded this time. They wouldn't stay open for long, Joel guessed.

"No. Not yet." And his eyes closed. "Gibbs will kill me..."

Then, it was clear that he was out. There was still a bit of a temptation to sneak out, but now, he knew that there was more to learn.

He would wait.

With a deep breath, Joel settled back into the chair and tried to get comfortable.

Chapter Text

Chapter 24

Tim woke up and took a deep breath. He could definitively say that he never wanted to get hit in the head ever again. Not even a light tap. In fact, he might beg Gibbs never to give him a head slap. He'd rather get punched in the gut than a hit on the head. He still felt unsteady and dizzy and his head ached like there was no tomorrow. He really hoped that this would go away. The idea that this might linger was rather depressing.

Another deep breath and he forced himself to look around. Tony was still there, which was moderately surprising, given what he'd said and how obvious it had been that he didn't want to be there. Currently, he was sleeping, slumped down in the chair. That gave Tim a chance to evaluate him. Asleep, there was nothing that said he wasn't Tony. Sure, the clothes were a little ratty and the haircut wasn't Tony's normal style, but still, the person he was seeing was Tony. It wasn't someone who looked like Tony. It was Tony.

Only, he wasn't acting like Tony, and it appeared that Ducky's guess was the right one. Tony didn't remember who he was. He genuinely had forgotten it all.

...and that was downright depressing. If Tony didn't listen or didn't remember, this would all be a failure. He'd have to call Gibbs and tell him. But not yet. He needed some time.

For now, though, he didn't feel like he could do anything but lie there. The prospect of moving at all was painful to contemplate.

After about an hour, the door opened and Dr. Bates came in. He smiled when he saw Tony sleeping and walked over to the bed.

"Agent McGee, how are you feeling this morning?" he asked in a low voice.

"Terrible, but more clear than last night."

"Good. We're a little backed up, but I still would like to get a scan before I let you leave the hospital."

"Okay. I don't really want to move yet, anyway."

Dr. Bates smiled. "They'll be bringing some breakfast in soon. I'm sure you're not really feeling hungry but try to eat some of it. That will help you start to recover."

"Hospital food will?" Tim asked.

"Almost any food will. I can tell just by looking at you that you need to eat more."

"All right."

"Good. A nurse will come by to check on you periodically, but if you get any sudden severe pain, let someone know right away."

"Okay."

Dr. Bates nodded and then left. As the door closed, Tony suddenly stirred and sat up. He winced and rubbed at his neck a little bit.

"The chair wasn't made for sleeping?" Tim asked.

"Definitely not," Tony said, sounding completely normal.

Then, it was like he suddenly realized who was talking and he looked a little wary as he made eye contact.

"Feeling any better?" he asked.

"Not really, but I'm more in my right mind."

"Good."

The door opened again and a PCA came in with a tray of food. That stopped the conversation once again. Tim looked at the food with reluctance, but he knew he needed to eat. He hadn't really been taking good care of himself even before this and he needed food. So he took the tray, thanked the PCA and started picking at it. It wasn't particularly appetizing but it wasn't horrific. More bland than anything.

After a few minutes, he looked up and Tony was staring at him.

"You could go and get yourself something to eat while I'm eating, you know," Tim said. "I'm not going anywhere right now. The prospect of standing up is not looking so great."

"I didn't bring any money with me," Tony said, looking a little embarrassed.

Tim forced himself to laugh a little, although he didn't necessarily find it very funny.

"That's a Tony response," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"I... well, I can't tell you how many times you skipped out on paying for lunch at work," Tim said, hoping his smile looked more real than it felt. He kept almost talking about Tony as if he wasn't there, as if this person sitting across from him really wasn't Tony and just happened to look like him.

To his relief, Tony returned the smile.

"Are you saying I'm a moocher?"

"For lunch? Absolutely."

They both laughed a little, but it still felt awkward. Finally, he reached over and grabbed his wallet from the container by the bed. He searched through it and pulled out a ten dollar bill. He held it out.

"Look, you should go and get something. If you stayed here all night, you've got to be hungry. And if you're embarrassed about taking it from me, you can just make a note to pay me back later. Okay?"

Tony hesitated and then looked a little uncomfortable as he reached out and took the bill.

"I will pay you back. I promise."

"That's fine. Whatever," Tim said. "Go on."

Part of him didn't want to let Tony leave, for fear he'd disappear again, but another part really wanted Tony to go away so he could try and think through all this.

Finally, Tony left and Tim sighed. He let his head fall back against the bed and he tried to get rid of the tightness in his throat. He wasn't sure he could tell this story and remain calm. And he was afraid that if he didn't do exactly right, he'd spoil everything. He'd drive Tony away again. And everything he'd done up to now wouldn't mean a single thing.

He had to be Tony's backup this time. He had to, even if Tony didn't realize that's what he was doing. Even if Tony didn't really want what he was trying to do. Even if he was stuck in a hospital bed at the moment. He just had to do this and do it right. Being Tony's backup meant getting him back to where he belonged. He didn't belong here.

Suddenly, he felt completely overwhelmed by everything and he started to cry. Even as the tears began to escape, he tried to hold them back and stop them. Tim didn't know why he was crying right now as opposed to any other time. His emotions had been a little out of whack ever since his first head trauma. Surges of emotion hit him without warning. This was one of those times, but he had to stop crying before anyone saw him. So he started breathing deeply, trying to push those feelings away. After a couple of minutes, he got control of himself again and then, resolutely started to eat once more. It wasn't good, but it was food and he'd been instructed to eat it. So he would.

By the time Tony returned, Tim felt back to his usual emotional state even if, physically, he still felt absolutely awful. Maybe that was why the tears had come this time. Physically, he just couldn't deal with more.

"How was it?" Tim asked as Tony sat back down.

Tony smiled slightly. "Better than yours, I bet."

"Wouldn't take much to be that."

"True." Then, he took a breath. "So... can you tell me... about me?"

Tim knew he had to, but he was so afraid of not doing it right. He and Tony hadn't always seen eye to eye on things. There were times when they'd outright hated each other. What if that was all Tony remembered? What if he didn't regain the trust they'd developed when they had to lean on each other during the time when Ziva had been missing in Somalia and then when they'd gone to find her? What if all he remembered was the antagonism?

"Well?" Tony asked.

"Do you want to know about the case or... just you?"

"So there's a case?"

"Yeah."

"Then, I guess I should know about that."

"I guess you should," Tim said. "So... um... About a year ago, we got a call from an Ensign Miguel Reyes. He claimed that there was something big going on in the Navy, centered in Norfolk."

"What kind of something?" Tony asked.

"Some kind of smuggling. He said it was being run through the Navy and it was really big. When a claim like that comes in... well, we were a little skeptical, especially when he refused to give us any details over the phone. He said he was afraid of being overheard and he would only tell us in person. So we had to go to Norfolk to meet with him."

"From D.C.," Tony said, almost hesitantly.

"Right," Tim said. He tried not to get excited about that. For now, just focus. "Gibbs sent us both over. He didn't trust that it was legitimate. So we took the drive over and when we got to the park... there was no one there. Definitely no Ensign Reyes. We spread out and started looking for him. ...and I found his body in some bushes. He was dead."

"Of what?"

"Drug overdose. The thing is that the people at Norfolk initially called it natural causes. The timing was just too suspicious."

"No coincidences," Tony said.

Tim smiled a little. "Yeah. Exactly. So Gibbs talked to Reyes' family and they insisted on a full autopsy to be done at headquarters in D.C. Ducky found that the drug that had killed him was the gray death."

Tim paused, wanting to see if Tony would fill in any gaps again. This was all stuff he should know already and he seemed to be remembering little things.

And he did.

"Heroin... fentanyl and...other narcotics, all mixed together."

Tim nodded. "He hadn't been injected with it. He'd just handled it. So getting it designated as a murder was hard to do since he could have just picked it up and absorbed enough through his skin to get to an overdose. That's happened. So it was just not adding up. We needed to find out more."

"And we went undercover."

"Yes. You and me. We got an apartment in an area near the base at Norfolk. If this was as big as Reyes had told us it was, then, it probably extended far beyond just the Navy and we decided there was too much risk in reporting in regularly. We also weren't sure how far it went within the Navy itself. So Gibbs and Ducky and Vance were the only ones in on what we did."

"What about Ellie?" Tony asked. Then, he furrowed his brow. "There is an Ellie, right?"

"Yeah, there is! She's so new that Gibbs didn't want to have her be in on this. She knew about the undercover but nothing else." Tim felt a little lift. Tony was remembering more! But he kept himself from pressing to see how far Tony's memories went. "So we set up shop in this dinky apartment. You decided that it was too dangerous to have both of us out and about asking questions. So I got confined to the apartment while you were going around to different places, under the guise of being a wannabe musician, trying to break into the business."

"Named Joel Williams?"

"Yeah."

There was a long silence as Tony took out his wallet and looked at the ID in it.

"I thought it was too good. I knew the ID was fake, but I couldn't figure out how it was so good that it looked real. I didn't know what to think about it."

Tim couldn't read Tony's expression. So he took a breath and went on.

"I hated being stuck in the apartment all the time, and I hated that you had picked an apartment on the top floor. I would have preferred lower."

"You're scared of heights," Tony said.

"Yeah. But Gibbs put you in charge, so you were in charge. We had a few disagreements about that and about how we were doing things, but in the end, I went along with your decisions. We had a computer in the apartment and every so often, we'd make a backup. But we weren't contacting anyone. We'd been in the apartment for over a month. You'd got a lot of stuff, but we hadn't been able to make much sense of it. So..." Tim stopped and looked down. He sighed.

"What? What is it?" Tony asked.

"This is where I can't tell you everything, Tony," Tim said. "I have no memory of the last full day that we were in the apartment. I know that we were planning on doing a full evaluation of everything you'd found. You'd taken a lot of data from places you wouldn't tell me where. You'd got some encrypted files that I'd been trying to get into. So I know that we were getting ready to do some major analysis to see if we had enough to go back to Gibbs and really start a full, open investigation. ...but I don't know if we did it. I don't know what happened except that, from the police report, someone or multiple someones broke into the apartment and started shooting. Something forced us to run."

"To the fire escape," Tony said. There was no hesitancy that time. He knew that.

"Yeah. And something happened."

"You fell. And you looked dead. I must have run after that. They shot me," Tony said, his voice soft and slow. He turned his arm over and there was a visible scar there. Then, he lifted the hair on his head and there was a long narrow scar, a deep bullet graze.

"And I'm sorry," Tim said.

"For what?"

"We were backup for each other. We were each the only backup the other had, and I must have done something wrong. I didn't get shot. I just fell. So I probably tripped or something and that meant you were alone without backup."

Tony's brow furrowed. "You falling makes it your fault that I'm where I am?"

"If I hadn't, you wouldn't have been alone," Tim said. "Tony, you don't understand what came after all this."

Tony leaned forward and he looked so much like himself that it was almost heartening. There wasn't the joking that he usually did to avoid being serious. But that earnest expression was something that Tim had really missed seeing.

"Okay. Then, tell me."

"Whoever was in there... whoever did this to you wiped the computer of all the data we had. So there was nothing to support the fact that we were getting evidence of a major smuggling ring in the Navy. And after..." Tim felt ashamed that this stuff could even have been considered valid. He hated having to say it. "...and after... You have to understand... I was in a coma for days. When I started to wake up, it took forever and I wasn't there to... to fight it. I tried so hard to but..."

"Fight what? What are you talking about?"

"Captain Blaine, Ensign Reyes' superior officer, started blaming you for what happened. He said that you got Reyes killed, that you must have been working with the smugglers, if there were any, and that you probably attacked me and then disappeared to escape. And we found bank accounts in your name with thousands of dollars in them and no explanation of where they came from. But I know it wasn't you, Tony. I know it, but we had so little evidence go on. Everything was gone...except for those things. Everyone thought you were just dead, that there was no other reason why you could be gone like this. I refused to believe it but... but I... I had months of physical therapy and..." Tim sighed. "I just couldn't be there to defend you like I should have."

He ran out of energy for a moment and sagged back against the bed, staring at the ceiling rather than anywhere else. There was that tightness coming again.

But after a few seconds, there was a hand on his arm. Tim looked over and Tony had reached out.

"Hey," he said. "I don't think that... I still remember it all right, but... that doesn't sound like anything was your fault. It sounds like you almost died and you had to come back from that. And really, even without what happened yesterday... you don't look all that great. You look pretty ragged, really."

"I'm okay."

"Maybe," Tony said. "If you are, you sure don't look it. You look awful."

"Thanks."

Tony smiled a little. "So... if they're blaming me for all this, why hasn't anyone swooped down to find me? Why is my face not all over the news as a suspect?"

"Because of Gibbs... and Vance," Tim said. "I don't know what they did, but they managed to pull enough strings to stop that from happening. Gibbs said that, if you were alive, there must be a good reason why you weren't contacting anyone so we shouldn't ruin that by making the general public aware of you."

"Oh. I... don't know if I'm glad about that or not."

"I guess... but that's... what I know."

"So... how did you find me?"

"I just looked," Tim said, not sure he wanted to show off his desperation.

"You just happened to look in Los Angeles?" Tony asked, sounding like himself... skeptical.

Tim couldn't help but smile a little.

"No. I didn't."

"So how did you do it? You're a computer guy, so I'm guessing you must have been doing all sorts of computer programs or something, triangulating my position or something like that?"

"No," Tim said. "I didn't."

"What did you do, then?"

"I started in Norfolk and had a picture of you. I showed it to every person I saw on the street until I found someone who had seen what happened. It took days. That guy showed me where he'd found you. It cost me about a hundred bucks to get him to tell me. Then, I went to the clinic where you were taken after you got shot. Then, I went to the truck stop where you got your first ride. I showed your picture to every truck driver who came through until I found someone who recognized you. I drove to where he said he dropped you off and showed your picture to every person I saw there until I found someone who had seen you. I did that over and over again. It took me more than a month. When I got to Texas, you had walked there and so I didn't which truck stop to go to... so I went to them all. Every day. For two weeks until I found someone who had given you a ride here."

Tony was silent for a long time. Tim suddenly felt very weary.

"Wow. ...you did that... to find me?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because we're partners and I let you down," Tim said. "I had to make up for that. You were missing. No one knew where you were. I couldn't stop until I knew. No matter what."

"Wow. I don't..." Tony actually seemed really touched. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. It's my job, Tony. It's my responsibility. That's all."

"No... this is way beyond a job. I mean, didn't you already have a job to do?"

"Yeah. I wasn't doing it. Vance threatened to fire me."

"And you didn't stop?"

"No."

Tony swallowed hard. "It's been... hard being here, you know. Every day, I woke up not knowing who I was, not knowing if I mattered to anyone. And here you are saying that... that I mattered so much that you were just walking around, asking people if they'd seen me before." He took a took deep breath and let it out loudly. "I just... I just don't know how to respond or anything."

"Do you remember?"

"Not really... I wish I did. Everything you told me about the case sounded familiar as soon as you said it, but... but I'm not bringing it to my mind myself."

"Oh." Tim couldn't help but be disappointed. He had hoped that this would fix everything.

Another awkward silence fell. What could they try next to jar Tony's memory?

Chapter Text

Chapter 25

"Hey... could you tell me why I had the stuff with me that I did?" Tony asked suddenly.

"What did you have?" Tim asked. Then, an idea hit him. "Wait. Let me see if I can guess what you had, okay?"

"Okay..."

"You had a knife," Tim said, hoping he could build up to what he thought was the most important thing.

Tony's eyes widened. "How did you know?"

"Never go anywhere without your knife. You always tried to follow all of Gibbs' rules."

Tony blinked at him for a few seconds.

"And there are fifty of them, aren't there," he said slowly.

"Yeah. There are," Tim said, trying not to be too eager.

"Okay... what else?"

"A wallet with your fake ID."

"Yeah."

"And you had a piece of paper in the wallet that had Gibbs' number on it."

Tony looked genuinely shocked.

"How did you know about a piece of paper? Why would you even guess that?" he asked.

"Why didn't you call?" Tim asked in return.

"I... It got wet. I could tell that something had been written on it, but... I couldn't read it. I guessed that it happened when I fell in the river."

"Oh. Probably. It was supposed to be in your shoe, but you were paranoid about getting your feet wet and ruining something that was supposed to help. You said it had happened way too many times for you to trust something staying dry in your shoes ever again."

Tim smiled as he remembered how adamant Tony had been that he would never put something important in his shoes ever again.

"Tony, we're not running through the woods. We're in a major city."

"I don't care. I'm sick of losing important things because we always assume that the shoe will work. It never does. I'm putting it in my wallet."

"What was it for?" Tony asked.

"Huh?" Tim asked, jarred out of his thoughts.

"What was the paper for?"

"We were worried about being found out and so if someone got to us and we couldn't call for help, then, we hoped that officers or doctors or someone would find the number and call Gibbs."

"That's kind of grim."

"Yeah."

"Anything else?"

Now, Tim guessed something he just hoped that Tony would have, not something he knew. "A key with a flash drive attached."

"I have a key on a keychain but... a flash drive? I don't think so."

For a moment Tim's heart sank. He had been hoping and hoping that Tony would have their backup flash drive with him, something that would make all their weeks of work worth something. Something that could fix things for them. For Tony to say that he didn't know what...

...but then, his mind caught up.

"What did the keychain look like?" he asked.

"It's... small... metal..."

"A rectangle? About this big?" Tim asked, holding his fingers a little less than two inches apart.

"Yeah."

"That's a flash drive, Tony. That's not a keychain. It's a flash drive in a protective case. It was our backup. You have all of our data with you. Everything we thought we lost. You have it."

For a moment it was Tony's turn to look a little incredulous. Then, he ran his hands through his hair and laughed a little.

"I never knew... and I had something important all this time."

"Where is it now?"

"In my apartment. I should go get it."

"Wait. Tony, there were people looking for you." Suddenly, Tim remembered that he hadn't bothered to report to Gibbs yet. He had forgotten to tell anyone that Ensign Thomas had been there and had explicitly pointed to Captain Blaine as being involved. How could he have been so stupid?

"They probably ran off after Jack caught them," Tony said.

"No! Tony, you don't understand. That wasn't two random guys who found an opportunity. It was more than that. I need to call Gibbs right now. One of the guys who beat me up is part of this case!"

"Well, then, it's even more important that I get it. What if they break into my apartment and find it?"

"You shouldn't go by yourself," Tim said.

"Tim... apparently, this is who I am. I'm a cop, and I was trying to solve a crime. If that's who I am, then, I need to be that again. And part of that is getting that flash drive and making sure it's not lost. So you just relax. I'll be back. You can call Gibbs while I'm gone."

Tony got up and strode out of the room.

"Tony! Wait!"

Tim sat there, shocked at how quickly Tony had just gone.

By himself.

When people who probably wanted him dead might be around.

He didn't have backup.

Again.

No.

Tim grabbed his phone and dialed quickly.

"Gibbs."

"Boss, I..."

"Where have you been?"

"In the hospital. Boss, Ensign Thomas was here."

There was a pause.

"From Norfolk."

"Yes. He and some guy I didn't know. They beat me up. They're here... and they weren't here looking for me. They were looking for Tony and they found him. And now, he's gone off to his apartment. I couldn't stop him, Boss. I tried... but he wouldn't listen to me."

"I'm coming out there, but it'll take time. Be careful."

"I can't let Tony go off alone, Boss."

"Call the police."

"Boss, Ensign Thomas implicated Captain Blaine."

"McGee, call the police. If you're in the hospital, you stay there."

"No. Not this time."

Tim hung up and then took a breath. There was no question that he felt absolutely terrible, but there was also no question that he wasn't going to let Tony get himself killed. He reached out for his clothes and, painfully, began to put them on.

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

Joel hurried back to his apartment.

I'm a cop. I've always been a cop.

Would a cop do what he was doing? Well, quite frankly, he wasn't sure, but there was no question in his mind that Tim was telling him the truth. The fact that he was so sure of it made him assume that this was because of the memories he couldn't consciously access. Tim had told him things. He had known what Joel had been carrying with him. The only thing he hadn't mentioned was the button, and if it had something to do with Tim falling, then, that made sense.

What he couldn't get out of his mind was the fact that Tim had spent months looking for him and that he blamed himself for the way Joel was.

I matter to people. I'm not a nobody.

And if he wasn't a nobody, then, by golly, he was going to do something worthy of being a somebody.

And that meant getting the flash drive he'd had with him without knowing he had it. If it was important, he would make sure it wasn't lost or stolen. He felt a little stupid for not recognizing it as a flash drive, but it just looked like a metal rectangle. He hadn't noticed a groove or a latch or anything. And he had to admit that he hadn't really paid attention to the keychain. It had seemed featureless, so he hadn't examined it very closely. He had focused on the key.

When he got back to the bar, he ran up to his apartment and went straight over to the place where he'd hidden the items. He looked at them and decided that he should take them all with him. He tucked the knife into its sheath. Langston still had the piece of paper. He had his wallet with him. Then, he reached out and picked up the button. He hadn't ever really tried to force himself to remember that night. It had only been something that came out in his dreams.

