A/N: This is part 5 of my Father Charles series. The others are On That Night, A Fire into Many Flames Divided, Let Nothing Frighten You, Words Cannot Define. All are oneshots, except Let Nothing Frighten You (a two-shot). The series features my OC, Father Charles, a Catholic priest. As has been the case through most of these stories, I am grateful to Nzie for her help in getting the Catholicism correct. But, as always, if there are any errors, they're my own.

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or its characters. The first two prayers come from iBreviary. I do, however, lay claim to Father Charles. In any case, I'm not being paid for this writing.

When the Dawn Is Still Dark
by Enthusiastic Fish

Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark.
Rabindranath Tagore

It had been a good day. Father Charles always tried to acknowledge good days when they came. Many days, even when good things happened, could all too easily fall into the depths of negativity if one spent too long focusing on the bad things that were all around.

In fact, he began to wonder if things were about to go bad simply because he hadn't had any reason to worry.

With a smile, Father Charles opened his fridge and remembered that he'd put off going grocery shopping the week before. He groaned good-naturedly to himself and decided to get his fridge restocked. It was worse than a stereotypical bachelor fridge.

Quickly, he made a list of what he wanted to get and then headed out to his grocery store.

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

He was just pulling into a parking space when a news story on the radio caught his ear.

"...NCIS agent who was critically injured and is currently being treated at Bethesda Naval Hospital."

The story went on, but that was all Father Charles heard. Somehow, he knew which NCIS agent that was.

Grocery shopping was forgotten. He backed out of the space and headed to Bethesda. He'd never been there before, but he figured he could find his way.

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

"Hello. My name is Father Charles. Is there a Timothy McGee as a patient here?"

The nurse looked up at him and then down at her computer.

"He's an NCIS agent," Father Charles clarified.

"Yes. He's in the ICU, waiting for surgery."

"Oh, dear. How serious is it?"

Her expression said it all.

"This will be his third surgery."

"That's terrible. May I go and visit? Or just be in the waiting room?"

"Yes. His family is there, I'm assuming. He's had friends as well."

"Thank you."

The nurse gave him directions and Father Charles went up as quickly as he could. When he got into the ICU waiting room, there were a lot of people there. He saw a couple that he recognized and went to them.

"Dr. Mallard, am I remembering correctly?"

The older man looked up at him in surprise.

"Yes... Father Charles."

"Yes. I heard the news story on the radio."

"I wasn't aware that there were any names being given out in this situation."

"There weren't. I heard it was an NCIS agent in critical condition and...I just knew it had to be Tim."

Ducky sighed and nodded.

"Yes. It's been a week and he's back in surgery, again."

"What happened?"

"A man was targeting law enforcement. Unfortunately, Timothy and Jethro...Agent Gibbs... were the ones who were chosen this time. A bomb went off. Jethro was protected by Timothy's body because Timothy was closest to it, and Timothy has a number of life-threatening injuries. It's been touch and go ever since."

"What are his chances of recovery?"

"He'll make it."

Father Charles looked at the other man.

"Agent DiNozzo?" he asked.

"Yeah. Tony. Tim is going to make it."

"Agent Gibbs?" Father Charles asked.

"Broken ribs, concussion and a broken arm, but he'll recover."

"The nurse downstairs said that Tim's family was here?"

"They're in the ICU right now while Timothy is being prepped for surgery."

Father Charles nodded and then, he hesitated. While Tim had been open to coming to the church and attending Mass when his time allowed, he had no idea how Tim's family felt about it...if they even knew about Tim's interests.

"Would they be open to my visiting?"

"I can't see why not, but they are very worried about their son."

"Of course. I wouldn't expect anything less."

Father Charles went to the ICU, explained to the ICU nurse who he was and she directed him back to where Tim was lying.

"Excuse me," Father Charles said softly to the pair sitting beside the bed.

They looked back and were surprised to see him.

"Yes?"

"My name is Father Charles. I've had the privilege of knowing your son over the last couple of years."

"Oh...yes, of course. Tim told us about his attending Mass. How did you hear about this?"

