Epilogue

One year later...

It was late in the evening when Tim sat back from his computer, looked at Gibbs and seemed to come to a decision. He got up and walked over.

"Boss?"

"What, McGee? You should have left already."

"I know. There's...something I need to tell you. I wasn't sure if it was my place to talk about it."

"About what?" Gibbs look up.

"Something I probably should have said a while ago..."

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

Stan Burley sat on a pier and watched as the USS Nimitz pulled away from the harbor. Time had not been kind to him. He was actually on a forced vacation right now...so worn down from the work he did that he'd actually collapsed and spent a week in the hospital.

Now, he watched the carrier slowly head back out to the open sea. Maybe some day, he could go back to that...but not for years yet.

Then, he heard someone behind him.

"Hi, Stan."

The voice was vaguely familiar and he turned around.

"Who is it?"

There was a soft clump and a figure came into view, leaning slightly on a cane.

"Tim McGee."

Stan laughed. "You're kidding. You look pretty different from how I saw you before."

"Yeah. I'd hardly recognize you, either. What happened?"

Stan shrugged and turned back to the harbor.

"Life as an Observer."

"I never got this bad, Stan."

"Yeah. Haven't been sleeping very well." That was the understatement of the century, Stan knew. He'd actually become addicted to sleeping pills, had broken his addiction...and then stopped sleeping which had led to his precipitous collapse...but he didn't say any of that. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"I was an Observer, too...and I haven't forgotten how to find people just because I don't have a com in my ear anymore."

"You sound a lot better, Tim."

"I am."

"Still using a cane?"

Tim came up right beside him. Stan noticed that the cane was almost a work of art. A well-used work of art, but a work of art nonetheless.

"Yes. I plateaued in my improvement a couple of months ago. Ian, my physical therapist, says that any gains I have now won't come from therapy. He doesn't think I'll get any better than I am now, but he didn't say that."

"How are you taking it?"

Tim shrugged. "It was hard to accept at first...but I always knew I wasn't likely to be running. I have a good life. ...and a lot is going right for me."

"How good are you now?"

"I can walk around without any aids at all, provided I go slowly. If I want to have any kind of speed, I need the cane. If the ground is unstable, I need the cane. ...but I can turn around quickly and keep my balance. I can bend over and pick stuff off the floor if I drop something. I'm not perfect, but I'm so much better than I was..."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. Now...what made you search for me?"

"A few reasons, actually. Do you mind if we sit down? I'm starting to feel a bit off balance."

"Sure." Stan pointed to a bench. He sat and stared out at the ship. "Man, I wish I was aboard her right now."

"Not me. I get seasick," Tim said.

Stan chuckled. "I don't. I was on Gibbs' team for a few years and then had a chance to be an Agent Afloat. Never wanted to leave it."

"But you did."

"Had other things to do." Stan looked at the cane. "Gibbs make that?"

"Yeah." Tim smiled and Stan was almost jealous of the happiness and contentment Tim obviously felt.

"So why are you here?"

Tim leaned the cane against the bench and faced Stan.

"First, I wanted to say thank you."

Stan let out a sarcastic chuckle. "For what? For enforcing the unreasonable rules that caused you to lose your job and question your value?"

"Yes," Tim said simply.

Surprised, Stan looked over at him.

"I don't think you could possibly understand how that felt. I would never have gone...as far as other people you've tried to help, but knowing that it wasn't because I myself was wanting but that it was how the program was supposed to run. That helped me. I've never been especially good at the whole self-confidence thing. My whole life revolved around being useful as an Observer. I'd almost my family because of it. It was all I had that I felt made me worthwhile. Gibbs helped a lot, but it was knowing that there was more to it than what had happened. It was important for me to know that...and to know that there was someone in the Observer program who cared."

Stan didn't know what to say. He just shrugged. "It's my job."

Tim was quiet for a few seconds and then he put a hand on Stan's shoulder.

"I saw the story about you in the paper. They didn't identify you by name, but the picture was pretty clear."

"Not my most graceful moment," Stan said.

"It's kind of why I'm here."

"What do you mean?"

"You've bought into it, haven't you?"

"Into what?"

"The rules."

Stan sat up. "I can't, in good conscience, enforce rules I don't follow myself."

"Even rule number one?"

"Especially that one."

"But you believe it, don't you. You're not just following it anymore. You believe it's right."

Stan was about to deny it but then he laughed in surprise. "You're right...I do. I don't know when that happened. You'd think I could have avoided it."