Now that he knew that Tim was a real person, that he had survived what Joel had thought was a fatal fall, maybe it was time to push himself to remember. He sat down and held that button tightly in his hand, as tightly as the doctor had said he was holding it that night. He closed his eyes.

Tim had nearly died and his injuries had wiped his memory of it away. It was up to Joel to remember. His injuries, while leading to an unexpected outcome, had not been even close to fatal. He had to remember.

The silent minutes passed as he did something he'd never really done before. He tried to force himself to remember, no matter what that memory might be. Now that he knew he was the good guy, he had to remember what had happened.

The memory had to be there. It just had to.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"You're sounding a little snippy."

The voices were familiar. One of them was his own.

"Look. When are you going to admit that I would be getting this done a whole lot faster than you are? Guess what, I'm the computer expert here."

"Hey, I got you all this stuff."

"Yeah, and very deliberately wouldn't tell me how, probably because you knew it wouldn't go over well. I want to get out of this dump and back where we know that there are people on our side. I don't like how this feels."

"You seem pretty confident that there's going to be enough here."

"I am. What do you think I've been doing every day, huh? I'm not just here twiddling my thumbs. I'm working."

There was definitely tension, but it wasn't really at each other, although some of it definitely was. Most of it was something else.

"Okay. Done. Let's see what these last few weeks have given us."

"About time. I could have done it a lot faster."

"Oh, shut up. Look at this."

A number of pictures came up.

"Captain Blaine."

"Could it really be going that high? Blaine's on track to be an admiral."

"And there's that Ensign Thomas who'd been hanging around NCIS a little too much."

"Every person who can be connected with the drugs... they're all reporting directly to Captain Blaine. They're all special picks. Reyes was right. This is huge."

A knock at the door. Tim started over since he was already standing.

"No, I should answer it."

"Fine. Go ahead."

He walked over to the door, feeling just a little cautious. Their rent was due soon. It could be the landlord, but it could also be something else.

He slowed. Something felt really wrong here. He didn't know why.

He reached slowly out to the chain and, instead of taking it off, he just rattled it back and forth a little.

"What are you–?"

Tim didn't get a chance to finish.

Bullets started flying through the door. He ran back.

"We're out of here!" he said, grabbing the flash drive out of the USB port and shoving it into his pocket.

"They must have followed you," Tim said.

There was no accusation in his tone, but there was a feeling of guilt anyway. He just pushed Tim toward the window. When they got there, suddenly, Tim froze.

"I don't know if I can..."

"Do you want to get shot, Tim? Come on! Get out and just start going down. Don't look down. It'll be fine!"

For a precious second or two, Tim was frozen in the window. He pushed at him and finally Tim nodded and moved.

...and his foot caught on the door frame, throwing him off balance. He fell against the railing.

...which was rusted. It gave way under Tim's weight.

He got one glimpse of Tim's frightened expression as he began to fall.

He lunged forward and grabbed for Tim's hand. He missed and just got hold of his shirt which tore. He was left holding nothing more than a button.

For one timeless, horrifying moment, he watched as Tim fell three stories down into a dumpster.

And didn't move.

He ran down the fire escape as fast as he could.

"Tim... Tim..."

And then, there were more bullets. They were still coming.

He was anguished, but he started to run. He had to get away, even if it meant leaving Tim there.

He heard something and it jolted him out of the memory.

He was almost glad of it.

He looked at the button and then the flash drive. Both of them went into his pocket. Then, he ran for the door and pulled it open. He ran down the stairs and back to the alley.

"Hold it right there, Agent DiNozzo."

He stopped and turned. There was a man standing there, holding a gun. He must have been waiting. He knew this person.

"Hello... Ensign."

Ensign Thomas smiled.

"I'm flattered you remember me. We only actually met the one time that I recall."

"I remember you very well," he said. "It would take a lot for me to forget."

Ensign Thomas laughed.

"Especially since your aim is so terrible," he added. "How did you ever get in the Navy?"

The laughter faded and Ensign Thomas glared at him.

"Oh, I know people. And I have great aim up close. Would you like to find out whether or not I can hit the target at point blank range?"

"Why haven't you fired already? That's what you're here for, isn't it?"

"Oh, eventually."

"What are you waiting for?"

Ensign Thomas smiled again.

"What are you doing out here, Agent DiNozzo? You've been here for a while from what I could tell, and to our knowledge, you haven't been contacting anyone back in D.C. What are you doing here?"

He forced himself to smile. "Wouldn't you like to know that?"

The gun came up with more purpose.

"Yes, I would. But if you won't tell me, I might run out of patience."

"I've been here for eight months. If you don't have the patience for a few seconds, you really shouldn't be in the Navy," he said.

He was sure that this was the end of the road, that he was about to die which really pretty much sucked, but he didn't see any way out of this. He wasn't fast enough with a knife to beat the gun, and not even Ensign Thomas would miss at this close.

But he refused to close his eyes. He just stood there. Waiting.

"No!"

And then, Ensign Thomas flew forward and to the ground.

With someone on top of him.

Before he could think, Ensign Thomas was back on his feet, this time, his attention on the other person.

"How many times can you die, Agent McGee?" he said, angrily.

And it was Tim, but he wasn't getting up very quickly. In fact, he tried once and then fell to the ground and was still.

Ensign Thomas was getting ready to fire.

And time slowed down.

It was an endless moment where he stood there, staring down at Tim, knowing that if he did nothing, he would be dead just like he'd dreamed so many times. Unless he did something right now.

For that endless moment, it was like his mind exploded as he fought through all the blocks he'd unconsciously placed there so that he knew exactly what to do to stop from seeing again what he had seen far too many times as it was.

And Tony ran, grabbing his knife from his hidden sheath. He took hold of Ensign Thomas' hand and twisted it behind his back as he brought the knife to his throat.

"All right, Ensign. Drop the gun. Now."

Ensign Thomas didn't move. Tony pressed the knife harder against his throat.

"I said drop it. If you fire, I kill you. If you try to get away, I kill you. Your only chance to live through the next ten seconds is to drop that gun."

For five of the longest seconds ever, Ensign Thomas still didn't move and Tony thought he was going to have to carry through on his threat.

Then, Ensign Thomas dropped the gun.

"Tim, you alive?" Tony asked.

For another five very long seconds, Tim didn't move from his huddled position on the ground.

Then, he groaned and rolled over.

"I feel terrible," he whispered.

"Well, why did you leave the hospital?"

"Because you did," Tim said faintly. "Backup."

Tony couldn't help but smile a little.

"Well, acknowledging that you shouldn't be here at all and that you feel terrible, can you get the Ensign's gun and then call for the police so that we can get this guy out of our hair?"

Rather than answer directly, shaking, Tim reached out and took hold of the gun. He propped himself up against the wall and then pulled out his phone and called for police to come to their location to provide assistance in making an arrest.

It didn't take long for a couple of LEOs to show up. They took care of Ensign Thomas and then, in the brief lull before they'd have to deal with everything, Tony walked over to where Tim was sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall, still holding the gun and his phone.

Tony knelt down and pulled out the button.

"You missed this," he said.

Tim looked like he was running on fumes, which he probably was. He seemed confused.

"What are you talking about?"

"You told me what I was carrying. You didn't say anything about this. When you were falling... I grabbed for you, but this was all I got," Tony said. "It ripped off your shirt and you fell anyway. I'm sorry I wasn't faster, Tim."

For a long moment, Tim didn't even react, but then, his eyes widened a little.

"You remembered."

Tony hesitated, knowing that admitting it would mean a lot of complications. But then, he nodded.

"I remembered."

Chapter Text

Chapter 26

Tim slumped down and his eyes closed, all his energy spent. As he felt his body start to slide toward the ground, suddenly, there was an arm underneath his shoulders.

"I've got you, Tim. Don't worry. I've got you."

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I never get hit in the head again? Not even a tap, not even a Gibbs slap, please? I don't want anyone ever touching my head again."

There was a soft chuckle.

"I'll do my best."

"Good."

"But for now, you're going back to the hospital."

"I don't want to move anywhere," Tim said. "I'd rather just sit here, thanks."

"I don't care what you want, Probie. You're going. You shouldn't be here at all."

"Good thing I was," Tim said.

There was a pause.

"Yeah."

There was more silence, but Tim had to ask the question, even though his eyes were closed.

"Do you remember everything, now?"

"I don't know. ...I remember you... falling. I remember that day. I haven't... really tried going further yet. Too much else to do. I'll let you know. For now, just let me help you. You shouldn't have been here."

"Neither should you."

He felt Tony squeeze his shoulder.

"Hey, my partner was stupid and left the hospital to come here. Could someone get him back where he belongs?"

There was a chuckle that Tim thought was rather inappropriate under the circumstances, but he couldn't make himself do anything to protest.

"Sure. We'll need you here, though."

"I know. I'll just get him back there and then I'll be here. The owner of the bar knows me. Jack Barton."

Another pause.

"I have my ID," Tim whispered. "I can show you..."

He started to fumble for his badge.

"No. No need."

That was a new voice.

"Joel. I should have known you were part of the trouble."

"Hey, Langston. The name's Tony. Tony DiNozzo."

"So you're an Italian. I should have known."

Another laugh, but it was Tony.

"Only my name is Italian."

"About time you admitted it," Tim mumbled.

"Can you give us a ride back to the hospital, Langston? Tim really doesn't need to be here."

"Sure. No problem, but I expect some information when that's done."

"Promise."

"Okay."

"All right, Tim. Time to get up."

"Don't want to," Tim said, resisting Tony's arms lifting him.

"No options. You're going back to the hospital if I have to carry you myself."

"Promise?" Tim asked.

There was a sigh.

"Langston, can you help me out?"

"What happened?"

"He got beat up yesterday and nearly died about eight months ago."

"Eight months, huh."

"Yeah."

Then, there were two sets of hands lifting him and he couldn't resist that. Tim tried to open his eyes and he only got a glimpse of another man before his head dropped and his eyes closed again. The lids were far too heavy. All the energy that had carried him through leaving the hospital, riding in the taxi over here, and then running down the alley when he heard Ensign Thomas ready to kill Tony, it was all gone now. All he wanted was to curl up in a ball and never move again.

He was essentially carried to a car and then laid down on a seat.

"We'll get you there, never fear."

Tim felt the car starting to move and he just kept his eyes closed and waited for the ride to end. When it did, the door opened.

"Okay, Tim. Time to move."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, but we'll help."

"Okay."

He didn't move.

"Tim, you have to do something."

Tim sighed and pushed himself up and then started to tip toward the open door. Tony caught him.

"Whoa, there."

"Sorry."

Instead of having to walk, he was lowered to a wheelchair, which was great.

"Agent McGee, I told you that you wouldn't make it very far."

Tim forced his eyes open again and saw Dr. Bates. He managed to smile.

"I made it as far as I needed to."

"Let's get you into bed and I'm going to give you a full checkup. Then, you are to sleep and not get out of this bed until I let you go."

"Sounds wonderful."

Tony helped him out of the chair and into the bed. Dr. Bates checked him over and was grudgingly satisfied that, while Tim had worn himself out doing too much, he hadn't caused any new injuries. Then, it was quiet in the room and Tim's eyes were closed again. He thought Tony had left, but then, there was a hand on his arm.

"Tim?"

He forced his eyes open once more.

"Yeah?"

Tony looked very serious.

"None of this was your fault. I remember now. It's not your fault that you fell. You weren't doing anything wrong."

"I was... supposed to be your backup."

"Then, we failed each other, Tim, because you fell and I left you there."

"You thought I was dead."

"Yeah, and you probably wouldn't have fallen if I hadn't been pushing you to move faster than you were ready to."

"Doesn't matter."

"Whether or not it does, I don't care. Tim, I'm okay. You found me. And I'm amazed that you did. So now, take a break. Rest. I'm not going to run again."

"Gibbs is coming," Tim said and let his eyes close one final time.

"Okay. I'll be ready for him. You need to sleep. I can tell that you do."

The hand vanished from his arm. Tim reached out for a moment.

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

Tim smiled. "You sounded really good. ...on the piano."

There was a laugh.

"Thanks, Probie."

Then, Tim fell asleep, amazingly comforted by Tony using that nickname.

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

Tony watched as Tim finally relaxed into sleep. He looked questioningly at Dr. Bates.

"He will be all right, but it'll take a few days. I didn't want to let him leave, but he wouldn't take no for an answer."

Tony smiled a little.

"Yeah. He can be really annoying like that. Could there be some security guarding him? This is part of a case and it's bigger than we thought it was."

"Of course. Now, what about you?"

"What about me?" Tony asked.

Dr. Bates raised an eyebrow. "I was informed that you have been suffering from some sort of memory loss."

"Oh. Well, it cleared up. I'm fine."

"Are you?"

"I'm... fine enough. I have to go and talk to the police about what just happened. No one else can do it at the moment."

Dr. Bates didn't seem convinced.

"Look... I haven't been... I didn't... know who I was, but it's coming back now, and what I remember tells me that I need to get this done before it's too late."

"What is too late?"

"I'm not sure of that, but this is really a big case. Way bigger than we thought it was when we started and I need to do my part for now... before I do anything else."

"No one else can?"

"Not right now, and I really think time matters."

"From what I've been told you are or were suffering from psychogenic amnesia, possibly in a fugue state, and that's not something you just throw off. It doesn't just clear up even if your memories are coming back. You could risk a relapse if you try to ignore it."

"Well, right now, I need to throw it off. Tim can't do it. I'm the only one who can until Gibbs gets here."

Dr. Bates looked at him for a long moment.

"All right. I won't fight you on this, but you need to come back here as soon as it's possible to do so."

"I will. I promise." He looked back at Tim asleep in the bed. "I'm his backup."

"Go, then. We'll take care of Agent McGee."

Tony nodded and left the room. He didn't like that it was obvious to Dr. Bates that he wasn't quite normal. The only reason Tim hadn't noticed was because he had been almost unconscious the whole time. Tony felt strange, almost as if he didn't fit in his own skin. It was like there was a tug of war going on in his brain between the Joel he'd become and the Tony he'd been before.

But no matter what else, right now, it was more important to get things taken care of as far as the case went. His mental status could wait. He hurried out of the hospital and was surprised to see that Langston was still there.

"I didn't realize you'd wait for me," Tony said.

"I thought you might appreciate a familiar face."

"I might. I don't know. Right now, everything is familiar and strange at the same time. You need me to go to your bosses?"

"No," Langston said. "What I didn't tell you before is that this thing is big enough that it's infected some of the districts here. I'm part of a task force that's been investigating drug dealing in this area. It started out just in Southern California, but over the last year, we started seeing that it was getting bigger and bigger."

"And maybe involving the Navy?"

"Yeah."

"That's what Tim and I were investigating... when everything went wrong."

"Go figure that we're trying to do the same thing. Anyway, I have a few guys I know I can trust. Do you?"

"Yeah. They're on their way here."

"Good." Langston nodded. "I'm not going to ask you what you have that these guys wanted so bad. Just in case. We just need to regroup."

"I need to report on what happened."

"I took care of that. Or rather, by the time you got back there, Jack will have taken care of that. He's vouching for you. The cops will need to talk to you, of course, but this is more important."

Tony nodded and tried not to be suspicious. Langston had done a lot for him without any reason before. He'd helped Tony with his groceries, for goodness' sake. But at the same time, Tony was having a hard time dismissing his feeling of being suddenly very exposed. Maybe he should just say so.

"Langston?"

"Yeah?"

"I have to admit that part of me is really worried about what you're going to do."

Langston glanced over at him.

"Why? You weren't before."

"No one knew about me before, about how I couldn't remember anything. Now, a lot of people do."

"You're feeling exposed?"

"Yeah."

"So... it wasn't an act? You weren't just pretending?"

"No. I wasn't. I'm not now, either."

Langston nodded and was quiet for a moment.

"You know... it's never been easy being a Black cop. I'm kind of stuck in the middle sometimes. Some of my family think I'm betraying my race by becoming a cop. Some of the white cops I work with think I'm not quite trustworthy." He laughed a little. "This might be the first time that someone isn't sure he trusts me and it's not because of my race one way or the other."

Tony chanced a smile. "You're welcome?"

Langston laughed again. "Tony, I swear I'm on the level with you. I get that you have to worry about this, but I'm not doing anything here but trying to make sure that this case can get solved."

"I'm trying to believe it," Tony said. "So where are we going?"

"To the Chief of Police. He's the one who first organized this task force and he needs to know just how big it's getting. We'll have him call your people in NCIS as well and make sure that they know this happening."

"Only Director Vance to start," Tony said. "We had some indications that at least one NCIS team is part of it, or at least a couple of case agents in Norfolk."

"Gotcha."

Then, Tony remembered what Tim had said about him.

"Oh, and...I don't know if this will come up, but at one point, apparently I was implicated as well."

Langston glanced at him for a moment.

"As far as I remember, I wasn't involved, and to me, it's ridiculous that anyone would ever think I would be involved in something like this. I'm not perfect, but I'm no crooked cop."

"You trust me, and I'll trust you," Langston said after a bit of awkward silence.

"Okay. I'll try."

The rest of the ride over was silent, but Tony felt very uncomfortable and edgy. He kept feeling for the flash drive in his pocket. And every time he felt the flash drive, he also touched the button from Tim's shirt. He kept remembering that moment. It was kind of unfortunate that, now he was remembering things, but it was the worst memory that came the most clearly. He'd rather not remember seeing Tim fall. Even though he knew Tim had survived it, his mind insisted that Tim had fallen to his death. It made him very tense. Things still felt out of balance to him.

He was starting to wish he'd stayed at the hospital until Gibbs came.

Chapter Text

Chapter 27

Tony said nothing until they pulled up to their destination where the Chief of Police had his office. Langston parked and opened his door. Tony sat where he was.

"Are you coming?"

Tony took a deep breath.

"Yeah."

He opened the door and followed Langston into the building. They walked back and were admitted to the main office.

"NCIS Agent Tony DiNozzo, this is Chief of Police Joseph Sander."

Chief Sander was sitting at his desk with an interesting expression on his face. Tony wondered if he should address it.

"Chief Sander, might I ask if you've heard about me before? Maybe from a Navy Captain?"

"As a matter of fact, Agent DiNozzo, I did. Just yesterday. Would you mind explaining how you knew?"

"I didn't know, but I suspected. A Captain Blaine, based in Norfolk."

"The very same."

Tony took a breath. "Sir, I know this is putting you in a bad position, but Captain Blaine was actually the subject of our investigation. We... Agent McGee and myself, believe that he has been coordinating a drug smuggling ring."

"May I ask why you think that?"

"Sir, I'd prefer to wait until Agent Gibbs arrives, but if you would like to contact NCIS Director Leon Vance, he can vouch for me."

I hope.

Sander seemed to be waiting for something more so Tony kept talking.

"I'm afraid I don't have any ID I can show you, and Agent McGee is currently in the hospital, recovering from being beaten by Ensign Thomas and someone else he was unable to identify."

"We just arrested Ensign Thomas tonight," Langston added.

"For what?"

"Attempted murder of Agent DiNozzo."

"Well, Agent DiNozzo, you're certainly right about one thing."

"What's that, sir?"

"You are putting me in a bad position. However, if what you say is true, I won't hold it against you."

Tony saw the faintest hint of a twinkle in his eye and felt a deep sense of relief.

"Is there anything you do feel like you could share with me at the moment?"

"I can give you the broad strokes of the investigation NCIS has been pursuing."

"Then, please do."

Tony leaned forward and began to explain what he could.

Hoping it was enough.

"We started investigating about a year ago when an Ensign in the Navy contacted us with claims that he knew of a drug smuggling ring in the Navy. He said it was big. We weren't sure we believed it but we were willing to meet with him. However, when we got to the designated meeting place, he was dead. Murdered via drug overdose."

"He gave you no details?" Chief Sander asked.

"None. But we had some suspicions of how big it might have been from the beginning when the NCIS team in Norfolk said his death was from natural causes. A full autopsy performed by the ME in DC showed his death due to drug overdose. Not natural no matter how you slice it."

"True."

Tony hesitated. He was worried about how much he could really tell Chief Sander and have him believe it.

"His commanding officer was Captain Blaine and at first, he was very involved in trying to solve the case of who killed Ensign Reyes, but he started interfering in our work and eventually, we decided that it was time for us to go undercover. Agent McGee and I did just that and spent more than a month gathering evidence, first that there was smuggling going on at all and second, who was involved. We found evidence that Captain Blaine was the one coordinating this smuggling and that he had a few hand-picked people, including Ensign Thomas, who were part of it."

Tony stopped. Chief Sander raised an eyebrow.

"Is that everything?"

"That's the broad strokes. Sir, could I ask you what Captain Blaine told you?"

Chief Sander sat back and considered him for a moment.

"He told me that he was worried about drugs being moved through the Navy and that there were people in NCIS who were facilitating it... including you, Agent DiNozzo. He said that there was plenty of evidence against you but that NCIS had closed ranks and wasn't allowing the charges to proceed. He hoped that I could do what NCIS wouldn't. Arrest you. He also spoke in support of Ensign Thomas... although that was before his arrest today."