"On the radio. I know Tim isn't Catholic, but I was wondering if you might allow me to pray for him."

Tim's parents looked at each other and then at him.

"Yes, Father. Of course. Please. Tim isn't awake to hear, but...anything that could help, we'll take."

Father Charles walked over to the bed. Tim's mother stood and moved to the other side of the bed so that Father Charles could sit beside him. Tim's father stayed where he was in his wheelchair. Tim was still and silent. He had the look of one who was hovering between life and death. He made the sign of the cross and then took a gentle hold of Tim's scraped and bruised hand. He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

"God of compassion,
our human weakness lays claim to your strength.
We pray that through the skills of surgeons and nurses
your healing gifts may be granted to Timothy McGee
May your servant respond to your healing will
and be reunited with us at your altar of praise.
Grant this through Christ our Lord."

Father Charles was quiet for a moment and then, he made the sign of the cross once more.

"Lord Jesus Christ,
you chose to share our human nature,
to redeem all people, and to heal the sick.
Look with compassion upon your servant Timothy McGee,
Support him with your power,
comfort him with your protection,
and give him the strength to fight against evil.
Since you have given him
a share in your own passion,
help him to find hope in suffering,
for you are Lord for ever and ever."

Again, he was quiet, hoping that God's will did include Tim's healing. Then, he opened his eyes and looked at Tim again. He didn't expect any change at this point. God rarely worked that way, and there was never any guarantee that what flawed mortals wanted so desperately was in His plans. Still, he had to believe that there was hope in spite of the horrible injuries Tim had suffered. There was little to indicate life in the body before him, but he knew that Tim still lived and he prayed silently that would continue. He gently lay Tim's hand back on the bed and got to his feet.

"Thank you, Father," Tim's father said. "This has been a terrible week for us."

"My pleasure. If you don't mind, I'll come back when I can."

"Why would you? I don't mean to sound rude, but Tim isn't Catholic. He's never given any indication that he plans on converting."

Father Charles smiled. "I know. Tim is a good man who sought for help once and then, even when he didn't need it, kept coming back. He's a man searching for something, even if it's not necessarily religion. And beyond that, my calling is to be a shepherd for God's children. As far as I'm concerned, that includes Tim."

Tim's mother held out her hand and Father Charles squeezed it encouragingly.

"Thank you," she said. "We would love to have you come whenever you can."

"Then, I'll be here and, even when I'm not, I'll be praying for him."

"Thank you."

Father Charles withdrew from the ICU as medical staff came in, obviously ready to take Tim back to surgery. He walked back to the waiting room.

"Have they taken him back?" Ducky asked.

"They were just getting ready to. Has the man who...did this been caught?"

Tony made a disgusted sound. "Yes. Well, he caught himself. That bomb he planted was bigger than he must have thought it was. Destabilized the entire building and he was killed in the collapse."

"Not good enough for you, Tony?" Father Charles asked.

"No. Much too short a punishment," Tony said darkly. "He deserved to suffer."

"I think his punishment will continue much longer than it has in this life. Murder is a serious sin and while it isn't my place to be the judge for his crimes or sins, he won't be getting off easy."

Tony smiled a little but then leaned forward and stared at the floor.

"Is Agent Gibbs here as well?" Father Charles asked.

"Yes," Ducky said. "Not in the ICU, obviously, but they were being very careful because of his previous injuries."

"And his age," Tony said with a smile.

Ducky smiled as well. "Yes, as much as that bothered him."

"Would he welcome a visit?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. It's hard to say. Jethro is...not the best patient and he's..."

"He feels guilty that Tim is the one who got hurt the most," Tony said.

"Understandable. Tim would feel the same way were their situations reversed."

"Yeah, he would."

"I'll show you the way to his room," Ducky said.

"Thank you."

Father Charles walked beside Ducky, letting the silence fall for a minute or two.

"It's as bad as you fear it could be?" he asked.