Tim shook his head. "I bought into it, too. We all do. The way things are set up pretty much guarantees it. Those rules are our prison...and you're fighting to get everyone out of it."

"You're making it sound pretty grand, Tim."

"I know...and I know it's not really, but what I see...I don't like it, Stan."

"I'm not particularly enamored myself," Stan said and looked off into the distance. The Nimitz was slowly picking up speed.

"And that's the last reason I'm here...and the reason why I'm not here alone."

"Who else is–?"

A voice came out of the darkness.

"You've looked better, Stan."

Stan looked at Tim and then at Gibbs as he came over to join them.

"You told him?"

Gibbs answered. "He told me. Why didn't you?"

Stan shrugged again. "I knew how you felt about the Observers. I didn't want to be lumped into it. I don't feel about the program like you do, Gibbs. Never have...and even seeing what I've seen...I don't think I ever will. I think it was necessary. I think we needed it...and I think we don't anymore. I didn't want to be on the wrong side of you."

"You aren't."

"Even if I don't think the Observers are the horrible group you think they are?"

Gibbs smiled. "Even then."

Stan looked down, but he didn't say a word for a while. He didn't want to admit it, but the fact that Gibbs didn't hold him in contempt for the job he was doing meant more than he had thought it would.

"Thanks, Boss," he said finally...very softly.

Gibbs walked over and sat down on the other side of Stan.

"So...you're trying to make the Observers obsolete?"

"Yeah. We hit a snag a few months back...that car bomb in Houston. Panicked a few people. It's taken a lot more work to get the notion of the Observer Program ending in people's minds. They want protection. They want to be safe. I don't blame them for that."

"You may have heard already, but NCIS is out. Completely."

"I hadn't heard. When did that happen?"

"Last week, I think. The San Diego office pulled out. They were the last ones. NCIS is out...and we lord it over the others every chance we get."

"Thanks. The FBI has been dragging its feet."

"That's why I brought Gibbs along," Tim said.

"To get the FBI out?"

Tim shook his head. "No...not exactly. I...we want to help you in what you're doing. There's no reason you have to do it all yourself, Stan. I know what being an Observer is like. I know what the capabilities are...and I know what's wrong. I don't advertise that I was an Observer, but I do tell people about it, and I tell them my experiences. It will help make it...more real."

"It's not going to end in a year. Maybe not in two years," Stan said.

"No, but that doesn't mean it can't end faster with more people helping," Gibbs said.

"And besides...having people who know...that makes a difference," Tim added. "You can't do this alone anymore. You must know that."

"Yeah, I do," Stan said. "Three suicides in the last month. I was too slow."

"It's not your fault," Gibbs said. "...and I don't ever want you thinking like an Observer, Stan. Your life has value."

Tim smiled suddenly. "You're not just a voice in someone's ear. You matter. A smart person told me that everyone's life has value. It's not about being important. It's about being human."

"Sounds like Ducky."

"It was."

Stan laughed and then looked out at the harbor. "I miss the ocean."

"Let us help you then," Tim said. "Help you get back there."

"I don't even know where to start."

"Well, you're not starting anything for a few more days," Gibbs said severely. "Morrow told me what you've been doing...after I threatened him. You're taking a break and then...then, we'll make a plan. We will make a plan. Clear?"

"Clear, Boss. Crystal clear."

The three of them stood up. Tim set the pace, since he was slower than the other two, but Stan was glad of it himself. He was still worn out and more fragile than he'd like to admit.

He paused on the end of the pier and Tim stopped beside him.

"How did you do it, Tim?" Stan asked.

Tim looked at Stan and then at Gibbs. "When I was attacked, I lay on the floor of my apartment and asked if anyone could hear me. No one could. I was alone. Completely and utterly alone. Now...I know that I'm not. Now, I'm hearing what people have been telling me. I'm more than a voice. I'm a human being." Tim smiled then. "And so are you."

Stan laughed softly. "Yeah. Some day, I'm sure I'll even believe it again."

"You will...if you listen."

"You coming?" Gibbs called.

"Coming, Boss!" they said in unison and left the pier.

When you remember me, it means that you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us. It means that if we meet again, you will know me. It means that even after I die, you can still see my face and hear my voice and speak to me in your heart.

For as long as you remember me, I am never entirely lost. When I'm feeling most ghost-like, it is your remembering me that helps remind me that I actually exist. When I'm feeling sad, it's my consolation. When I'm feeling happy, it's part of why I feel that way.

~Frederick Buechner

FINIS!