Tony tamped down on a surprising surge of absolute fury those words called up in him. After everything he had put them through, to have Captain Blaine make those accusations, muddling the evidence that they had was nothing short of infuriating.

"Anything you would like to add, Agent DiNozzo?"

"I think, sir, that this is when I should encourage you to call NCIS and speak with Director Leon Vance."

Chief Sander raised both eyebrows.

"This will clear things up?"

"I sure hope so."

"All right. Give me the number."

For a moment, Tony panicked. Did he remember the number? He was frozen. His mind was jammed. He felt his heart rate skyrocket as he wondered if he could respond to this most basic of requests.

And then, the number was there and he calmed down. He took a breath and gave the number. Chief Sander dialed it and then waited.

"Hello, this is Chief of Police Joseph Sander from the LAPD in California. I'd like to speak to Director Vance, please. It's about an agent of his, DiNozzo is the name."

He listened and his gaze moved to Tony.

"Yes, I'm looking at him right now."

Tony swallowed nervously. He knew that Vance had been supportive of them before the operation, but what about now, nearly a year later? What if he believed Captain Blaine?

Chief Sander leaned over and put the phone on speaker.

"We can hear you now, Director Vance."

"Good. Agent DiNozzo?"

"Yes, sir," Tony said.

"How are you feeling?"

Tony swallowed again. "Hard to say, sir. I'm not sure I could adequately explain."

"Understood. Agent Gibbs and I are on our way to Los Angeles."

"Both of you?"

"Yes. In fact, we're about to board a flight. Agent McGee reported to Agent Gibbs that Ensign Thomas is there."

"And now in custody," Langston added.

"He's in custody?"

"Yes."

"Good. I hope you can keep him. He's wiggled his way out before."

"We'll keep that in mind," Chief Sander said. "About Agent DiNozzo."

"Yes?"

"Captain Blaine contacted me yesterday and implied that the guilty party in this situation is Agent DiNozzo, that I should make sure he was arrested at the first opportunity."

"Did he."

"Yes. Agent DiNozzo is now claiming that Captain Blaine is the culprit. You see the position this is placing me in."

"I do."

Tony was extremely tense. He didn't know what to expect from Vance. He never did.

"Well, I don't know if it will help you, but I can vouch for Agent DiNozzo's character. There's never been any question in my mind of his devotion to upholding the law. His methods are occasionally... unorthodox, but he is not one who crosses the line, and he's certainly not one who would be involved in smuggling and murder."

Tony had to keep himself from sighing with relief. He wasn't sure Vance had ever been so overtly complimentary.

"DiNozzo, where's McGee?"

"Hey, Boss," Tony said, feeling a welcome surge of more than relief at hearing (and recognizing) Gibbs' voice. "He's in the hospital, where he should have been before. He saved my life, Boss, but he's pretty rough."

"And you?"

"I've been better... I think."

"We'll be in LA in about six hours, Chief Sander. Would you like us to come straight to you?" Vance asked, taking over the conversation again.

"Yes, that would be nice."

"We can do that. Agent DiNozzo, would it be too much to ask for you to stay out of trouble for a while?"

"I wouldn't mind, Director," Tony said, fervently. "Actually, I was hoping I could get back to the hospital. I want to be there when Tim wakes up."

"Chief Sander, would that meet with your approval? I would even be fine if you wanted to have one of your people keeping an eye on Agent DiNozzo until we have a chance to discuss things."

"Detective Davis, would you mind?"

"Not at all, Chief."

"Good. Agent DiNozzo?"

"The more, the merrier," Tony said, trying to keep things light.

"Agent DiNozzo, we're going to need to talk as well."

"I understand, Director," Tony said. "I hope I can answer all your questions."

"I hope you can as well. Do you have anything else for me, Chief Sander?"

"No. That will be everything. Thank you for your time, Director Vance."

"You're welcome. I'll see you in a few hours. Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

Chief Sander hung up the phone and looked at Tony.

"I'm going to have to trust what you're saying for now, but I don't want you trying to get away from Davis."

"I don't have any intention," Tony said. "Besides, I can't leave my partner in the hospital like that."

"All right. I'll get in touch with the officers investigating what happened at the bar. Davis, take Agent DiNozzo back to the hospital."

"Yes, sir," Langston said.

Tony stood and started to leave.

"Agent DiNozzo."

"Yes?" he turned back.

"You'd better be the honest one in this situation. I don't like being lied to, and one of you must be doing just that."

"I'm not the one who's lying."

"All right."

Then, Tony left with Langston. When they got back into Langston's car, Tony could no longer suppress a long heartfelt sigh of relief. He let his head drop back against the seat.

"Tense, were you?"

Tony laughed a little. "Yeah, just a little. Like a bowstring."

"Well, Sander wouldn't have let you go if he didn't suspect you were the good guy. That's why he warned you about being honest. If you were lying, he'd be much more harsh simply because he misread you."

"I'm being honest."

"I believe you."

"You do?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because I think I'm pretty good at reading people and you aren't a liar in normal circumstances."

Tony found he could smile a little at that. "Well, thanks."

"You're welcome. But I will be doing my job and watching you."

"I don't plan on going anywhere."

"Good."

The drive back to the hospital was just as silent as the drive from it. Tony actually didn't really want to go back to the hospital. There was a large part of him that wanted to go back to the bar and play the piano for his usual shift, and he didn't know why that would be. He just knew that the feeling was there, along with a slight desire just to escape from all this chaos around him. As much as his life had sucked before, he found himself wishing he could have it back again. This was all so hard to manage at the moment. He wanted it to be easy.

And it just wasn't.

But he couldn't leave Tim alone at the hospital. So he would go back.

When they arrived, Langston parked and walked in with Tony. He didn't know if Dr. Bates would still be there, but he hoped he wasn't. He just wanted to go and sit by Tim and see if he could find some equilibrium in the midst of feeling like his life was spiraling out of control.

Dr. Bates was nowhere to be seen when Tony got to Tim's room. Good.

And Tim was still sleeping. Also good. He could just sit and be silent and unmoving. Just for a while.

He sat down beside the bed where Tim was sleeping and took another deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He knew it wouldn't be obvious that he wasn't calm, but he really wasn't calm.

"You okay here?" Langston asked softly.

"Yeah. Okay enough."

"All right. I'll be right outside the door with security. You have any problems, you let me know."

Tony nodded.

Langston left and Tim's room was silent.

"For some reason, I thought if I remembered... it would be easy, Tim," Tony said, in a whisper. "I didn't think it would be so hard."

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Then, he dropped his head into his hands.

"I don't know what to do."

The room was silent.

Chapter Text

Chapter 28

Tim felt himself waking up and he really didn't want to. He felt tired, achy, and just worn out. However, his body was insisting on waking him up. Finally, he gave up on trying to stay asleep and opened his eyes.

At first, he thought he was alone. Then, he heard something and for a moment, he was afraid. Then, he turned his head to the side and saw Tony sitting beside the bed. He wasn't asleep, but he wasn't looking at Tim at the moment. He was staring at the floor and he looked absolutely miserable.

Tim was about to say something, but then, the door opened. Tony sat up quickly. Tim tried to, but he couldn't. He couldn't hold back a bit of a groan as he shifted position. Tony turned from the door to him but he didn't get a chance to say anything.

"DiNozzo."

Tim watched as Tony's expression went from scared to worried to relief. Tim raised an eyebrow at him and Tony smiled weakly. Then, he turned back to the door.

"Hey, Boss," Tony said, sounding very uncertain. "Where's Vance?"

"Talking to the Chief of Police," Gibbs said. "Assuring him that you're innocent in all this."

"Does he believe it?"

"Vance or Chief Sander?" Gibbs asked.

"Vance."

"Yeah." Then, Gibbs looked at Tim and Tim could see his irritation. "What were you thinking, McGee? Or do I know?"

"Gibbs, he saved my life," Tony said.

"I told you to call the police," Gibbs said, ignoring Tony.

"I know you did," Tim said.

"And?"

"And I had to be there."

"You didn't. Someone else could have been."

"It wasn't their job," Tim said. "It was mine, and if it takes time to recover..."

"You risked not recovering at all. You've been doing too much, and I can tell just by looking at you. You could have killed yourself doing all this."

Tim saw Tony looking at him in surprise and he tried not to make eye contact with him.

"I wasn't."

"You were, and you know it."

"Boss..." Tony interjected.

"Not now, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, keeping his focus on Tim. "Do I have to say it again?"

Tim grimaced at the reminder and looked away from both of them.

"Do I, Tim?"

"No," Tim said, softly.

Up to now, he'd mostly been able to talk around how bad it had been for him, but he knew that Tony would start probing to find out details when he had the chance. Tim didn't want to give details. He hated giving details about his injury. It didn't matter, not when Tony had obviously gone through a lot himself. Besides, he was recovering so it didn't matter.

"You're not involved from now on. Until the doctor clears you to leave, you're staying right here," Gibbs said.

"But, Boss..." Tim began and started to sit up. But his head started aching again and he had to lean back with a wince he couldn't hide.

"No! No discussion," Gibbs said, sternly. Then, he stalked to the door and pulled it open. "Since you can't handle it on your own, you'll have someone make you."

"Oh, Timothy, you are looking rough," Ducky said as he walked into the room. "I don't know how many times you need to be told to take it easy before you'll listen."

"I'll be fine, Ducky," Tim said. "It was just a little knock on the head."

"Oh, dear. You received another head injury?" Ducky asked, looking very concerned.

"It wasn't a big thing, Ducky," Tim said.

"It could have killed you, Timothy. I know you were told about the possibility of serious consequences arising from another head injury before the first one healed."

"It's been months," Tim said.

"Not enough time, especially with how you've been treating yourself," Ducky said, severely, but then, thankfully, turned to Tony with barely a pause. "Oh, Anthony, it is so good to see you. Many of us assumed that you had to be dead, and it is so wonderful to be proven wrong. Now, I wouldn't be surprised if you were still feeling out of sorts, but please know that many will be thrilled to see you return."

"Uh... Thanks, Ducky."

"Tony, with me," Gibbs said.

"Okay, Boss."

Tony glanced at Tim, gave him a look that said some questions were coming and then followed Gibbs out of the room, leaving Tim alone with Ducky.

Ducky sat down in Tony's vacated seat and grabbed Tim's arm.

"Timothy..."

"It's fine, Ducky," Tim said again. "I told Dr. Bates about my previous injury. It's fine."

"No, it's not. Timothy, you have not been taking good care of yourself and it shows in every line on your face. If you wished to break yourself down completely, you were getting close to it. Oh, Timothy, when will you stop allowing Captain Blaine's accusations to be the way you think about yourself?"

Tim looked away.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ducky. Captain Blaine isn't why I was trying to find Tony."

"Isn't it? Timothy, it truly is a testament to your determination and your skill that you were able to find Anthony in Los Angeles of all places, but would you have been so determined if it hadn't been for Captain Blaine saying that you weren't taking it seriously, that you weren't trying hard enough? While I admit that you couldn't have controlled Ensign Thomas' appearance here, you have been running on empty for far too long, and I will not permit it to continue. Timothy, you will not be allowed to punish yourself for being the victim of misfortune. You will not continue to ignore your own needs. I will not see you harmed in this moment of triumph."

Tim wouldn't look at Ducky, but that annoying tightness in his throat had arisen again.

"I am here to help you, Timothy. Whether you are prepared to accept it or not."

Tim shook his head.

"It should be about Tony," he whispered.

"It is. I was not feigning my joy at seeing him alive. But Jethro brought me along to make sure that you would not be lost in the shuffle of the case and the process of bringing Anthony home again. Anthony will need a lot of support to get back to his life. ...but so do you."

"I've already been back to my life."

"No, you haven't," Ducky said. "You've spent every waking moment trying to find Anthony. You've done nothing with your life but that and you know it."

"I just want to fix things," Tim said, barely able to speak around the tightness in his throat.

The hand on his arm became an arm around his shoulders.

"Timothy, there's nothing to fix. You have managed to do the impossible in finding Anthony after his wanderings. And now there are others here to help. Let yourself rest, Timothy. You certainly have earned it, and you need it."

"I'm tired, Ducky," Tim said and closed his eyes tightly. "I'm so tired."

"Then, rest. You're not alone in your efforts any longer. Allow us to be the support for both of you."

"What if it's not enough?"

"It will be. It already is."

Tim never quite cried, but he came far too close. Ducky sat there, being the solid support Tim didn't want to need.

Eventually, he did sleep again.

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

Gibbs led Tony to an empty room. It looked like some kind of conference room or something. There was a table and chairs around it. Gibbs sat and gestured for Tony to do the same. Tony wasn't sure what to expect from this, but he did sit.

For a few seconds, there was just a heavy silence. Gibbs was staring hard at Tony who felt like he wasn't really allowed to break the silence even though he wanted to.

"How are you feeling?" Gibbs asked.

Finally.

Tony shrugged.

"I'm okay."

"You remembering everything?"

"I don't know. So far, I've known everyone I've seen. I knew you and Ducky. I recognized your voice on the phone."

"Do you know yourself?"

Tony didn't like that question and he looked away.

"Haven't really been pursuing that one yet, Boss."

"Everything else will work itself out. You need to know who you are."

"Speaking from experience?" Tony asked, with a little irritation.

"Yes."

Tony sighed. Yes, of all the people in the world, Gibbs was one who could genuinely speak from experience. He shouldn't have tried that.

"Do you know yourself?" Gibbs asked again.

"Do we have time for this?"

"Yes."

So much for that attempted delay. He looked back at Gibbs.

"I was becoming Joel. I knew it wasn't me, but I didn't know who I was so I was becoming Joel. That doesn't just go away. It can't, Boss. I can't just have that go... away in a moment."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow in that way Tony had remembered even when he didn't remember who was doing it. He stood up and walked to a window.

"Joel's life is really easy. It's not great, but it's easy to live it. Tony's life is really complicated... partly because being Tony means that I have to deal with all the amnesia stuff. Joel doesn't. He can just ignore it because it doesn't matter." He turned back toward where Gibbs was still sitting. "Boss, part of me doesn't want to be Tony. Part of me wants to pretend the last eight months never happened and just jump back into my life, but... there's a part of me that wants to pretend all the years before never happened and just be Joel."

"Which part is louder?"

"Right now? ...I don't know." Suddenly, Tony had to know something. "Did you ever think I could be guilty? Tim said that there was evidence against me. Did you ever think it was possible?"

"No."

"Not once?"

"No."

"Did anyone at NCIS?"

The eyebrow went up again.

"You're not going to find a reason to give up from that, DiNozzo. We thought you were dead, but we never thought you were dirty. Not for a second."

"Why didn't Tim?"

"Because he needed you to be alive."

"Why?"

"You know why. He can't accept those things. He couldn't when your car blew up, either. The rest of us were prepared for you to be dead, even though we didn't want it to be true. Tim wasn't and so he refused to believe it. He kept looking until there was evidence supporting him. This time, he blamed himself for what happened. So he couldn't accept it."

Gibbs said it all so matter-of-factly that Tony wasn't even sure how to take that. And then, he thought about what had happened to him. Even if it hadn't been a conscious choice, his reaction to thinking Tim had died had been to run away from the possibility by forgetting it all. Tim's reaction to what had happened had apparently been to refuse to believe the possibility and try to prove it wrong. Was one better than the other? He didn't know.

Gibbs got up and walked over to Tony. He put his hands on Tony's shoulders.

"A real life is better than a made up one. Even if it's harder. But we'll do what you want."

"Will you?" Tony asked, skeptically. He rather doubted that was true.

Gibbs smiled a little. "Most of us would, even if we'd hate it."

"Tim wouldn't."

"Tim would. He'd hate it, but he would. Abby wouldn't, no matter what."

Tony managed to smile a little bit, too.

"You've been all right, though?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah. Jack... the guy who hired me to play piano. He treated me really well. Way beyond just an employer. As far as I could have been okay, I was because of him."

"Good."

Then, Gibbs let him go and walked back to the table and sat. There was a subtle change and Tony knew they were about to get down to business. He sat down across from Gibbs.

"What do you have?" Gibbs asked.

"This," Tony said, pulling the flash drive from his pocket. "It's our backup of all the data we had."

"Do you remember what's on it?"

"Yeah. Evidence that Captain Blaine is running a drug-smuggling ring within the Navy. Their base isn't actually in Norfolk. He just recently got moved there. Until two years ago, he was based here. In California. He has a group of low-level officers who he hand-picked and has moved through as quickly as he could. Ensign Thomas is one of them. Once he was transferred to Norfolk, he arranged for the transfer of every single one of those same officers."

"How far outside of the Navy does it go?"

"He had connections to a number of the gangs here in LA, and he was making new connections in Norfolk."

"How sure is this evidence?"

"Honestly, I don't know. We'd got that far and that's when... the shooting started."

Gibbs just nodded.

"So... what now, Boss?"

"Now... I need Tim to do one thing and I need to find a laptop for him to use."

"Well, I don't have that. I didn't even have a phone."

Gibbs smiled slightly. "I'll find one. You go back to Tim's room and stay there."

"Okay."

They both stood up and walked toward the door. Before he opened it, Tony stopped and looked at Gibbs.

"Is it worth it, Boss?"

Eyebrow raise.

"Doing this... going back. It's going to be hard."

"Yeah."

"Is it worth doing all that?"

"Yes. I couldn't stay in Mexico. It was worth leaving the easy life to come back, even if I didn't do it right."

And that brought to mind Tony's own feelings about when Gibbs had come back and reset the old order of things, seemingly without any thought for the trouble it might be for others.

"You don't want to stay here," Gibbs said. "It's easy, but you don't want it. Not really."

Tony took a breath.

"Do you."

"No."

"Then, you can't. You'll hate it if you do."

"Yeah."

"It'll get easy again, even if it's not now."

"Okay."

"Now, go and I'll do what I can."

"Okay."

Tony walked back to Tim's room. Langston was still sitting there. He smiled and nodded. Tony couldn't quite manage a real smile this time, but he tried. Then, he went in. Tim was sleeping again. Ducky was beside him, looking at Tim's chart, obviously with some dismay. He looked up when Tony came in and smiled.

"Hello again, Anthony," Ducky said in a soft voice. "I must admit that, no matter the difficulty, I am so happy to see you again that I hope you feel something of the same emotion."

Tony walked over and started to sit down but was surprised when Ducky set the chart aside, stood and hugged him. When he let him go, Tony saw the happy smile and couldn't help but return it. Even if he was still feeling a little overwhelmed at all that faced him, seeing someone so happy to see him was actually quite nice. It helped ease some of his tension. Ducky let him go and they both sat down again.

"We were so sure that you must be dead, that the only possible explanation for your disappearance was your death. To be proven so wonderfully wrong is the best news we have had in a long time."

"Is Tim okay?" Tony asked in a whisper. "I mean really?"

"Not at the moment," Ducky said with a sigh. "But I hope that, now, he will finally allow himself the chance to truly recover. His health has been shaky ever since his injury, mostly because he wouldn't let himself rest."

"Just because of me?"

Ducky smiled ruefully. "Yes and no. It was to find you, but it was for Timothy himself. He had a horrible experience early on in his recovery and it has tainted everything he's done."

"What was it?"

Ducky hedged a little.

"Really, Ducky, what was it?"

Ducky sighed. "Captain Blaine was able to force Timothy to agree to what amounted to a lengthy interrogation about the case. He berated Timothy for far too long. Timothy was barely able to sit up on his own at that point, and his mental acuity was still low after his injury. He couldn't keep up. He couldn't defend you or himself as he wanted to, and Captain Blaine accused him of not really trying, of not caring about solving the case. As much as we could, we tried to counteract it, but those accusations heard in a moment of mental weakness became Timothy's own view of himself and every moment he has had, he has tried to prove that he is not what Captain Blaine accused him of being."

"But..."

"We've tried, and perhaps now, with the main object of his distress being past," Ducky paused and patted Tony on the arm, "perhaps Timothy will be able to relax and focus on himself for a time. Now, is there anything I can do for you?"

"I don't know," Tony said.

"I don't either. Perhaps this time is best spent in a relaxing silence? Many words will have to be spoken before this is all over, but this room can be a sanctuary for a time, a place of refuge from all the decisions to be made and reports to give. What do you think?"

"I think... that sounds like a good idea, Ducky," Tony said.

"Excellent. While few would believe it, I have often practiced the art of healing silence."

Ducky grinned and Tony smiled back.

Then, he leaned back in the chair and tried to relax a little. There were so many things to worry about, but for the moment, he would accept the sanctuary that Ducky had offered him.

The room was silent.

Chapter Text

Chapter 29

The next time he woke up, Tim had hoped that he'd be feeling better.

He wasn't. He definitely felt no better, and he might even be able to say that he felt somewhat worse. He ached all over. His head hurt. He was still tired. All in all, Tim didn't really enjoy this and would like to have just stayed asleep.

But he was awake and no matter what else, he knew the case wasn't over yet and that was enough to get him to open his eyes and see what would come with this awakening.

"Tim, you're awake?"

Tim turned his head and saw Tony sitting there. Ducky was gone. That was fine. Ducky was more likely to insist that he get more rest...which he did want but it wasn't happening at the moment.

"Yeah, unfortunately. How are you doing?"

"I'm fine."

"I'll bet you're not," Tim said.

"No more than you are," Tony said. "You really didn't use the computer to find me?"

"No, I didn't."

"Why not? You're the computer guy. That's what you always do."

"Because there was too little go on. We knew where you had been, but we didn't know anything else. It took me nearly a month of asking every person I saw on the street if they'd seen you to find someone who knew something. A computer search can't do that," Tim said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. "It didn't take any skill. Just time."

Tony didn't look at all convinced by that.

"Tim, Ducky and Gibbs both were really worried about you before."

"They're overreacting."

"I don't think they are. I can tell you're only pretending that it's not a big deal. Just how bad was it? I mean you were talking about a coma and stuff, but it wasn't just that."

"I think a coma is enough. Don't you?" Tim asked.

"Yeah, I do. But I think there was more."

Tim sighed. He didn't want to get into this yet again.

"Tim, what more was there?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm fine...or I will be once I recover from getting beat up."

"It's not just about getting beat up, Tim. Even when I saw you in the bar, before I knew who you were, I didn't think you looked very good. Why are you trying to ignore it?"

"It doesn't matter. It's not important. I'm lying here in a hospital bed and I've been told I won't be allowed to leave it for a while. I'm staying. It's fine."

"It's not fine. Tim, based on what Ducky told me, you would have killed yourself rather than give up on trying to find me."

"He exaggerated."

"No, I don't think he did."

Tony looked very concerned and Tim really didn't want that.

"Tony, I was your backup. Of course, I had to look for you. I was the only one who could."

"The only one? No one else could have done what you did?"

"No, because no one else..." Tim stopped and looked away.

"No one else, what?"

"Nothing."

"What, Tim?"

Tim took a breath and refused to make eye contact as he answered.

"No one else was willing to give up everything. I'd been refusing to do anything but look for you. Vance almost fired me, but Gibbs got him to give me a month to work on it. I had two days left before Vance was going to fire me when I found the homeless guy who helped you in Norfolk."

"And if it had taken longer?"

"I would have given up my job and kept looking."

"What if I had been dead? What if everyone else had been right and I was dead?"

"I don't know."

"Tim, what if... what if Captain Blaine had been right and I was dirty?"

"No. I'd never believe that unless I saw you doing it with my own eyes. You're not perfect Tony, but you're the last cop I'd ever think would be dirty."

Tim was studiously avoiding looking at Tony so he was completely surprised when Tony suddenly hugged him. Tim turned and looked at Tony as he let him go.

"Tim... I'm not worth all that. You never thought of me like that before."

Tim stared at his lap. "I never thought you could be dirty, Tony. No matter what other problems I had with you in the past, I never thought you were a dirty cop. And I couldn't let anyone accuse you of that when... if I'd done my job, there would have been no question."

"Done your job? Tim, I remember that night. You were doing your job. If anything, I was making it harder because I insisted on running the program that you had designed. I said I had got the data. I got to put it together. We would have been done faster if you had done it. You were doing everything you should have done."

"I wasn't your backup when it mattered."

Tony laughed incredulously. "Tim, you had just fallen three stories. What do you think you could have done?"

"Not fallen."

"Tim, the only reason I'm not smacking you on the head right now is because you begged me not to let anyone touch your head. Don't you get it? I pushed you out the window onto the fire escape. Your foot caught on the window frame, and the railing was rusted. It didn't hold you. Nothing about that was your fault."

"You were alone when you needed someone there."

Tim was again taken by surprise when Tony grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him a little. It hurt his head, but he didn't a chance to complain about that.

"And that's not your fault, Tim! I can't tell you how amazed I am that you did all that to find me, but you can't make me more important than you. I won't accept that. We both lost something in that operation. Even if what I lost is more melodramatic than what you lost, we both lost something, and we both need to get that back. Both of us. You hear me? Both of us."

"But do you really want to?" Tim asked, after a moment.

Tony let him go.

"I don't know. Mostly."

"Would you stay here?" Tim asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Tony looked at him for a long moment. Then, he smiled a little. It wasn't really a happy smile, but it was a smile.

"No. I knew from day one that this wasn't where I was supposed to be. Besides, I want to get my hands on Captain Blaine and rip him a new one for attacking my probie."

"You don't need to do that. He probably wasn't there that night, and I know he wasn't there when Ensign Thomas beat me up."

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?"

"The interrogation he put you through. Ducky told me about it, about what he said to you."

"Oh. It's not about that."

"Yes, it is, and even if it's not, he was completely out of line and I'm going to make sure he knows it."

Then, the door opened and Gibbs came in with a laptop. Tim was surprised, given Gibbs' order previously.

"What's up, Boss?" he asked.

Gibbs looked a little irritated, but he held out the laptop.

"Get into that flash drive, make sure everything is set and get it sent back to Ellie. She's going to start things going to arrest Captain Blaine, but we need to know everything is set."

"Ellie? By herself?"

"Lovitz will help her out. Get to it."

"Thought I was out of it," Tim said.

"You encrypted the flash drive. We don't have time to break it."

Tim suppressed a smile. There was something just a little bit satisfying in Gibbs being forced to have Tim do a little bit of work. It was silly perhaps, but that was the way he felt. He took the laptop and the flash drive and plugged it in.

"How is it encrypted? I know I didn't do that," Tony said. "Even if I knew how and I'm positive I don't, I wouldn't have had time to do it."

"I set up an automatic encryption," Tim said. "Just in case."

"Oh."

Tim looked at the screen and he felt like the light was piercing into his brain. He had to dim the brightness on the display so that he could look at it for more than five seconds. But he tried to do so without being obvious about it. Then, he opened up the flash drive and decrypted it without any trouble. He had hoped that seeing this stuff would finally jar his lost memory, but no. Nothing about it was familiar. However, he recognized the program he had set up to do the analysis.

Quickly, he got into the program and started running through the data. All the sources were marked, and the links between the different people that had apparently led them to firm identifications. It was all new to Tim but he was seeing the connections. Names he remembered from before that day.

"Well?" Gibbs asked.

"It looks like it's all here," Tim said. Then, he turned the screen to Tony. "Do you remember enough to say whether or not I'm right?"

Tony actually looked hesitant, but he leaned over to see.

"As far as I remember, that looks like the last thing we got before they came."

"Good. Send it," Gibbs said.

Tim brought up his email and sent it off to Ellie. Then, before he could do anything else, Gibbs whipped the laptop out of his hands.

"Boss, what about the LAPD?" Tony asked. "Shouldn't they know, too?"

"They will. And you're staying here until we're sure we've got the guys here."

Tim saw Tony's expression go from surprised to disappointed. He'd wanted to leave. Tim knew that the hospital wasn't the most exciting place to be, but he was still afraid that, even though Tony had said he couldn't stay here, he might still disappear again.

"How long will that take?" Tony asked, finally.

"You got somewhere to be?"

"Yeah, actually. I've had a job here, Boss, and no, it wasn't a big important one, but it's still a job I've been hired to do."

"You could use my phone to call," Tim suggested, hesitantly.

Tony glanced at him but then looked back at Gibbs. Gibbs' eyebrow went up.

"For at least the next day," Gibbs said.

"Okay. I guess I'll use your phone, then, Tim."

Tim reached over and picked it up and then handed it to Tony. Tony took it and then walked out of the room, probably to have some privacy. Left alone with Gibbs, Tim tried to avoid his gaze.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"How are you feeling, Tim?"

"Terrible," Tim admitted.

"Your head?"

"Aches. I'm a little dizzy when I move it too fast."

"I'm getting your doctor in here."

Tim looked up to protest, and Gibbs held up his hand.

"No arguments."

Tim sighed and lay back on the bed. He said nothing.

Gibbs left the room and Tim was actually alone for the moment. As he lay there, he thought about all the major developments that had happened just in the last few days. He had gone from not knowing where Tony was, to finding him, to finding him with amnesia, to getting beat up, to getting back the information they'd gathered.

And Tim was stuck here in the hospital bed, unable to do anything about any of it.

But really, the only thing he genuinely cared about was making sure that Tony was really okay.

And I can't do that, either.

He sighed. They were succeeding and he still felt like he'd fallen short.

The door opened and Gibbs came back in with Dr. Bates.

"Well, Agent McGee, I hear you're still not feeling very good."

"No."

"All right. Then, I think it's time to get that scan I wanted you to get before. We have an opening now, so I want to get you right in and make sure there's nothing serious going on. Any new bleeds could be dangerous."

"Okay."

Tim didn't try to resist. He just didn't have the energy for it. Instead, he let Dr. Bates send him back for an MRI.

"Now, just try to relax and don't move, Agent McGee. It's not very comfortable but..."

"I've had too many of these already, Dr. Bates," Tim said. "I know how it goes."

Dr. Bates smiled sympathetically.

"We'll get this done as quickly as we can."

"I know," Tim said, glumly. "Believe me. I know."

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

"So I really am not sure when I can come back to the bar... if at all, Jack."

"That's all right, Jo– or I guess I should call you Tony, now."

"I guess. But... Jack, I don't want to go without playing one more time."

There was a long pause.

"Tony, you won't find yourself in my bar. Eight months here didn't do that."

"I know."

"Well, you're welcome to play in my bar anytime."

Tony smiled.

"Thanks, Jack. Nothing was going to be easy for me, but you made it as easy as it could have been. I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't been able to work for you."

"You'd have figured something out. You're a survivor, Tony. I could tell. I just made it easier for you to survive."

"You did more than that, Jack."

"Anytime you want to come by."

"Thanks. Bye."

Tony hung up and walked back to Tim's room. When he got there, it was empty. And Tony felt a sudden surge of panic. Where was Tim? What had happened in the few minutes he'd been gone? Where–?

The door opened.

"Oh, Anthony. I had wondered but..."

"Where's Tim?" Tony asked. "Where did he go? He's... gone, Ducky. He's gone."

The fear was almost blinding in its intensity. There was a roaring in his ears. As ambivalent as he'd been about all this stuff before, now, he was terrified that something had happened, that Tim had been taken, that he was dead again, that...

"Anthony, breathe."

"Where is he?"

Ducky shook him.

"Breathe, Anthony!"

Tony took a deep breath and everything started to clear up again.

"Good. You're looking better. Keep breathing."

"Where's Tim?"

"He's getting an MRI, just to make sure there are no slow bleeds developing. Timothy's brain is still in a relatively fragile state and it's best to be cautious. Are you all right?"

Tony let out a loud exhale and sighed with relief.

"I thought... something had happened... when I wasn't here."

Ducky forced him to sit down, and Tony didn't resist much. His legs were feeling pretty shaky.

"Have you spoken to anyone yet?"

"A shrink, you mean?"

"Yes."

"No."

"You should."

"I'll be fine."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. You're dealing with many different problems all at once and a psychiatrist could help you navigate through that a little more easily."

"You think I need that?" Tony asked.

"Yes. Would you permit me to find out if that would be possible?"

"I guess so."

"Good. Stay here and I'll be right back."

"Okay."

Tony sat where he was and looked at the empty bed. He swallowed.

Maybe Dr. Bates had been right. Maybe he did need this.

He could give it a try.

Chapter Text

Chapter 30

"All right, Agent McGee. That's it for now. Let's get you back to your room. It'll be a few hours before you'll get the results."

"Okay," Tim said. He let the staff help him back into the wheelchair without complaint. He was depressingly familiar with the process of getting an MRI. He'd had more than his fair share of them in the last year. He'd been in a coma for his first few, but he'd had plenty to make up for that as he'd recovered. They didn't even faze him anymore, really. It was depressing that he needed to have them, but the process itself was fine. At least he wasn't claustrophobic.

He let one of the nurses take him back to his room. He said nothing as they went. He just sat there. When they got to his room, Ducky was sitting on a chair and smiled at him.

"Welcome back, Timothy," he said.

"Yeah," Tim said with a humorless smile. That was all he said. He just got back into bed and leaned back with his eyes closed. He still didn't feel good. He was worried. He ached. He was more than a little depressed. All in all, he wasn't in the mood for anyone to be in a good mood around him. Maybe they didn't need to be depressed as such, but he didn't need them to be happy.

There was a hand on his arm.

"What's wrong, Timothy?"

"Nothing."

"That's obviously not true. What's wrong?"

He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut. "Everything."

"Timothy."

There was a long silence that Ducky didn't break, and finally, Tim opened his eyes.

"I'm tired, Ducky," he said. "I thought that... when I found Tony, that would mean things would be easier. I thought that it would make everything right. I thought... it could be normal again. It hasn't been. Not for a year. I'm so tired of things not being normal. But they're not now. Will they ever be?"

"Of course they will, Timothy. Eventually. To expect them to be normal now is wishful thinking, I'm afraid. There are too many chaotic tendrils to expect normalcy so soon."

Tim was annoyed that he felt the urge to cry again. No. No, he would not cry. He would not let his roller-coaster emotions control him. He closed his eyes again.

"Timothy, it's all right to be upset. I can tell that you don't want to be and I don't blame you, but being upset right now is quite understandable."

"No," Tim said in a whisper.

Then, as Tim had been dreading, he felt Ducky put a comforting arm around his shoulders. He had vague memories of Ducky doing the same thing when he had felt trapped in the dark.

"Yes, Timothy. You'll feel better if you don't try to hold back. I'm sure it's not helping your headache to carry so much stress."

Tim laughed a little and then started to cry.

"There you go. It's all right. Nothing to be ashamed of. It's a natural reaction."

"I... don't want to... be like this... It's not normal," Tim choked out.

Ducky chuckled softly.

"No, it's not, but since this is not a normal situation, it's an abnormal reaction in an abnormal situation... and that is perfectly normal."

Tim laughed through his tears.

"No need to worry, Timothy. And if you give yourself the recovery time that you need, you'll find that this isn't nearly as common a reaction as it is right now."

"Y-You k-keep saying that."

"That's because you keep needing to hear it. You have not truly let yourself recover. You've gone through the motions for your physical recovery, but your mental recovery has been largely ignored and that can no longer be the case. You need to take the break that you know you need."

"No choice right now."

"Yes, there is. Unfortunately, even lying here in a hospital bed, you can choose to ignore your mental health and you shouldn't. You feel terrible right now and your body is letting you know that it can't continue at normal levels, but once your physical health improves, you may again ignore your mental health needs but you need to pay attention to those needs."

"I'm just tired."

"Then, you should rest. Rest and recover."

"I'm not doing my part."

"Yes, you are. You have done more than your part already and you should let others shoulder some of the burden instead of thinking that you need to do more."

Tim sighed.

"If you are tired, Timothy, then, you should rest. Relax and know that it's not all up to you."

Part of Tim didn't want to, but there was another part that was growing louder, begging to be given the time Ducky said he needed. Begging for that downtime. He slumped down lower and then felt Ducky reclining the bed.

"Rest, Timothy. All else will keep."

Finally, Tim listened and let himself sleep once more.

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

Tony wasn't sure he really liked this whole talk about your problems thing. He wanted to ignore it all and just leave it behind, but Dr. Snarr was pushing him and Tony was trying to do as he was being asked to. Still...

"Tony, would you mind sitting down?"

Tony looked away from the window where he'd walked after the last uncomfortable question. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded and sat down again.

"Now, how are you feeling?" Dr. Snarr asked. "Right at this moment."

"I want to run out of here and never come back," he said, honestly.

Dr. Snarr smiled. "Believe it or not, to a degree, I understand that feeling. Your life right now is pretty complicated, isn't it."

"Yeah. Understatement of the year."

"Tell me what you see that you have to deal with at this point."

Another uncomfortable question. Tony shifted awkwardly in the chair.

"No judgments, Tony. Just what do you feel you need to address?"

"Everything," Tony said finally.

"Be specific."

Tony sighed.

"I have to deal with... being Tony, not Joel. I have to deal with this case. I have to deal with getting back into my life. I have to deal with getting back into my job. I have to deal with how much Tim sacrificed to find me. I have to deal with the job that I've been doing up to now. I have to deal with... how wrong everything feels, even when it's right. ...everything."

"I can see that it feels like that. So now, let's talk just a bit about the last thing. You said everything still feels wrong to you."

Tony nodded.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Then, think about it. You just said that things are right, but that they still feel wrong. Why?"

Tony took a breath and tried to do as Dr. Snarr said.

"I... I think that..."

"What?"

"I'd started to... to feel like Joel instead of Tony. Like it wasn't just a name I was using because I didn't know what the right one was. It was me and everything that went along with it. But now... now, I'm Tony again, and that's right. It's who I am, but I can't get rid of this feeling that... that I'm still Joel. I don't know how to stop feeling like Joel... and even then, I still feel like Tony, too."

Dr. Snarr nodded without speaking. He just looked encouraging.

Tony took a breath and kept going. "It's almost like I'm two people and I have to decide which one I really want to be...but at the same time, I don't really feel like there is a choice. I have to be who I am. I'm Tony DiNozzo. ...but at the same time, why do I feel like I'm Joel Williams, too?"

"Did you feel like you were pretending when you were Joel?" Dr. Snarr asked.

"I never admitted that I couldn't remember. I kept that hidden from everyone until just the last couple of days. I didn't feel like I could safely tell anyone."

"That's not what I mean. Were you being someone you weren't or were you just not revealing all the information that you had about yourself?"

Tony thought about that for a long time. He had kept things from Jack. He had not explained his thoughts, but he'd still been as much of himself as he could be. He had done mostly what felt natural to him.

"I was being me... as far as I knew," he said after a few minutes. "I didn't try to go against that."

"Then, you weren't pretending. You were just being yourself," Dr. Snarr said.

"Yeah, I guess."

"That's why you can't decided who to be," Dr. Snarr said. "The core of yourself was the same, no matter what the details were. What you're really choosing between is the life of a musician and the life of an NCIS agent."

"Am I, though? Those are just... jobs."

"Jobs that tend to define you. A musician tends be affected in all aspects of his life by his choice of occupation. Music is something that gets inside you in ways that can't be faked. Law enforcement tends to see itself a certain way. Your job is one that requires much of you. And I can see that being a musician might seem appealing in that it's rather uncomplicated at its heart. The job you have to do as an agent is very complicated. You're choosing between complexity and simplicity."

Tony smiled weakly. "Simplicity sounds better."

Dr. Snarr smiled. "I'm sure it does."

"So... what do I do?"

"That's up to you, but one thing you should not do is make a decision right this moment."

"Why not?"

"Because you're in a state of high stress and confusion. You're unsure about your memories. You feel some loyalty to the man who was helping you before. You're pulled in so many directions that you're bearing a heavy psychological weight and worrying about whether or not you're making the right decision in this moment is more likely to lead to a complete break than anything else. So for now, I would suggest that you don't worry about what life you're going to choose. Focus more on gaining confidence in your knowledge of yourself."

"I just told you that I don't know what self I want to be!"

"I'm not talking about names or jobs or locations, Tony," Dr. Snarr said. "I'm talking about the core of who you are. You're getting memories of your life back. You need to take the time to understand those memories and how they affect your self-perception."

"I don't know if there's time for that right now. It feels like everything is moving too fast for that."

"You need to make the time, Tony. This isn't something I'm saying because you'll feel good. This is something I'm saying to make sure that you don't completely lose yourself by putting your mind under a stress it can't take right now."

Tony stood up again and walked back to the window.

"Tony?"

He swallowed and turned back.

"Would it be better if I did?" he asked softly.

"If you did what?"

"If I just lost myself."

"No," Dr. Snarr said instantly. "No, it wouldn't. Even if you made the decision to give up your previous life and your current life, losing the core of yourself is not better. There are people who have suffered from psychogenic amnesia who have had multiple relapses where they forget and end up in a different life over and over again. Psychogenic amnesia is not something that we understand well. It doesn't happen often. It's not like in the movies where you get a knock on the head and forget things and then get another knock on the head and remember. Psychogenic amnesia is connected to trauma and if that trauma is not resolved, it can happen again and again. You were fortunate this time in that you were able to find a place that you could settle and you kept much of yourself intact. You may not be that lucky if it happened again. That's why I'm saying that you need to take the time, no matter what. As complicated as figuring these things out will be, it's better to deal with that and truly know yourself than to lose yourself again."

Tony swallowed again, took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh.

"How do I do that?"

"You take the time to learn, to remember, and you spend time going over the circumstances that led you to forget your life in the first place. Even if it's not me, you should have someone helping you through this. There's no reason to try to do it on your own, and it will be much easier if you don't."

Tony nodded.

"And it'll get better?"

"Yes. I guarantee it will. I don't guarantee it will be easy, but it will get better."

"Okay."

"So, for now, I'd recommend just giving yourself some time to relax and I'd like to speak to you again tomorrow. All right?"

"Okay."

Tony left the office and headed back to Tim's room. As he approached, he saw Langston talking to another cop, but it was Gibbs who got his attention. Gibbs was talking on the phone and he didn't look happy.

"When?" he asked.

He listened for a few seconds.

"How many of them are gone?"

Again a few seconds of silence.

"Any sign of where they were headed?"

Then, Gibbs noticed Tony standing there.

"You keep on it, Bishop. Tell me as soon as you know."

Then, he hung up.

"What is it, Boss?" Tony asked.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"I think I probably need to know, don't I," Tony said.

"Captain Blaine and a number of his officers have disappeared from their posts. They've all been listed as UA."

"Coming here?"

"Maybe."

Chapter Text

Chapter 31

Tony wasn't sure how he felt about the news that Captain Blaine might be nearby.

"How certain is it?" he asked.

"Not at all," Gibbs said. "They could be on their way to Mexico."

"With a stop off in LA?"

"Maybe."

Tony took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Dr. Snarr was probably right that he needed time to relax and think about his situation, but that would have to be set aside until they knew that Blaine wasn't going to be coming after them. He couldn't think about his life if he was dead.

"So... what now?"

"Don't know yet."

"What about Tim?" Tony asked. "Are you going to tell him?"

"Not yet."

"That might be a mistake."

"He's staying here in the hospital. He needs to. So do you."

"Maybe so, but I don't think it's going to be that simple. I wish it was, but I don't think it will."

Langston walked over to join them.

"Agent Gibbs, Chief Sander said that he'd put out a BOLO for Captain Blaine. Is there anyone else you'd like us to add?"

"Chief Sander should be getting more information from Agent Bishop right now. There will be more added on."

"Okay. You'd like us to stay on duty here?"

"Yes."

"Can do." Langston looked at Tony and smiled a little. "Make it easy for us, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Tony said. "If we agree on what is easy."

Langston gave him a look.

"Easy is that you don't try to sneak off and do something stupid."

"I would never do something stupid," Tony said.

"I notice that you didn't say you'd never sneak off."

"Well, I probably wouldn't do that, either, but you can bet that if I did, it would done intelligently," Tony said, grinning. He was forcing it a little, but he got a definite reaction. Langston laughed and walked back to the other officer on duty. Then, he looked back at Gibbs.

"You stay here, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "We'll look for Blaine, try to track his movements, but you stay here."

"No matter what?"

"No matter what. You're not ready to go out and do your job right now. So you stay where you are."

"Can I be armed?"

"Have you used a gun in the last year?"

"No."

"Then, no."

With that, Gibbs strode away. Tony was tempted to follow him and try to make demands, but he knew it wouldn't make any difference. Instead, he took a breath and walked back to Tim's room. When he stepped inside, he saw much the same scene as he had before. Ducky was sitting beside Tim who was asleep again. And, just like before, Ducky seemed concerned and somewhat lost in thought, but when he noticed Tony's return, he smiled welcomingly and gestured for Tony to sit.

"How was your session?" he asked, although he kept his voice soft.

Tony shrugged. "Is Tim okay? He's sleeping again."

"This is the best thing for him at the moment. He has been functioning on far too little rest and with his new injury..."

"Was it that serious? I thought that..."

"No, as I said before, it's simply that his brain is more sensitive to injury at the moment. He needs to rest and he's finally beginning to accept that he needs it. Given time, he will recover. Overall, he's worn out, both physically and mentally. He is starting to admit it. It helps that we've now found you and so he doesn't have that hanging over his head."

"I don't know if..." Tony sighed looking at Tim sleeping. "I don't know if I like that Tim was willing to do so much to find me. He put himself through all that and... and how do I deal with that?"

"I do have a suggestion," Ducky said.

"Yeah?"

"You could try to say thank you."

Tony smiled with a little exasperation. "That's not really enough."

"I think it is. I think it's more than enough. Timothy has feared that all he could do would not be enough. He has feared that he would let you down. Even now, he worries that he's not done enough to help you through what you're struggling with. A simple expression of gratitude without anything more would likely be something that would help Timothy immensely, and it has the benefit of requiring very little on your part, considering the recovery facing you as well."

"With everything that's going on, I don't know if I have the time for worrying about my recovery."

"You need to. What more is going on?"

"Captain Blaine has gone UA."

"Oh, dear." Ducky sighed and looked at Tim who didn't even stir. "I hope we can keep this from Timothy."

"He should know, Ducky," Tony said. "It's not fair keeping him out of it."

Ducky looked back at him and shook his head. "No, Anthony. You have not understood just how serious Timothy's situation has been, and how deeply he was affected by Captain Blaine. He would deny it, but he is not in a mental state to deal with the knowledge that this man has gone on the run, perhaps escaping justice."

"Perhaps trying to kill him," Tony said. "Isn't that worse?"

"Of course, it is. There is no question of that. And we will try to avoid that possibility, but we should also try to protect his emotional state."

Tony nodded, albeit reluctantly. He didn't like the idea of trying to hide something from Tim when he'd put himself through so much. Surely, he'd earned the right to be in on something that could directly affect him. However, he could also admit that he hadn't been around to see what Tim's reactions had been. Maybe Ducky was right.

Ducky patted his arm.

"I share your concerns, Anthony, and I wish we could simply ignore the case at hand and focus on the needs that both of you have. Alas."

"Yeah."

"Well, since the two of you are staying here for the time being?" Ducky said, making it into a question.

Tony nodded.

"Then, why don't you just make yourself comfortable here and I'll go and see if I can get an update on Timothy's condition."

"All right."

Tony watched as Ducky left and he shook his head. He didn't like this situation. He felt helpless, and that was not a feeling he enjoyed.

Still, he didn't see that he had much choice at the moment. So he tried to follow his doctor's advice and try to relax a little.

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

The day was long and tedious. Gibbs checked on them two or three times. Langston and his fellow officer were finally replaced with two other officers who were staying on duty through the night, giving Langston and his partner a needed break. Dr. Bates checked on Tim once before he left for the day. There was no sign of Captain Blaine or his cronies thus far, but who knew how long they'd been gone? Maybe they were in hiding in the States. Maybe they'd fled to Mexico.

Late in the evening, the door opened, rousing Tony from a doze. Tim was just awakening as well. A nurse came in with a wheelchair.

"Sorry, to disturb you, Agent McGee. Dr. Bates asked for one more scan. There's something on the previous one that doesn't look right."

Tim glanced at Tony and seemed to stifle a sigh.

"Okay."

He carefully got out of bed and sat down in the wheelchair. Then, he glanced at Tony.

"I'm too popular," he said, smiling weakly. "I'll be back."

"Okay. I'll be here."

Tim nodded and then the nurse pushed him out of the room.

Tony sat where he was for a few minutes, but there was a wrong feeling building up in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure why. He sat there, trying to figure it out and then, suddenly, it dawned on him.

Dr. Bates wasn't on duty this evening. He'd told them that. He wasn't here to order another scan.

Tony leapt to his feet and ran out of the room.

The two officers who were supposed to be on duty weren't there. Tony turned around and around. Where would they have gone?

"Anthony, what's wrong?"

Tony spun around and Ducky was just walking down the hall.

"Ducky, call Gibbs. They got in somehow and took Tim. Pretended he was getting another scan. They're taking him out of here. Where's the parking garage?"

"Anthony..."

"Now, Ducky! There's no time to worry about my amnesia or anything else. They've got Tim. I know they do and we need to stop them before it's too late!"

"It's that direction," Ducky said, pointing.

Tony watched as Ducky looked around and realized the officers were missing. He looked back at Tony.

"Go. I'll call for help."

Tony nodded and started running down the hall. He saw some signs that directed him to parking. Good. He followed them and got into the garage. But what level of the four levels would be where Tim was? Surely, Tim wouldn't go quietly once he realized what was going on, but would they have just knocked him out and been done with it? Tony didn't know a whole lot about the dangers of repeated head injuries but if one was bad and two was worse, then, three ought to be nearly fatal.

And that was not an acceptable outcome. Tony would not allow Tim to pay this price. No matter who was ultimately to blame, Tim wouldn't pay the price, not after everything he'd put himself through.

He started running and then stopped and listened.

There was the sound of a scuffle.

Below him.

He started running again, down the ramp, wishing he'd insisted that Gibbs give him a weapon. He pulled out his knife that he still had but even if he hadn't handled a gun in a long time, he was pretty sure he would have been better off with that than a knife, no matter how sharp.

But he didn't have any other option. He picked up speed and used gravity to help him hurtle himself down toward the sound that he was sure was Tim getting taken.

As he came around the corner, he saw what he had been afraid of seeing. Tim was getting pulled into an unmarked van by four men. He was fighting back against them, but he was clearly in no shape to do so. There was a fifth man standing in the back of the van.

Captain Blaine.

With one final burst of speed, Tony launched himself at the crowd, hoping that he didn't give Tim another head injury in the process.

Three of the men were knocked to the ground. One was thrown against the back of the truck. Hard. He fell to the ground and didn't move. Without another thought, Tony kicked another man in the face. Hard.

Two down.

Then, he rolled and saw a gun on the ground. He grabbed it, got to his feet and turned around, facing Captain Blaine and the two men who were scrambling after Tim who was trying to get away. His knife was now at his feet and he felt much better with a gun in his hand.

"All right, hold it! Don't move!" Tony said, breathing hard.

The two men froze, but they looked to Captain Blaine, not Tony. This wasn't the end yet.

Captain Blaine smiled. "Well, Agent DiNozzo, we were wondering why you were here, why you were apparently in hiding, even from your own team. I'm still wondering. That's the only reason you're not dead already."

"I'm wondering why you're not already in Mexico. You got away before we realized it," Tony said. "You could be out of the country already."

He glanced at Tim. He was more alert than he'd been in the alley, but he wasn't in the best shape. He was ready to move if he was told to, but Tony could see that he wasn't armed, either. He might be able to kick his knife over to Tim so that he had something, but he'd have to get that aimed right.

Captain Blaine sneered at him.

"I don't know if you're aware, Agent DiNozzo, but drug dealers aren't the most understanding people in the world. What do you think would happen to me if I just sauntered on over to my suppliers and said that I couldn't move their product anymore?"

"I don't see a down side," Tony said.

"I'm sure you don't, but I do, and if I can demonstrate my determination to fix the problem, eliminate the evidence and show that I'm worth keeping alive, then, I'll come out all right, and that's what matters right now."

"Does it?"

"Yes," Captain Blaine said and quickly pulled a gun and aimed it at Tim. "Now, if you value this worthless agent's life, you'll put down the gun."

"Oh, I don't think so," Tony said, even as his heart jumped into his throat. "You've already tried to kill both of us more than once. I know exactly what will happen if I put down this gun. I'm dead and so is Tim. Don't try that with me."

Tim shifted ever so slightly. Tony could see what he was doing. He'd obviously seen the knife at Tony's feet and was maneuvering himself around so that he could more easily catch it if Tony kicked it to him.

Tony didn't want it to come to that, though. He was hoping that backup would get here very soon. Something to end this standoff without gunfire that would surely get someone killed.

"Well, then, we're at an impasse, Agent DiNozzo, and it's not one I'm willing to let linger for very long. Are you going to try to save your own skin or this idiot over here?"

"Don't you call him that," Tony said. "He's worth more than you, more than you and all of your cronies. He's smarter. He's better. He's more than you will ever even aspire to be, scum that you are. If I could, I'd kill you for what you've done to him before. But no matter how this ends, I'm not going to let you put him down."

Captain Blaine laughed at him. "Oh, please. You're acting like it even matters. You're ridiculous."

"And you're under arrest, Captain Blaine."

The new voice was very welcome to Tony, but he didn't turn away. It wasn't safe yet. Captain Blaine was still armed, and his two men were also on their feet, not obviously armed but it wasn't safe to assume they weren't. It was a standoff and who knew how it would end.

"Agent Gibbs," Captain Blaine said. "The gang's all here. I should have known better than to use Thomas. He's too eager to kill. Doesn't take the time to plan things out. He just does it. Sometimes, it works."

"But not this time," Tony said. "Besides, he's a terrible shot."

"Don't I know it. He has very good connections in L.A., though. It makes him worth keeping around... if he'd only keep his mouth shut."

"Put down the gun, Captain," Gibbs said.

"Are you willing to risk that I can get a shot off before you do?"

"Are you willing to die just to find out?"

So far, Tim hadn't said a word. He was just sitting there, but suddenly, he got to rather unsteady feet and faced Captain Blaine. Tony wasn't sure what to expect here.

"Are you willing to kill me just because I bested you this time?"

"Bested me? You're about to collapse."

Tim nodded. "Yeah, I am. I'm weak and I'm the one who found the evidence that pointed to you. It was my program before and it was my efforts after. Even to the point that you had to abandon your post, your position and everything just to come here and kill us. Instead of waiting, you knew that we were better than you. You knew that you had to get out because we found you. So now what are you going to do? If you kill me, you're dead, and you know it."

"Shut up, McGee," Gibbs said. "Captain Blaine, drop your gun or I shoot. You have five seconds."

The seconds ticked by. Tony counted them.

Finally, Captain Blaine put down his gun. Tony shifted his gaze to the other two men.

"They're armed, too," Tim said. "I saw their guns."

"Drop them," Tony said.

A few more seconds and then each of the men put down a gun.

"Hands in the air," Gibbs said. "You're all under arrest for attempted murder of a federal agent."

As Gibbs moved in with some hospital security, Tony felt a deep relief that no shooting had been necessary. He really hadn't wanted that to be the end of this. Not this time. However, after they were all handcuffed and the two injured men had been taken care of, he walked over and got into Captain Blaine's face. He kept his voice low, but he knew it was menacing.

"Agent McGee is my probie. You say what you want about me. I don't care, but don't you ever insult my probie. If he had died, you would have wished you were dead, and I would have willingly gone to prison for what I would have done to you. But I don't need to do anything now. You're going down, and I'll be there to gloat when you do."

Captain Blaine sneered again, but he was hauled off before he could retort.

Tony took a breath and let it out in a whoosh. He looked at Gibbs who raised an eyebrow. Tony just shrugged and handed him the gun. Then, he walked over to where Tim was still standing but one of the parking garage pillars seemed to be doing a lot of the work at keeping him upright. Tony squared his shoulders and slipped an arm around Tim's waist.

"How long did you know he wasn't staff?" Tony asked, hoping that Tim hadn't realized it from the first moment and was trying to protect Tony again.

Tim leaned on him heavily.

"At the elevator. Two other guys came over and one of them let me see his gun and he said that I'd be dead and so would a lot of innocent people if I said anything. Couldn't take the risk of them opening fire in the hospital."

"And then?"

"Then, when we got into the garage, I knew I had to at least try to fight them off. So I did, and if you hadn't shown up, I would have got hit on the head again," Tim said, smiling weakly. "And I really didn't want to."

Tony hefted Tim up.

"You didn't?"

"No."

"Good. Let's get you back to your bed."

"Sounds like a plan. Thanks, Tony. You saved my life."

"If Gibbs hadn't come, it wouldn't have been enough."

"No. It was enough," Tim said, softly. "It was plenty."

Tony helped him over to the wheelchair and let Tim sit.

"I'm going to take him back to his room, okay, Boss?"

Gibbs nodded.

"You stay there, Tony."

"That's what you said last time. Good thing I didn't."

Gibbs just rolled his eyes and gestured. Tony grinned and almost felt like it was genuine. He pushed Tim back to his room where Ducky fussed over them both and helped get Tim settled once more.

Then, as Tim looked ready to fall asleep again, Tony suddenly understood what Ducky had meant.

"Hey, Tim," he said.

Tim's eyes were heavy-lidded, but they were open.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"What for?"

"For finding me. I needed to be found, and you did it."

Tim looked surprised, but then, he smiled.

"You're welcome," he whispered.

His eyes closed and he slept.

A hand on his shoulder startled him and he looked over at Ducky.

"You should follow his example, Anthony. That chair folds out into a cot. Everything else can keep until tomorrow."

"Are you sure of that?" Tony asked. "What about the other officers on duty?"

"They've been arrested. They were paid to abandon their posts."

"Oh."

"It will keep until tomorrow. Sleep for now."

In reality, that sounded like a great idea. Tony nodded and settled himself on the pull-out cot. It wasn't really comfortable, but it didn't matter for now. He closed his eyes and slept, feeling as though, in spite of all the chaos, there was potential for the calm that he knew they all needed.

Maybe things could start getting better.

Chapter Text

Chapter 32

Tim felt himself waking up again and he didn't really want to. He wanted to stay asleep. He felt like he needed to sleep for a full week. Ducky had told him he needed to rest. Couldn't he just say that he was doing as he was told for once?

He lay there, trying to return to sleep when it hit him all at once.

Captain Blaine had almost killed him.

His eyes flew open and he sat up.

Far too quickly. He started feeling dizzy and his eyes closed once again, but before he could fall over, someone was right there. He assumed it was Ducky and he relaxed.

"Don't worry, Probie. I've got you."

He forced his eyes open again.

"Tony."

"Yeah."

He looked at Tony and he was still concerned by what he saw. Tony still didn't look right, but it wasn't quite as bad as it had been before.

"Are you okay?" Tim asked.

Tony laughed. "Come on, Tim. You're the one in a hospital bed. You don't get to ask that question."

"But I'm getting taken care of. Are you?"

Tony's eyes flicked away from him for a moment and then moved back.

"Some."

"Enough?"

"It's a start."

"Did I miss anything while I was sleeping?"

"I don't know. I was sleeping, too. I just woke up about five minutes ago." He looked at his watch. "It's morning."

"Oh."

Tim wasn't sure what to say. It seemed like the physical danger was over, but it didn't seem like things were over for Tony. And Tim just didn't know how to address that. He wanted to, but he didn't know what to do or say.

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For saving my life," Tim said. "There's no way I was going to be able to fight them off, even if I'd been completely recovered. There were four of them. I knew there was nothing I could do on my own. Thank you for being there."

"You already thanked me for that."

"I know, but it doesn't seem like enough."

Tony smiled as if Tim had said something entertaining, but then, he looked serious again.

"Tim, what you did for me isn't something I can pay back."

"I don't expect you to," Tim said, in surprise. "That's not why I did it."

"Then, why?"

"Because you needed to be found. You said so. Someone needed to find you and I knew it would take more than just looking when we had time. It would take a lot more than that because if you were gone, it was for a serious reason. It would take time to find you and I had to give it."

"But you didn't have to. Other people were still looking."

"They were looking for a dead man," Tim said, shaking his head. "I was looking for a living one."

Tony looked uncomfortable.

"Tony... do you wish that I hadn't?" Tim was terrified of the answer to that question, but he had to ask it, especially with Tony not really acting like himself yet.

"No," Tony said, instantly. "That's not what I'm saying." He sighed and shook his head. "You have no idea how it felt to wake up every day and not know myself, to look in the mirror and realize that I didn't really recognize the person I saw. Every day, I hoped that I'd figure out who I was, even when I pretended that I didn't care. I said I needed to be found and I meant it. I just..." He laughed a little. "I wanted it to be like in the movies. You forget stuff and then suddenly, you remember it all and everything goes back to normal. The reset button gets pushed and no one ever worries about it again ...but it isn't like that."

He looked like he was going to say more but then he didn't. Tim thought for a moment and then decided to ask.

"So... what is it like, then?" he asked, tentatively.

Tony looked at him for a long moment and then seemed almost grateful for the question, as if Tim had done him a favor.

"It's like I'm tugged between being two different people. It's not like some kind of multiple personalities. It's that... I'd started thinking of myself as Joel Williams. At first, it was just because there were no other options coming to mind, but then, it was easier than trying and failing to remember who I really was. So now... now, I'm remembering, but I still have the feeling of being Joel instead of Tony. So even as I'm remembering other things, I don't know if I want to give up Joel."

"Well... Joel was kind of you anyway, you know," Tim said.

"What do you mean?" Tony asked.

"When you picked that name and decided on who you were, you weren't creating someone completely new. You were just picking parts of yourself. You decided to focus on your music and the fact that you can play the piano pretty well. I mean, I didn't see you out of the apartment because I never left it, but based on what you told me, it wasn't really a different person. You just played up certain aspects of yourself. You told me that the best undercover persona is one where you don't have to be a totally different person. ...unless you're going to be a criminal. But mostly, you just are yourself, only with different details."

Tony seemed surprised.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I said that?"

"Yeah."

Then, Tony looked like he was thinking deeply about what Tim had said... way more deeply than was required, really. He shouldn't need to consider it like this. It was what he had said.

"So... then, what would I be giving up?" Tony asked, finally.

"By being Tony or by being Joel?"

Tony smiled a little. "Yes."

"Well, I don't know what all you've been doing here," Tim said, hedging. He was afraid that he'd say the wrong things, that he'd mess this up royally because he wouldn't be able to come up with the right answers.

"I don't care. Tell me."

"Well... if you decided to be Tony, you'd be giving up L.A.," Tim said, knowing that wasn't what mattered.

"What else?" Tony asked, seeming extremely intent.

Was there a right answer? Or even worse, was there a wrong answer? Tim didn't know. He swallowed and tried again.

"You'd be giving up being here and being able to give all your attention to the piano since it wouldn't be your job anymore. If you made friends here... well, you wouldn't have to give them up, but you'd have to give up being around them a lot since you'd be back in D.C. But you could still be with them. ...and you'd have to give up being Joel Williams. You'd have to be Tony."

"What about if I decided to stay being Joel?" Tony asked.

Tim tried to tamp down on the feeling of failure that question brought out in him. If Tony decided to stay here, he felt it would be his own fault because he didn't find him soon enough.

"You'd be giving up D.C. and your job, and your friends and us, the people you work with. You'd be giving up your home. You'd be giving up everything you did in your life, every step."

"Why? You said I was mostly myself anyway."

"But you'd have to ignore it all if you were going to be Joel. Joel isn't the one who... who came over to my apartment when I thought I killed a police detective and tried to help me feel better. That was Tony. Joel isn't the one who went with me to Somalia to rescue Ziva. That was Tony. And you couldn't have all that if you were really going to be Joel. Because, Tony, you wouldn't be Joel if you had done all those things. You'd be Tony playing the role of Joel. And as much as you've driven me crazy over the years, I'd rather have Tony back than Joel. Joel isn't my friend. Tony is."

Tony looked surprised. Then, he suddenly stood up.

"I'll be back. I need to get some air."

"...uh...okay," Tim said. This made him worried, but he didn't dare say so. He just watched as Tony left.

Was this a good or bad development? Tim had no idea. He lay there, wondering what he'd said that was right or wrong.

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

Tony walked out of the room, feeling his mind in turmoil. He didn't know how to take what Tim had said. It had been so clear and straightforward about what he'd be giving up. And now, he was worried.

"Anthony?"

Tony whirled around.

"I don't know what to do, Ducky," he said. "I just... I know it should be obvious, but it's not. But it is. And..."

Ducky took him by the shoulders and, instead of saying anything, he turned Tony around and directed him to an empty room. Then, he pushed him down onto a chair.

"Anthony, breathe and calm yourself down."

But Tony wasn't interested in that.

"Dr. Snarr said that I need to focus on myself before I choose my life, but I can't do that! What if I take too long? What if I make the wrong choice? I even know that there shouldn't be a choice to make at all. Why should choosing between a made-up life and the real life be hard at all? It shouldn't be! But it is! And then... what Tim said about it and..."

"Anthony! Listen. Calm down," Ducky said. "Yes, you do need to focus on yourself, but you needn't panic about it. I promise that you have as much time as you need to decide. Don't put so much pressure on yourself."

"But there is!"

"No, there's not. Now, what did Timothy say that upset you so much?"

"Nothing. It's just..."

"Anthony. Calm down. Take a deep breath."

Tony did as he was told.

"Good. Now, talk it through. Instead of just reacting to it without thought, let yourself think about it and do so with words instead of only emotions."

"Okay. I decided I wanted to know what Tim thought I'd be giving up if I chose to be Joel or Tony."

"May I ask why?"

"Because he thought it was so important to find me. I wanted to know what he thought I needed to have."

"I see. Go on."

"And he really laid everything out. And everything he said about Tony was stuff I remembered and he said that, if I chose to be Joel, I'd have to give it all up because Joel wasn't the one who had done those things. Tony had. And suddenly, I just felt really... really bothered and I needed to get out."

"Why?"

Tony looked at his hands for a few seconds, at the calluses on the tips of his fingers from playing the piano so much, one of the most enduring signs of what his life had become.

"Ducky, for the last eight months, I've been wanting to know who I am, and when he said that I'd have to give up all this stuff I'm remembering now... I was afraid."

"Because you want to be Joel?"

"No... because I don't know what I want. But I do know that I don't want to give up knowing who I am."

"That's not a requirement, Anthony. Even if you did choose to give up the life you had before, forgetting it again is not necessary."

Tony looked up. "No, it is. Because I know... that I don't belong here. Knowing who I am means that I know where I'm supposed to be and it's not here."

"But you wish it was?" Ducky asked, gently.

"No. Not really. It's more that... that I keep thinking about it all and now that I'm around you guys... I'm remembering things. I know them without trying to get at them. So now, I know who I have to be, but at the same time, I still have to make a choice."

"And that scares you."

"Yeah. I just wanted everything to be easy."

"It's not. As I told Timothy, nothing is simple in this process and to expect everything to go back to normal without effort is too much to ask."

"I know," Tony said, with a sigh.

"Good. But might I make a suggestion?"

Tony smiled a little. "Another one?"

"Oh, yes. There is no end to my suggestions."

Tony laughed. "Okay. What?"

"You have been surrounded by the evidences of your old life for a long time. You should go back to the new life you were building and take some time to think about it."

"Gibbs told me to stay here."

Ducky smiled. "Well, then, I will tell him that I gave a recommendation otherwise, but I would ask that you allow one of the officers to take you over, just to be safe."

Tony smiled a little. "Okay."

"Good."

Ducky stood up and held out his hand, still smiling. Tony took it and allowed Ducky to haul him to his feet. Then, he walked out of the room and saw Langston back on duty.

"Hey, Langston, could you do me a favor?" Tony asked.

"What's up?"

"Could you take me back to Jack's?"

Langston's brow furrowed.

"Oh? Why?"

"Just need to go there... for a while."

Langston shrugged. "Sure. Come on."

Tony started to follow him and then looked back at Ducky who smiled encouragingly.

"Go on, lad."

"Okay."

Then, Tony walked away.

Chapter Text

Chapter 33

Tony walked up to the door of the bar and knocked. He knew that Jack would probably be there. So he waited and then knocked again. Langston was in his car.

Finally, the door opened and there was Jack. Tony smiled.

"Hi, Jack. Can I come in and play?"

Jack rolled his eyes at how Tony had phrased his request and then stepped back.

"Come on in," he said. He waved at Langston and then followed Tony inside.

Tony walked over to the piano and sat down. For a few seconds, he did nothing more than run his fingers over the keys.

"You want to talk about it?" Jack asked from behind him.

"No. I just want to play."

"Okay. Go ahead."

"Thanks."

Tony sat there for a few seconds more and then, he started playing the piano.

Billy Joel, of course.

He started out with "Piano Man" and then shifted into a couple of instrumental songs. Then, he played "New York State of Mind" and then, he started playing "My Life" and for whatever reason, he really got into it. He almost forgot about Jack, who was probably doing necessary work. He just belted it out, especially the chorus.

"I don't need you to worry for me 'cause I'm alright
I don't want you to tell me it's time to come home
I don't care what you say anymore; this is my life
Go ahead with your own life; leave me alone."

He kept playing it, almost, he went into some improv before singing the final lines.

"I don't care what you say anymore this is my life
Go ahead with your own life; leave me alone!"

The defiance expressed, Tony felt a little deflated. That hadn't solved his problem at all. Not that he had really expected it to. His problem couldn't be so easily solved.

Then, he started playing one song that he'd never played voluntarily. "Everybody Has a Dream." It got to him like it always did. And, suddenly, he had to play a different song. Jack had told him not to play it, but at the moment, disregarding Billy Joel's motive in writing it, it expressed how he felt. He played through the first verse and then headed to the second.

"So I listen for an answer
But the feeling seems to stay
And what's the use of always dreaming
When tomorrow is today

Still I'm waiting for the morning
But it feels so far away
And you don't need the love I'm giving
So tomorrow is today."

He skipped the weird gospel section in the middle. It had always seemed strange to him. He didn't understand the reason for it and it really didn't fit the rest of the song at all. It was like Billy Joel had forgotten what he was writing for a few seconds and then went back to it again. Instead, he just played some instrumental before getting back to the last part of the song.

"I don't care to know the hour
'Cause it's passing anyway
I don't have to see tomorrow
'Cause I saw it yesterday

Though I'm living and I'm singing
And although my hands still play
Soon enough it will all be over
'Cause tomorrow is today."

Then, he stopped and ran his fingers over the keys again.

He was startled by the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor. He looked up and saw Jack bringing a chair over to the piano. He set it down beside the bench and then sat and looked at Tony expectantly.

"You ready to talk about it, now?" he asked.

"No."

"You should."

"I know."

"What's the deal?" Jack asked.

Tony turned back to the piano and ran his fingers over the keys once again.

"I know what to do, but I don't know how to make the decision to do it." Tony sighed. "It's so easy here, even with all the chaos that was part of it. I always wanted to know who I am, but now that I do, I don't know if I can be that person. Tim says that I already am that person, but am I really?"

"I don't know. Are you?" Jack asked.

"I don't know."

"Come on, Joel... or rather, Tony. You said you know who you are. So were you a completely different person? Because I don't see much difference right now. You remember your life before and it doesn't seem to have changed you."

"What do you see?" Tony asked, looking at Jack again.

Again, that eyebrow raise that was so reminiscent of Gibbs.

"Please, Jack. Tell me what you see."

Jack looked at him for a long moment and then shrugged.

"I see a guy who thinks he's all that and a bag of chips, but at the same time, worries that he's not. He can talk his way out of pretty much anything. I see a guy who doesn't like having to be serious, but he will be if it's necessary. He has some real skills and he has the confidence to use them. Not everyone is like that. Some people can do things but they worry about showing it. I see a guy who is fine in a fight, but doesn't like his life to be hard. If he can make it easy, he will... even if it's the wrong choice. I also see a guy who is loyal to a fault. If he decides to be on your side, you can trust him all the way and then some. He wants to be completely independent, but he hates having to be alone. He needs people more than he wants to admit it."

Tony looked back at the piano.

"That's Joel. So... is Tony any different from that?"

Tony didn't answer.

"Come on, Tony. Is he?"

"Not really," he whispered.

"Then, you're not choosing who you are. Even when you forgot the details, you were the same person, more or less. You don't have to give up playing the piano or anything like that, but you'll have to give up this easy life. It's not really your life. It's a placeholder, and there's nothing wrong with acknowledging that. I'll have to get a new piano player, but that can be done."

"You could do it yourself," Tony said.

"Nope. We already had this discussion. I'm the owner. I have to be able to watch things and I'm a classical pianist, not an entertainer. I'll get some other wannabe star and he'll stick around for a while, getting gigs as he can until he either moves up or gives up. Most people aren't like you... but if there is another guy like you who needs the job and the security of it, even at the low pay I can offer, I'll help him out like I helped you. So I know what my plan is. What's yours?"

Tony didn't answer. Then, he was surprised when Jack patted him on the back.

"It's gonna be hard, Tony, but you can handle it. You just need to have the guts to deal with your life being hard for a while. It won't always be, but it probably will be to start. I don't see how this kind of thing could lead you to anything else."

"Neither do I," Tony admitted.

"Then, you need to figure out what you're going to do. And if you're honest with yourself, you'll admit that your plan really has to involve going back."

"Yeah."

"Why don't you want to?"

Tony smiled a little. "Because it'll be hard... because maybe I won't really be able to fit back into where I was before... because maybe I'll get back there and I'll really hate it."

"I hear quite a few maybes. Do you really think those are valid possibilities?"

"No."

"Okay, then. What's the real problem?"

Tony sighed again. "I really don't know. That's the problem. I know what the right answer is, but I'm afraid every time I think of doing it. And I know that I'm not usually like this. So... maybe this all happened for a reason. Maybe my life isn't supposed to be my life."

Jack actually took him by the shoulders and forced Tony to turn toward him.

"Tony, I hate to say it, but you're being stupid about this. It's not as hard as you're making it. You have a hard path ahead and you get yourself back into the life you lost, but... is there something else that's holding you back from at least trying?"

Tony really wasn't sure. He wasn't just pretending. He didn't know, but as Jack pressed him to think about it, what kept coming up in his mind was Tim, lying in a hospital bed, injured and worn out by what he'd been doing. ...and Tim lying in the dumpster, seemingly dead.

He looked Jack in the eye.

"What if I don't deserve it?"

"Deserve what? Being yourself?"

"Yeah."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"I... I abandoned Tim. He fell. I thought he was dead, and... and I know it wasn't a conscious choice I made to forget, but part of me must have wanted to escape from seeing Tim dead. If I hadn't let that happen..."

"What? Your friend spontaneously wouldn't have fallen?"

"No, but... but he was so afraid that he had done something wrong. He still doesn't remember that night. His injuries were so serious that... that he completely lost his memory. He spent months trying to recover, but he was so afraid for me that he put all that at risk. I don't know if I deserve that."

Jack shook his head. "No, Tony. The choices your friend made to find you aren't about what you deserve or don't deserve based on something that happened when you got shot. All that means was that he cared enough to ignore what was probably the best thing for him so that he could keep searching for you. People do that for other people all the time. I'm not saying it doesn't mean anything, but it does show how important you are. So instead of looking on what he did as evidence of your unworthiness, look at it like he must be. You matter that much."

"But I didn't always treat him very good. I teased him and I put him through stuff that I didn't need to. I pretended it was training but it really wasn't. I wanted to torment him and so I did."

"And?"

"And that was wrong."

"Tony, what you seem to be saying is that you weren't perfect in how you treated him and that means that, with what he did for you, you're somehow unworthy. Well, that's ridiculous. You know that's ridiculous. If Tim hated you, he wouldn't have done this much to find you."

Tony wasn't sure he wanted to think that way, either. It was what he had said he wanted. He wanted to know that he was somebody. At the very least, to Tim, he was.

"You can do whatever you want to try to find a way that the choice will be taken away from you, but it's not going to happen," Jack said. "Tony, go back to your life. Your real one."

Tony sighed.

"I'm going to go up to my apartment for a bit, okay?"

"Sure, okay."

Tony stood up from the piano and started to walk to the back of the bar.

Suddenly, he heard Jack start to play.

Billy Joel.

Tony recognized it right away. It was "Vienna". He wondered if Jack was actually going to sing. He had no idea if he could or not. He turned around.

And Jack started to sing.

"Slow down, you crazy child
You're so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you're so smart tell me,
Why are you still so afraid?

Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?
You better cool it off before you burn it out
You got so much to do and only
So many hours in a day."

His voice was okay. He could keep on pitch but it wasn't as good as his piano playing, and while Jack had claimed that he wasn't really a performer, he could play much more like Billy Joel than Tony could.

But the words struck him. If there was a Billy Joel song that more perfectly encapsulated what he was struggling with and advice he should take, he wasn't sure what it was. Then, Jack moved into an extremely impressive instrumental part. It was played by an accordion in the original recording but Tony didn't miss that at all, listening to Jack. Then, he moved into the final verse.

"And you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want or you can just get old
You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through (oooh)
Why don't you realize... Vienna waits for you?
When will you realize... Vienna waits for you?"

While Tony stood there wondering what to do about this, Jack finished the final instrumental lines with an amazing flourish. Then, he reverently put down the lid over the keyboard and turned around.

"If you hired someone to sing, you could totally perform," Tony said, softly. "That was amazing."

Jack smiled a little. "I'm not a performer. That was a message, not a performance. Are you going to get what you want, Tony? Or are you going to hang around this dead-end place and wait for something important to happen? Because it's not going to happen here. I'd have changed the words, but I don't think the meter is quite right. Your life isn't here. It's in D.C. and you know it."

Tony took a breath and let it out. He looked down at what he was wearing and realized that he hadn't really changed in two days.

"I need to shower," he said.

Jack laughed a little.

"Go ahead. Don't need to ask permission from me."

Tony smiled weakly and then went up to his apartment. When he got inside, he looked around. It was easy here. Crappy as it was, it was easy.

"Is this really what I want?" he asked himself.

And really, he didn't need to ask the question. He knew the answer without asking.

It was just a matter of having the guts to carry through on it.

Chapter Text

Chapter 34

Tony showered and changed his clothes, but then, he went back down to the bar, said good-bye to Jack and walked out to the police car where Langston was still waiting.

"Well?" he asked.

"Can you give me a ride one more time?" Tony asked.

Langston smiled. "Sure. Where to now?"

"Just back to the hospital."

"Can do."

"Thanks."

Tony got into the car and Langston started driving, but Tony noticed that he was getting some sidelong glances.

"So... can I ask?" Langston asked.

"Yeah."

"You're a cop."

"Yeah. Started out just as a regular detective. Moved around a lot. Then, got hired by NCIS," Tony said, staring out the windshield.

"Do you remember everything now?"

"I don't really know," Tony said. "I remember what I think about."

"That sounds a little weird, but I think I get what you're saying."

Tony smiled a little. "Good."

"So are you going back?"

"I have to."

"Well, technically, you don't," Langston said. "You haven't broken any laws, and you're a free citizen. You can do what you want... as long as it's legal."

"I know, but I still have to."

"Do you want to?"

"Depends on the second."

"Right this second?"

"Sort of."

"Well, I'll miss you at the bar, but you're doing the right thing. You deserve to get your life back. And if this isn't where you'd be if you had known who you were before, then, this isn't your life."

Tony hadn't ever really thought of it that way. Would he ever, in a million years, decide to come to L.A. to play in a dive bar? No. Never. This wasn't his life, not a life he ever would have chosen as Tony.

"Thanks, Langston," he said, softly.

The rest of the ride back to the hospital was silent.

When they arrived Tony took a deep breath and got out of the car. He walked into the hospital and back toward Tim's room. Gibbs was there, looking like he had taken up guard duty outside the room. That was totally like Gibbs. The danger was probably past. There were people they could trust on guard, but Gibbs would still be sitting there. Quietly, Tony walked over and sat down beside him.

For a few minutes, they were just sitting side by side without speaking. This felt amazingly normal.

Then...

"Boss?"

"Yeah?"

"Will I still have a job?"

"Yeah."

"I'll have to do something to go back it, won't I?"

"Yeah."

"But it's still possible?"

"Yeah."

Another period of silence, but Gibbs broke it this time.

"You're going to a shrink until you're ready."

Tony wanted to protest that, but he knew he needed it, so he said nothing.

"Something happened, DiNozzo. We're not letting it happen again."

"Okay."

Another pause.

"Glad you're coming back," Gibbs said.

"Thanks," Tony said. "When are we leaving?"

"Couple of days. I'm not leaving Tim here and the doc wants him to stay just to make sure that nothing happens with his head injury."

"Wouldn't want to leave without him," Tony said.

One more pause.

"It's gonna take time," Gibbs said.

"For what?"

"To feel normal. For people to act normal around you. For you to be able to act like yourself without wondering if you're doing it right. It all takes time. It can't happen quick. It won't happen quick. ...and it'll be better for everyone if you accept that and do it right."

"What's right?" Tony asked.

"You don't push it. You don't try to pretend it didn't happen."

"Like you did?" Tony asked, feeling a sudden surge of bitterness that took him by surprise. That had been a long time ago, but right at this moment, it felt very recent.

Gibbs must have noticed because he looked at Tony and raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Like I did. I tried to erase the time I was gone, pretend it never happened, and it hurt you and it hurt everyone. I just ignored it. Don't do that. Most of us could handle it even if we didn't like it, but Tim couldn't, not after everything he went through."

Tony looked away.

"And it wouldn't help you either."

Tony swallowed, took a breath and let it out.

"I thought it would be easier than this."

"It isn't. Can't be."

Which was basically what Ducky had said, too. And so had Jack. In fact, the only one who hadn't was Tim. Or had he, too? Regardless, Tony knew he was wrong in expecting it, but he wished he had been right.

"You feel like talking to anyone back in DC?" Gibbs asked.

"No."

"Can't avoid them forever."

"But I can avoid them right now. I'd rather wait until I can see them at least."

"Okay."

Tony took another breath.

"Do you know if Tim's awake now?"

"Might be. Ducky's with him."

"Okay." Tony stood up and then paused for a moment. "I really wish none of this had happened."

"So do I," Gibbs said.

Tony nodded and went into Tim's room again. Tim was awake this time and when he looked toward the door, Tony saw an expression of deep relief cross his face. Had no one told him where Tony had gone?

Then, that concern was laid to rest.

"Ah, welcome back, Anthony. You see, Timothy? I said he would be back once he finished his task."

Tim managed to look a little embarrassed, but he looked at Tony again.

"What were you doing?" he asked.

"Playing the piano and talking to Jack," Tony said. Then, he thought about whether or not he should just make it explicit for Tim. Yes, he should. "Had to tell him that he's going to need to find a new piano player."

Tim hesitated. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yeah. This isn't my life here, even if it is one I chose. I didn't choose it when I knew who I was. I wouldn't have done this if I hadn't forgotten." He swallowed hard as his throat tightened. "Tim... I would never have left you there. It was only... They were shooting and then... I didn't remember."

"I know."

"And, Tim, you wouldn't have left me the way I was if you could have done something."

Tim's eyes slid away from him.

"I'm serious, Tim," Tony said. "I know you did all this to find me and I'm glad you did, but you didn't have anything to make up for. You did everything you should have done. All that happened was that you tripped when I pushed you. If the railing hadn't been rusted, you would have been fine and we probably would have got away... or if we didn't, we would have both been found. This whole thing was just everything going wrong."

"As we all have been saying," Ducky interjected, gently. "No one was to blame... except for those who were trying to kill you, of course. We all need to set aside the past and focus on healing. We can't if we keep living in a single moment."

"When are we leaving?" Tim asked.

"When Dr. Bates lets you go," Tony said. "Not until then."

"Oh." Tim fidgeted for a moment. "When will that be?"

"Gibbs said it would be another day or two."

"Why so long?" Tim asked.

"Probably because he wants to be sure that you're not developing a slow bleed after your recent head injury," Ducky said. "And you still look more than a little strained. The more forced rest you get, the better you'll be..." he paused significantly. "...physically, at least."

Tim looked down at his lap. Whatever Ducky was referring to, Tim had got the message.

"But before we go, I'm going to play one last night at the bar, but I want you all to be there when I do. You need to see me perform just once," Tony said. This hadn't really been in his mind, but as soon as he said it, he knew it was right. He needed the representatives of his real life to be there, seeing him say farewell to his new life, the placeholder that he was giving up.

"That sounds like a delightful idea, Anthony," Ducky said. "In fact, I'll go and speak to Dr. Bates and see if he can give us a definite day for Timothy's release. That way your employer will be able to plan accordingly."

Ducky got up and left the room. Tony walked over and sat down by Tim who still seemed to feel a little awkward. Tony wasn't sure how to get around that. He knew what his old self would have done, but he also knew that it would be the wrong choice. After the last year, Tim had changed, as much or perhaps more than Tony had. Teasing wouldn't help in this instance.

Tony glanced at Tim who was studiously not looking at him. "Tim?"

"Yeah?" Tim asked, still not looking at him.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?"

That got Tim's attention and he looked at Tony as if he'd suddenly sprouted horns.

"What?"

"Can I help you in some way?"

Tim swallowed and he looked back down at his lap and shook his head.

"No. I just have to lie here in bed until the doctor lets me go. I'm not doing anything."

"That's not the kind of help I meant," Tony said.

"Then, what did you mean?"

"I mean... well, with all the stuff going on in your head right now."

Still no eye contact.

"What is it that you think you could do?" Tim asked.

"Well... given what I remember as being my usual track record, probably not much. But after everything you've gone through for me, I'd like to return the favor, even if I'd utterly fail at it. I just hate seeing you so beat down. You shouldn't ever feel that way."

"It'll pass," Tim whispered.

"When?" Tony asked. "I mean... it's been almost a year, hasn't it? When is it going to pass?"

"I don't know."

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to quit?"

That finally got Tim to look at him again.

"What?"

"Would you quit NCIS?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because... this whole thing was really bad for both of us. I'm afraid that you will."

"If I did?"

"I don't know if I could manage," Tony admitted. "Tim... I hate to say this, but going back scares me. Even though I know it. Even though it's where I belong. Even though I'm remembering this stuff. It still scares me, and what I really want is for everything to be as much like it was as possible. Just so that I can figure out how to fit in again. It's going to be a while before I'm back at work. Gibbs said I have to keep seeing a shrink. I'm going to have to recertify with a gun since it's been so long. I'm guessing I'll have to get a psych evaluation after all this. It'll be a while, but I figure it'll be a while for you, too. I just want to know that when I go back to my desk, you'll be at yours... so I won't have to figure out a new person as well as myself."

"It won't be like it was, Tony," Tim said, finally. "I want that, too, but things have changed. I've changed. It can't be like it was."

"I don't care. I've changed, too. I can't just go back to how I was. I've been living... a different life for close to a year. Those experiences don't just go away. But I can make it as easy as possible... and that means getting back to things as close to how they were as they can be. I know it won't be the same, Tim, but I need something."

Tim went back to staring at his lap. Slowly, he began to run his hands back and forth across the blanket.

"Are you sure it wasn't my fault that all this happened to us?"

"Positive. I remember that night, Tim. Now, I remember."

"I don't. I probably never will."

"I know. That's the worst thing. You don't remember. You wanted to get us out of there. You were worried about something going wrong. I was determined to find something and I pushed the limits of what I should have done. And I wouldn't let you do what I knew you were better at doing. Then, when they started shooting at us, I pushed you too fast out the window. You tripped because you were afraid of going out on the fire escape. I should have gone out first and dragged you out after me, but I was thinking that you needed to get out since it was probably my fault that they'd traced us there. I won't ever forget seeing you fall."

"You did, though," Tim said, still moving his hands back and forth on the blanket.

Tony forced himself to smile, even if Tim couldn't see it. "No, I didn't. I dreamed about it, nearly every night. Even when I didn't remember what was happening, I remembered seeing you fall. That was the worst thing about it. I won't ever forget that."

There was a long silence.

"I'm scared, too," Tim whispered, almost inaudibly.

Tony wondered if that was the first time Tim had ever actually admitted it.

"Of what?" he asked, keeping his voice soft and non-confrontational.

"I'm scared of ever being in that situation again. I'm scared of not really healing. I'm scared of how I feel all the time, like I'm always... failing. I'm scared that things will never be normal again."

Tony reached out and grabbed Tim's arm, stopping him from rubbing the blanket. He didn't resist.

"I'm scared of that, too, Tim," he said.

Tim looked up at him.

"So what do we do?"

Tony smiled. "We go back and do our best to make things normal... even if the normal has to be a little bit changed. What do you say?"

Tim looked a little teary, but he managed to smile as well.

"Okay."

Chapter Text

Chapter 35

Three days later...

Tony wasn't sure he'd ever felt as nervous as he did today. ...maybe on his first day of playing in the bar, but there was a sense of anticipation as well. This meant something to him. It meant a lot to him, and it was the end of one stage and the beginning of another. So it really did mean something.

He'd seen the sign when he'd left the bar that morning. Jack had put it in the window of the bar (The Piano Man's last performance. Come and say good-bye to Joel!). It was far too appropriate. He himself was saying good-bye to Joel. One final serenade. He smiled to himself at the thought. Tonight, the set was all his, and it would be all Billy Joel.

One last time.

He walked into the hospital. Tim was supposed to be released and they were going from the hospital to the bar. Tony didn't know what Gibbs had done to keep people from insisting on talking to him before going back to DC, but he was grateful for it. He wanted to focus on what was here and finishing up what he had here before going back.

With Captain Blaine and his cronies in the process of being extradited back to Norfolk, Tony felt a measure of relief and relaxation. The evidence was in the hands of NCIS and the police. He was out of it. Tim was out of it. It was possible that they'd be called on to testify when the time came, but that was fine. It wouldn't be anytime soon. They could focus on their own healing rather than the case. That was important simply because the case itself had been so traumatic for them both.

As he walked into Tim's room, he was surprised to see Tim dressed and just getting into a wheelchair, with Dr. Bates giving one last lecture.

"Now, just because you're getting released does not mean that you're fully recovered, Agent McGee. When you get back to DC, I want you to go to your doctor for a full checkup to make sure that things are still going well. You need to rest and relax as much as is possible. Understood?"

"Yeah, I understand," Tim said.

Tim was looking a lot better, but when he saw Tony, there was still that tinge of relief in his expression as if he fully expected Tony to disappear again every time he left the room.

"Hey," Tony said. "Ready to go?"

"Yes. I'm being set free," Tim said.

Dr. Bates tsk-ed at Tim but he smiled a little as well. Then, he turned his attention to Tony.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm okay," Tony said. He'd been talking to Dr. Snarr over the last couple of days and he genuinely was okay. Maybe not stellar or anything, but he was okay.

"Good. You're going to keep meeting with someone when you get back to DC?"

"Yeah. Gibbs is making me and Ducky is getting recommendations."

"Excellent. Then, I have no choice but to let the both of you leave. Congratulations on being among my strangest patients."

It was a testament to what just three days of real rest had done for Tim that he was able to smile at that. Was he perfect? Far from it, but he might have achieved okay as Tony had.

"Do you have a ride?" Dr. Bates asked.

"Yeah. Gibbs and Ducky will be getting us," Tony said.

"All right, then, you are officially discharged, Agent McGee."

"Thanks."

Tony took hold of the wheelchair handles and pushed Tim out of the room.

"I wasn't lying, was I?" Tony asked.

Tim laughed a little.

"No, you weren't. If we go out the main entrance, they should be there."

"Okay, good."

When they got out of the hospital, Gibbs and Ducky were not there, but Tim didn't seem worried, so Tony tried not to worry as well.

"I thought we were just going to meet you at the bar," Tim said after a few silent seconds.

"I had some time. Jack doesn't like me to start playing too early, and the regulars won't be around for about an hour."

Tim craned his neck a little.

"You're going to miss this, aren't you."

"A little," Tony admitted. "You know me. I like performing...and if people enjoy my performance, too, that's all the better. I got to know the regulars a little bit. I got to know Jack. I really lucked out in ending up at his bar. He acts stern and hard but he's soft as mush inside. I'm going to miss him."

"Will you come back here?"

"Yeah," Tony said. "But probably not for a while. I need to get back to my real life and I can't do that if I keep coming back here. But eventually, I will. It's not like I can't keep in touch even just with a phone call."

Suddenly, Tim straightened in the wheelchair and pulled out his phone. Then, he pulled out his wallet and got a business card out. He dialed a number all while Tony was watching in confusion.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing?"

And for the first time in who knew how long, Tim smiled. It was a real smile.

"I'm calling Cadillac Mama," he said and his smile widened to a grin.

"What?"

Tim just waved his hand and then appeared to be listening.

"Hey, Cadillac Mama," he said.

"Put it on speaker," Tony said. "I gotta hear this."

Tim nodded and suddenly, there was a Texas drawl coming out of Tim's phone.

"–and I didn't really think you'd call."

"I told you I would," Tim said.

"So you solved your mystery?"

"Yes. I found my friend. He was in L.A. and we're heading back to DC tomorrow."

"Any details you can give?"

Tim looked at Tony and raised a questioning eyebrow, and Tony understood. Tim didn't want to share out details that Tony might find uncomfortable.

"How about hearing from the man himself," Tony said, finally.

"Ah, the mystery man."

"That's me, I guess."

"So he really did find you. Are you glad he did?"

"Yeah. I needed to be found. That's what I was doing in L.A. ...I was trying to find myself, but I wasn't succeeding."

"Well, if anyone could find you, it would be Tim. I never saw someone so determined. And how are you doing? You weren't looking your best when I saw you before."

"I'm okay, Jill. How are the grandkids?" Tim said with a grin.

"Ha. I know what you're doing. I'm glad you let me know the end of the story... or at least the end of a part of the story. I'll bet it's not the real end. You be good to yourself, you hear?"

"Will do. Thanks again, Cadillac Mama."

"You're welcome," Jill said, chuckling. "10-4."

"10-4."

Then, Tim hung up.

"Okay, what was that?" Tony asked, just glad to see Tim looking like a normal person for the first time in a while.

Tim's smile changed a little but it didn't vanish. "When I got to Amarillo, I had no idea which truck stop you might have been at and so I started making the rounds of all of them. Jill noticed me after I'd been in her stop a number of times and she came over and started asking me about what I was doing. She remembered seeing you and what truck you got in."

"Cadillac Mama?" Tony asked.

"Her CB handle. Cadillac Ranch is right there, so I guess she figured it would be appropriate. She's a lot like Jack sounds. She's a tough cookie, but she also was just back from a vacation to see her grandkids."

Tony laughed. "Yeah, I see."

"I promised her that I'd find some way to let her know what happened, and I just remembered." Then, Tim looked to the side. "And here's our ride."

"Good."

Gibbs and Ducky pulled up to the curb beside them.

"Are you ready to go?" Ducky asked.

"Yes," Tim said.

He stood up himself, but Tony noticed that he was still moving carefully, but at least he was walking around. Gibbs stayed behind the wheel, but Ducky fussed over getting Tim into the car and then he fussed over Tony getting settled as well.

Then, they were off. Tony could feel his nerves returning as they neared the bar, but he tried to ignore that and focus on the fact that he was going to get to play one last time. He was glad to be able to do it. He wasn't dreading it at all.

"Are you prepared, Anthony?"

"Yeah. I'm always prepared, and after eight months of this, I can do it."

"I must admit that I'm excited to see your performance. I've never had the opportunity before," Ducky said.

"I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will."

When they arrived on the block where the bar was, Gibbs had to let them off at the bar and then go searching for a parking space. There was no on-street parking available, but Tim couldn't walk very far. So they all got out and Ducky promised to save Gibbs a seat.

The bar was bustling as was usual for a Friday night. Jack saw him as soon as he came in and he made his way over to the table where Tim and Ducky were sitting.

"Are you ready? They've already been asking," Jack said.

"I'm ready."

"Good. You need anything?" Jack asked Tim and Ducky.

"Oh, you guys have got to get the nachos," Tony said. "They're great."

"I think we can manage that," Ducky said.

"I'm still... recovering," Tim said. "I'd better not drink anything."

"Probably wise," Ducky said. "Would it be inappropriate for us all to avoid alcohol for the evening? I know some bars require purchasing alcoholic drinks."

"Even if I had that rule, I wouldn't enforce it tonight," Jack said. "I'll make sure you all get a club soda?"

"That will be sufficient, thank you," Ducky said.

Jack went off to the bar.

"He's a lot friendlier this time," Tim said.

"He knows who you are this time," Tony said.

Gibbs walked into the bar and joined them.

"We're getting nachos," Tim said.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

"They're worth it. I promise," Tony said. "I'd better go and warm up."

He headed for the piano and started out with instrumental, as was his usual. He played "Mexican Connection" and "Root Beer Rag" and he heard people quieting down for a moment. He leaned forward.

"This is my last night here. You'll have to get used to something other than Billy Joel," he said.

The patrons laughed.

"Where you headed, Joel?"

Tony almost corrected the name, but decided not to. He could be Joel for one last night.

"I'm going home. I came here looking for where I belonged and I realized that home was where I belong."

"Where's home?"

"D.C., but for my local fans, this one's for you," Tony said and he started playing "Los Angelenos" and the patrons laughed. He'd played it before as a teasing for his fans. Some sang along with him and when he finished, they applauded.

"Sing us a song, Piano Man!" another patron shouted out.

Tony smiled and looked at Jack who just rolled his eyes as he set a large plate of nachos at the table where Tim, Ducky and Gibbs were sitting.

He started playing the familiar chords of "Piano Man" and there was loud applause.

"I expect you to sing along on the chorus," he said.

Then, he started to sing.

"It's nine o'clock on a Saturday.
The regular crowd shuffles in.
There's an old man sitting next to me,
Makin' love to his tonic and gin."

It seemed like the whole bar started singing along with the chorus. As he looked around at the patrons, he was surprised to see Tim singing along. Ducky and Gibbs weren't, but they may not really know the words. Tony smiled and felt buoyed up by the support he was getting.

He played through the whole song, thinking about how different he felt right now, compared to how he had felt about the song the last time he'd played it. He got to the last verse.

"It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday
And the manager gives me a smile
'Cause he knows that it's me they've been comin' to see
To forget about life for a while."

"And the piano it sounds like a carnival
And the microphone smells like a beer
And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar
And say man what are you doin' here?"

And again, it seemed like the whole bar joined in to sing that last line. Then, it was into the final chorus.

"Sing us a song, you're the piano man.
Sing us a song tonight.
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feeling alright."

He finished the song with a flourish and then he stood and bowed at the raucous applause. Then, he sat back down and started playing again. This song was just for fun. When he'd heard it, he had really enjoyed the staccato introduction and there was almost a playful tone to it, even with the subject of being emotionally manipulated.

A couple of people in the bar knew the song and they provided a kind of impromptu percussion to back him up.

"When she says she wants forgiveness
It's such a clever masquerade
She's so good with her stiletto
You don't even see the blade
You don't see the blade."

He kept going through the song and enjoyed playing the instrumental part in the middle. He couldn't have a saxophone, of course, but he imagined it as he played. Then, he repeated the same staccato before heading into the third verse. Then, he repeated the staccato once more with his "drummers" helping him out. When he finished, he turned around.

"Special thanks to my percussionists!"

More applause.

He played a few more songs and then took his usual break and walked over to the table.

"I'm going to finish the night. You guys don't have to stay the whole time if you don't want to," he said.

"Oh, don't be silly, Anthony," Ducky said. "I haven't been in an establishment like this in years. It's a joy to experience and to see all those you have entertained. I must admit that I had no idea you were so well-versed in Billy Joel's music. Much of it I'm not familiar with."

Tony smiled a little. "Well, when I started, I didn't know it either."

"Of course. Regardless, we will stay until the end, even if some of us might get tired and I won't say who."

Tony laughed and then walked to the bar to get a drink. Jack was there, as usual. Sanchez gave him his usual water.

"You're doing the right thing," Jack said. "I know you're worried about leaving, but you don't sing the same way as you did before. This is right."

"Thanks, Jack."

"And you sound pretty good."

"That must have been hard to admit."

Jack rolled his eyes and gestured.

"Get back to work."

Tony laughed and walked back to the piano with his glass of water. He sat down and played a few more numbers before he felt that he could start doing the songs that meant the most to him. They wouldn't all be obvious, but he felt them all the same.

The first was an up-tempo song, "I Go to Extremes." Some of the lyrics weren't quite how he felt, but he felt the chorus.

"I don't know why I go to extremes.
Too high or too low, there ain't no in betweens.
You can be sure when I'm gone
I won't be out there too long.
Darlin', I don't know why I go to extremes."

He still couldn't explain to himself why all this had happened, but it had and he just needed to navigate his way through. The song was fun to play and people got into it. Then, he switched gears very abruptly and sang "Until the Night" and then, "Summer, Highland Falls" again. When he looked over at the table, he could see Tim looked tired, but he was mouthing the words to the song as Tony played and sang. Why that song had touched Tim in particular, Tony didn't know, but he could tell it meant something to him.

But as he sang, Tony knew he couldn't keep on this track. People enjoyed his slower songs, but he still needed to entertain, even as he worked through his own thoughts and feelings about the coming departure. So he moved into some other songs like "Zanzibar" and "Big Shot" and "Still Rock and Roll to Me." It was getting late, the bar was quieting down, and for his penultimate song, Tony decided to change things up one more time and play "Through the Long Night."

He hoped that Tim would hear this one and that it would mean something to him. This wasn't one of Billy Joel's more popular songs, but that didn't matter.

"Two songs to go. Stay awake through this one and the last one will be worth it," Tony said.

"Why? Is it not Billy Joel?"

"Ha. Never. No, it's one I've been saving. Never performed here and I saved it for my very last song. I knew I'd have to move on eventually, and I had to have something to play when I left. But this one first."

Then, Tony started to play.

"The cold hands
The sad eyes
The dark Irish silence
It's so late
But I'll wait
Through the long night with you
With you"

Tony glanced over a couple of times as he played and went through the other verses. Tim was listening intently. Tony could tell he'd never heard the song before, but after all that they'd both been through, this was an important sentiment that they both felt for each other, that willingness to be there when needed.

And it's so late
But I'll wait
Through the long night with you
With you."

The applause was more thoughtful and muted. Billy Joel had said once that he'd written the song when he had spent the night with someone who was really struggling with life and that person had ended up trusting him enough to fall asleep, and Billy had just stayed the night, being the support the person had needed. He hadn't ever identified the person, only that it was someone he knew. However, the feeling of quiet support was there all through the song and Tony hoped that Tim heard it.

"And now, this will change things up one last time, but this is my final performance, final songs, no encores."

And Tony launched into the song that he'd never performed, because he'd never felt that it was time.

It was time now.

"Sitting here in Avalon
Looking at the pouring rain
Summertime has come and gone
And everybody's home again

Closing down for the season
I found the last of the souvenirs
I can still taste the wedding cake
And it's sweet after all these years

These are the last words I have to say
That's why this took so long to write
There will be other words some other day
But that's the story of my life."

As he launched into the second verse, he could feel the change in the bar. This wasn't his place anymore. Somehow, through the course of singing this song, he was saying good-bye to Joel and really letting him go. He moved into a bridge and then a short instrumental section and into the end of the song.

"And these are the last words I have to say
It's always hard to say goodbye
But now it's time to put this book away
And that's the story of my life."

Tony felt a little choked up as he sang those words. It was the right thing to do. It was necessary, but it was hard to say good-bye to this part of his life. Still, that didn't mean the story was over, just that this part was finished. He continued.

These are the last words I have to say
That's why it took so long to write
There will be other words some other day
Ain't that the story of my life!"

Then, he did a last instrumental section and ended the song. Even with how late it was, the bar exploded with applause and Tony stood and bowed to his appreciative audience. He knew that their standards weren't really high. He wasn't the greatest performer out there, but he had been good enough for what they wanted.

"All right, last call. Closing time," Jack said.

Tony stretched a bit, accepted good wishes from a few who weren't really drunk. Then, he walked over to the three who were there waiting to take him home. Tim looked very tired, but Gibbs and Ducky were both alert as he approached.

"Well, Anthony?" Ducky asked.

Tony nodded. "I'm ready to go home," he said.

Chapter Text

Chapter 36

Tim woke up with a start. He looked at the clock and was surprised that it was only about four a.m. With how tired he'd been for so long, he was surprised to awaken early. He'd only slept for about three hours.

But now that he was awake, he lay there, thinking about Tony's performance. There was no question that he had enjoyed himself... and there was no question that he was good at it. Every song he had played had been done well. If Tony wasn't quite Billy Joel, he was definitely still good.

Was it wrong for him to give all that up?

Tim couldn't deny that Tony had been clear that this was his last performance, that he was going back, that he needed to go back.

But should he? Did he really want to?

Tim sat up and was no longer sleepy in the slightest. He was now worried that he'd done the wrong thing, that by finding Tony he was ruining something. Was it stupid? Probably. But he still couldn't set it aside. His mind had now settled on the possibility that he had ruined something. He tried to stay quiet. He was sharing Ducky's hotel room, and Tony was sharing with Gibbs. Tony and Gibbs were right next door. Tim didn't want to disturb anyone with his stupidity.

Worrying about something he knew he probably didn't need to worry about, Tim drew his knees to his chest and rested his head on his knees. Could nothing in his life be without complications anymore? It felt like every time he thought things were going to settle down, something exploded in his face. Yesterday, things had felt like they were settling.

Now, they had exploded once again.

And it wasn't even that he didn't realize it was probably just in his own mind. Tim was aware of it. It just didn't matter. He was worried whether he should be or not. He closed his eyes and tried to think calming thoughts.

He failed.

Tim didn't know how long he sat there, but he just couldn't settle down.

Then, a hand on his arm startled him and he sat up with a muffled exclamation.

"Timothy, what's wrong?"

Tim let out a whoosh of air and then dropped his head back to his knees.

"Nothing, Ducky. I'm just stupid is all. I'm sorry if I woke you up."

"I'm not sure what awakened me, actually. I don't sleep nearly as deeply as I used to. What has led you to decide that you're stupid? I've seen nothing to indicate that."

"That's because you can't see into my brain, Ducky. That's where the stupidity is."

"Timothy, what's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Timothy, remember that sharing how you feel is important. You needn't feel that you're a burden."

Tim sat up. "Ducky, Tony sounded really good, didn't he."

"Yes. I was amazed at his ability to perform. Even without a high degree of skill at the piano, he can sing and he can convince his audience to follow along with what he wants them to hear. I was most impressed."

"He was good, and people enjoyed what he was singing. He enjoyed playing. Was I wrong to insist that he should come back with us? Does he belong here?"

Tim was surprised to see a tolerant, if somewhat sad smile on Ducky's face.

"Oh, Timothy. What will it take for you to accept that not everything you do is wrong or not enough? I had thought that your definite success in finding Anthony might be enough to break through this mindset."

Tim looked back at his knees.

"You have done nothing wrong, Timothy. Please, don't let yourself turn this moment that should be one of joy into another opportunity to question yourself. Anthony is returning because he himself knows that it's what he should do. He made this choice himself. And you made it possible for the choice to be made at all."

Tim sighed and rested his head on his knees.

"I told you, Ducky. I'm just stupid. I don't know why this keeps happening, but once I think of it, I can't think of anything else. It just... takes over my brain and... and that's all there is."

Then, there it was again, the dreaded comforting arm around his shoulders.

"That's why, when we get back, you will resume your therapy. You are in need of it, something that can break through this mental loop you seem to be stuck in. Once you started your search for Anthony, you were away from that help and you desperately need it. Perhaps not in the same way that Anthony does, but you both are in need of assistance in getting through your challenges."

Reluctantly, Tim let himself lean on Ducky instead of pulling away.

"I hate feeling like this all the time," he confessed.

"Then, we'll help you avoid it," Ducky said, firmly. "For now, instead of dwelling on your dour thoughts, why don't we talk about how good Anthony's performance was?"

"Aren't you tired, Ducky? You don't need to stay awake for this."

"Not so tired that I can't help a friend in his struggles. Our flight is not early. We can still sleep as we need it. Now, which of Anthony's songs did you enjoy the most?"

"Uh... I don't know," Tim said.

"Then, think about it," Ducky said, encouragingly.

Tim took a breath and nodded. "They were all good. I'm not as big a fan of Billy Joel as Tony is, but the songs were good. I really like 'Summer, Highland Falls'. I heard it for the first time while I was looking for him and I always liked it."

"That is a lovely song and it's clear that Anthony likes it as well. I quite enjoyed his performance of 'Piano Man' since that is apparently how the patrons referred to him. He seemed to be having a good time playing it. It was almost a form of teasing. He liked having the patrons sing along with him."

Tim smiled and nodded. He relaxed a little.

"He said he's a performer," he said.

"Indeed, he is," Ducky said, smiling as well. "I didn't know that song in which a couple of patrons acted as percussionists. Did you?"

Tim shook his head. "No. I didn't, but he had fun with that one, too. But some of the songs weren't about having fun."

"No. I'd wager that some he sang meant a lot to him. The final song he played about his last words. That was more than a performance. That was his farewell. His way of letting go and he did it very well. A hint of the bittersweet, but overall, a willingness to move on to the next stage of his life."

"Move on or move back?" Tim asked.

"Move on," Ducky repeated. "There is no truly going back. After all that happened, we have all been changed permanently. Even with Anthony returning home, it won't truly be going back. It will be moving forward."

"Yeah."

"And there's nothing wrong with that," Ducky said. "It's important to understand that our lives are always in a state of change. Sometimes the changes are dramatic, sometimes, painful. But change is a part of life. Your changes weren't what anyone would have wanted, but they still happened. Perhaps you could take a page from Anthony's book."

"What do you mean?"

"I believe he sang that it was time to put the book away. Perhaps what you need to do is put away the book of these last months and focus on what's coming next in your life. It doesn't make the events cease to exist, but it allows you to think of other things."

Tim knew that Ducky was right. It was just so hard to think about it that way.

"And for now, Timothy..."

"Yeah?"

"It would be best for you to try to get some more sleep. I'm sure you're tired."

"Yeah."

Ducky patted him on the back.

"Then, try it and rest easy, knowing that you have done the best possible for your friend. Anthony now has the chance to return to his life... because of you."

Tim looked down. He didn't know how to respond to that.

Another pat on the back and Ducky stood.

"Perhaps someday, you will be able to accept that."

"Perhaps," Tim whispered. Then, he lay down.

It was quiet in the room again. Tim wasn't sure he could sleep, even now.

"Timothy, Anthony is embracing this chance he has. You should do the same."

Tim heard, but he didn't respond. Instead, he rolled over and tried to sleep.

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

Tony woke up and, for a moment, wasn't sure where he was. The sun was shining brightly and the bed he was lying on was soft and much larger than the one he'd been sleeping on. He opened his eyes and sat up quickly, looking around.

The hotel. Oh, yeah.

"You all right?"

He turned again and saw Gibbs just coming out of the bathroom.

"Yeah. I just..." Tony paused and realized that he was reluctant to use the word forgot. Forgetting meant far more than a momentary lapse in memory. It meant total loss. But what other word could he use in its place? The pause became too long.

"...forgot where you were?" Gibbs finished for him.

"Yeah."

"It's all right. Happens."

"Yeah. Seems a little more serious now, for some reason."

Gibbs smiled slightly.

"You did good last night."

Tony found he could smile at that.

"Thanks, Boss. Had to say good-bye in my own way."

"Nothing wrong with that, either."

Tony took a breath.

"I know I asked this already, but I have to ask again. Is this going to work? Me coming back? Can I really do it?"

"You can. Your choice about whether or not you will," Gibbs said.

"I'll try."

"Good."

"What'll happen first?"

Gibbs' smile returned. "You'll get on a plane."

Tony rolled his eyes.

"That might be the hardest part," Gibbs said.

"Yeah, maybe."

"Then, you get a shrink and you work on it. ...and you let Tim help you."

"What?" Tony asked. "When he has all this stuff he needs to work on? He doesn't need to deal with trying to help me get my head on straight, too."

"It'll help him. Let him help you some of the way and you'll help him some of the way."

Reluctantly, Tony nodded.

"Okay."

"For now, we get breakfast."

"Okay."

Tony went into the bathroom to get ready and he looked at himself in the mirror.

And he knew who he saw there. It wasn't a stranger looking at him. He didn't feel like he had felt at the beginning of this when he had hated to see himself simply because he didn't know who he was. He didn't even feel that dislocation about which life he should be experiencing. Now, he knew.

He was Tony DiNozzo... and more importantly, he was getting back to knowing who Tony was.

And if he needed to help Tim make those same strides, then, he would. It was the only way that he could really express his gratitude.

He quickly finished getting ready and then went down to the continental breakfast with Gibbs. Ducky and Tim were already there, and while Tim still didn't look his best, his smile when he greeted them was close to a real one without that tinge of relief that Tony hadn't run off in the night.

"So... what's good?" Tony asked.

"Everything is okay," Tim said, sounding almost normal, too.

"I see you got your sugar fix," Tony said, eyeing Tim's plate.

Tim actually grinned. "I've been told to eat more."

"I'll bet they didn't mean sugary cereals and glazed doughnuts."

"They never specified."

Tony chuckled and then went around to get his own breakfast. When he came back, they all ate for a bit, mostly in silence, but then, Ducky and Gibbs simultaneously remembered something back in the rooms that they needed to get. So they left Tony and Tim sitting at the table, finishing their meals.

"Tony... um... you sounded really good last night," Tim said awkwardly. "I was tired but I really was listening and it was good."

Tony smiled. "Thanks."

"Are you sure you want to leave this?"

"Want to? I don't know. Need to? Yeah. This isn't my life. It's the life I created in the empty space in my brain. Now that I know what belongs in that space, it's time to take that life out."

"Are you sure you're not just saying that because you know that's what people expect?"

Tony raised an eyebrow. Tim was trying not to look him quite in the eye. Not a full avoidance of eye contact but not really looking at him. And Tony was starting to see what Gibbs had meant. If Tony really needed Tim to stick around just to help things be more normal for him, Tim needed to know that Tony really did want to do what he was doing.

"Oh, come on," he said, forcing a little more confidence than he felt. "When have I ever done things just because people expect me to? I'm usually the one trying to be difficult."

Tim still seemed worried. Tony could see that simply being upbeat wasn't going to do it.

"Tim, I already thanked you for finding me. I meant it. My only issue is that I know it's going to be hard and I don't want it to be. I want it to be easy, but it's not. So I'm going to have to work on that. And if it isn't too wimpy of me to say it... I need you to be there to help me, and more than that, I really want to have you there. Tim, every time I see you, I get to see again that you didn't really die like I kept dreaming you did... like I thought when I saw you fall. It helps to know it didn't happen like I thought it did."

Tim actually looked at him.

"I'm serious, Tim," Tony said. "I really mean what I'm saying. We're both going back and we're both going to be leaning on each other. ...and that's okay."

"I'm not very good at leaning," Tim said, finally, smiling a little bit.

"You just need practice. I think we'll both get plenty of it."

"Maybe."

"Definitely," Tony said. He hesitated for a moment, knowing how loaded this statement could be. "We were each other's backup before. We still will be now."

"You sure you trust me to do that?" Tim asked.

"Positive. What do you say?"

Another pause. Then, Tim's smile widened slightly.

"As long as I don't have to be your backup singer."

Tony laughed. "Nope. I promise. I'm a soloist."

"Okay."

Ducky and Gibbs miraculously reappeared and they checked out of the hotel and headed for the airport. Tony felt more than a little bit sad at leaving the good people he'd met here, but as Billy Joel had sung, the words had been spoken already, but unlike Billy, Tony knew where he was going and he knew why.

Tomorrow would be extremely different from yesterday.

They got on the plane and Tony tried to relax in the seat as he came closer and closer to getting back into the life he'd lost before.

Gibbs had said it might be hard getting onto the plane. He was wrong. It was staying on the plane that was hard. There was a big part of him that really wanted to run off the plane and back to the bar where he knew exactly what he'd get.

He was sitting next to Tim who was in the window seat. Gibbs and Ducky were across the aisle.

"Hey, Tim. Mind trading me places?" Tony asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Huh?" Tim asked. His eyes were looking a little droopy already.

"Mind if we trade seats?" Tony repeated. Then, he lied. "I just want to get a last look at Los Angeles as we take off."

"Oh... sure. That's fine," Tim said.

Tony stood up and moved out into the aisle and let Tim step out. Then, he sat down in the seat by the window and Tim sat next to him. Effectively trapped in the row, Tony actually felt a little better. He couldn't just start running. He'd have to stay where he was. And he really did want to. It just made him feel better if he was a little hemmed in. He exhaled and looked out the window.

"You okay?" Tim asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay, Tim," Tony said.

He tried to pay attention to the safety information, but he was distracted by the door closing and the plane starting to taxi. He could feel himself getting more and more tense as the reality of what was happening became more and more apparent.

I don't know if I can do this, Tony thought to himself.

Then, as the plane stopped and the pilot announced they were next in line for takeoff, Tony suddenly felt a hand on his arm. He looked over and saw Tim smiling.

"It's going to be okay, Tony," Tim said, softly.

Tony felt some surprise and he knew it showed.

"I know how you're feeling. You can do it."

"You sure about that?" Tony asked.

"Positive."

The plane started to roll forward, quickly picking up speed as it started to take off. Tony still felt tense, and Tim kept his hand on Tony's arm.

Tony felt the liftoff, but more than that, he felt the support Tim was giving him, support that had nothing to with Tony being trapped by the window and everything to do with that simple physical contact, keeping him connected. Tony needed that. As the plane reached cruising altitude, Tim's hand was still there and Tony finally took a breath.

"Thanks, Tim," he said.

"You're welcome."

Then, Tim leaned his seat back a little and his eyes closed. Tony realized that Tim had stayed awake just to help him.

"Thanks, Tim," he whispered again.

Maybe sleep was what he needed right now. Instead of focusing on the worry of what might happen in D.C., he closed his eyes and tried to relax.

And he slept.

Chapter Text

Epilogue

Three months later...

"Agent DiNozzo, Agent McGee, Director Vance will see you now," Pamela said, looking at them both.

Tony and Tim exchanged glances and then nodded. They stood and walked into Vance's office. After months of therapy and, for Tony, recertification and psych evaluations, they were, hopefully, getting told that they'd be allowed back to work. They had asked to have this meeting together rather than separately. That way they could still be each other's backup.

As they stepped into the office, Vance stood up from his desk and walked over to the conference table.

"Have a seat," he said.

Tim and Tony both sat.

"Now, I understand that you're both hoping to get back to work."

Tony glanced at Tim and then nodded.

"Yes, sir," he said.

"All right. Agent McGee, your therapist has given his authorization for your return, although he has required that you continue to have regular sessions with him for the foreseeable future."

"Yes, Director," Tim said.

"And your physical therapist has no objections except that you give yourself time to adjust."

"Yes."

"Agent DiNozzo, you have passed your required psych evaluations, although your therapist has also required continuing to meet with him."

"Yes, sir," Tony said.

"And you have had no significant relapses during the last three months?"

"None."

"Any issues that still need addressing?"

"No, sir," Tony said.

Vance simply nodded. Then, he was silent for a few seconds.

"Agent McGee, your behavior while Agent DiNozzo was missing bordered on insubordinate."

"I know," Tim said.

"While I understand your motivations and even agree with them to a certain point, you created a situation which was nearly untenable. Agent Gibbs' team was already operating at a suboptimal level and your decision only made that worse."

"Yes."

"No apologies for that?"

Tony wanted to interrupt, but he knew that he shouldn't. So he sat where he was, just waiting since he knew his turn would be coming next.

Tim took a breath. "I am sorry for making Agent Gibbs' job more difficult, but I can't be sorry about what I did. Agent DiNozzo needed to be found and I knew it would take more effort that anyone could give while still trying to do our regular jobs. I was willing to pay the price for that, and I still am if you decide it's necessary."

Vance stared at Tim for a long time and then turned his attention to Tony.

"Agent DiNozzo, there is also still some uncertainty about the wisdom in allowing you to resume your position simply because of your previous psychological break."

"Yes, sir," Tony said.

"Do you feel that you will be a hindrance to the performance of the MCRT by returning?"

Tony wanted to just give a glib answer, but he didn't. Instead, he chose to sit and think about it just a little bit.

"Honestly, Director, I don't know. Even after my therapy and talking it over with experts in the field, no one can explain why this happened. Since we don't know why it happened, there's no way to predict whether or not I'll have a relapse. Some people who have had similar experiences have relapsed multiple times. Others have gone on with no trouble. But... based on how I feel right now, I feel... like myself, and if that stays the case, well, I don't think I'll be any more of a hindrance than I ever am."

There was the faintest hint of a smile.

Then, Vance looked at both of them.

"Captain Blaine's trial will be coming in the next few months. The work you both did helped take down a smuggling ring that went far deeper in the Navy than anyone could ever have anticipated. You both paid a heavy price for that work. I appreciate that and it seems only right to give you both the chance to resume your former positions. Agent DiNozzo, you are reinstated with probationary status for no longer than six months and likely much less. This probationary period is for the purpose of ascertaining whether or not you truly are prepared to return to your position. Agent McGee, while the work you did was admirable, your refusal to follow orders will be noted in your file with a full explanation of the reasons for it and the outcome. This will be a permanent tag that will require discussion when you next are up for promotion." He looked at both of them. "Any questions?"

"None," Tim said.

"No, thank you," Tony said.

"Good. Then, you're both dismissed. You may feel free to join your team. ...and welcome back."

"Thank you," Tim said.

Then, they both left the office. As soon as the door closed, Tony let out a sigh of relief.

"We made it," he said. "Are you okay with that?"

"Yeah," Tim said. "I expected worse, really. A tag like that in my file could be either good or bad, depending on the situation. I knew what I was doing wasn't really right, but it was the only thing I could do."

Tony gave Tim a side hug.

"I'm still grateful for it."

They went down to the bullpen where Gibbs and Ellie were both at their desks. Gibbs looked up with his usual silence. Ellie looked up and smiled.

"Are you back?" she asked.

"Probationary status, for now," Tony said. "Tim's back."

Then, Tim suddenly grinned.

"So can I call you Probie, then?" he asked.

"No way, man," Tony said. "That's not happening."

"Congratulations! It wasn't the same without you," Ellie said.

"What now, Boss?" Tony asked.

"Work, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "Bishop, bring them up to speed."

Then, Gibbs got up and walked away, but he paused and looked back as they both sat down at their desks.

"Welcome back," he said.

Tim looked at Tony.

"Thanks, Boss," they both said.

Then, Gibbs was gone. Tony looked over and saw Tim sitting at his desk. Tim was at his desk. Tony was at his own desk.

This was right.

As Ellie started briefing them on the current case, Tony felt a level of calm that he hadn't in a long time. Even if it took time for everything to fit in the right way, this was where he was supposed to be. This was his life.

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

"Tony, why won't you just tell me what's going on that I need to go to your place after our first day back?" Tim asked.

Tony grinned. "Don't ask me why."

Tim rolled his eyes.

"Come on. It won't take long. Just come on up for a bit."

"Okay, okay."

They went into Tony's apartment.

"Sit down," Tony ordered.

"Why?"

"To be comfortable, Tim," Tony said. "Stop being difficult."

Tim smiled and sat down. "Okay. I'm sitting. Now what?"

Tony walked over to his piano. "Now, you listen."

Tim's brow furrowed.

"And with some apologies to Billy Joel because I'm adapting his song. Sorry, Tim, but I'm not interested in a romantic relationship."

Tim laughed. "I'm so disappointed, DiNozzo."

Tony grinned.

"Just listen."

"Why?"

"This is a song that I never liked playing when I was in Los Angeles. It always seemed like it was mocking my situation. In fact, the first time that someone requested it, I tried to get around it, but I couldn't. It was really hard to get through it then, but it's one of my favorites now. So just listen."

Then, Tony turned back to the piano and started playing the introduction to Billy Joel's "Everybody Has a Dream" and he couldn't help but smile as he did.

"While in these days of quiet desperation
As I wander through the world in which I live
I search everywhere for some new inspiration
But it's more than cold reality can give."

He glanced over and saw Tim listening and, to his surprise, he was silently mouthing the words. He didn't realize that Tim knew the song. He sang through the first verse and chorus and saw Tim smile a little at the changed words in the last lines of the chorus. The meter wasn't quite the same as the original, but it was close enough. Then, he went into the second verse and when he got to the chorus again, he really threw himself into it.

"I know that everybody has a dream
Everybody has a dream
And this is my dream, my own
Just to be here at home
And to never be all alone... because of you."

Then, he sang the repeated first two lines of the chorus a few times before finishing with an instrumental flourish. Then, he turned around.

"You were right, Tim," he said.

"About what?" Tim asked, his voice soft.

"I'm still myself, even when I do stuff like this. And the reason I'm back here, the reason I have my dream is because you were willing to risk everything to find me. I can't even say how much that means to me."

"You've thanked me before," Tim said.

"I know, and I'll keep doing it. You gave me my life back and that matters. I couldn't think of any way to express better than with a song."

Tony knew that Tim was still a little uncomfortable with being told he had done enough, but this was important. So as Tim stood up, Tony walked over and gave him a hug.

"Thanks, Tim," he said.

"I'm just glad you're back."

"So am I." Tony let him go. "So... that's all, if you want to get home."

Tim suddenly smiled.

"Well... I don't have anything planned. So... Piano Man, why don't you sing me some more songs."

Tony grinned. "Only if you sing backup."

"You said I didn't have to do that."

"Just this once... without an audience."

"Do you trust me?" Tim asked.

"Always."

"Okay... but you'll have to stick to the easy ones," Tim said.

Tony laughed and walked back to the piano. Tim joined him on the bench and they spent the evening singing Billy Joel songs.

And everything was right.

FINIS!