"Yes," Ducky said. "Or rather, it's almost as bad. As bad would be them both dead, but Timothy has been hovering on the brink for days, and the doctors here just don't know if he'll pull through. They're doing their best, but there was so much internal damage that... he could still die."

"Have faith, Dr. Mallard. There's still reason for it."

Ducky smiled and nodded.

"This is Jethro's room. I'll return to the ICU, but I also need to get back to work; so I likely won't be there."

"I can manage. Thank you."

"My pleasure. Thank you for coming here just because you heard something on the radio."

"I think I heard something more, Dr. Mallard, but I couldn't ignore a friend's need."

Ducky nodded and left. Father Charles wasn't sure exactly what he'd find. He hadn't spoken to Gibbs very much. Tim was the only one he knew, but he knew something about them all through him.

He opened the door.

"Agent Gibbs?" he asked.

Gibbs was there. He was awake. It was clear that he'd been seriously injured, but it was also clear that his wounds would heal.

He looked at him, and Father Charles could see that he didn't remember him.

"Look, Padre, I don't need prayers right now."

Father Charles smiled.

"I don't need to pray for you if you'd rather I didn't, but that wasn't why I came, Agent Gibbs."

His brow furrowed.

"Then, why?"

"I'm Father Charles. I was here visiting Tim and heard that you had been injured as well, albeit not as seriously."

"Father Charles... How did you know about this? No one would have thought to call you."

"Let's just say I heard a call anyway," Father Charles said with a smile. "I understand that you're upset."

"Do you think I shouldn't be?"

"No, I think you would be. I think anyone would be. Tim would have been the same."

"Yeah, he would. How is he doing? They think I can't handle hearing about it."

"He's in surgery again. It's very serious. Everyone is worried, but I have faith that he'll come through it."

"Why?"

"Because I can't do anything else...or rather, I can't do anything else that will help. If it's God's will that he survive, Tim will. If it's not, nothing I could do will change that. Sometimes, we flawed mortals demand that our limited perspective take precedence over the perfect understanding that God has. So we decide to hate God, thinking we're punishing Him for that when all we're doing is punishing ourselves."

"I don't need a sermon, right now," Gibbs said.

"Maybe. Maybe not, but if not, then, I hope you'll hear this one thing, and it's not a sermon. It's not your fault that Tim's in this situation. It's not your fault. It's not his fault. It's not God's fault. You care about Tim. God does as well. God wants what's best for us. The best thing isn't always surviving, but sometimes it is, and the best thing for those of us stuck on the sidelines to do is to have faith."

Father Charles sensed that Gibbs wasn't going to hear anything else, and since he wasn't really wanted, it was time to go. He got to his feet and started to leave.

"He loves going to Mass, you know," Gibbs said in a whisper.

Father Charles turned back.

"I'm sorry? I didn't hear you."

"Tim...he loves going to Mass. He'd go every week if he had the time. It's a new thing for him. He's had people tease him for spending his free time at a church, but he loves it. He doesn't talk about it much, but what he says... He's found something there that he didn't have before."

"I'm glad to hear it. Even if he didn't feel that way, I appreciate who he is and I consider him a friend. ...and I think I can say with some confidence that he wouldn't want you to blame yourself for what happened."

Gibbs grunted, and Father Charles smiled. He opened the door to leave.

"You can light a candle for me, Father."

"I will."

Then, he left.

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

Over the next week, Tim had two more surgeries, and survived them. While his condition was still very serious, the doctors were showing some optimism that he'd make it through. Father Charles had too many other responsibilities to be there all the time, but he went to the hospital as much as he could. He prayed there and at church. Tim gradually began to stabilize, although he was far from healed.

Tim awakened a few times, although never for more than a few minutes at a time. It was uncertain how much he was taking in when he was awake, but he had shown some sign of recognizing his parents. It was a small note of encouragement...and they took every bit they could get.

Early one morning, almost a month after Tim's injury, Father Charles was sitting beside Tim's bed in the hospital. He had been there for almost an hour. He had prayed and now was just keeping Tim company.

"What...you here?"

The voice was almost too soft to hear, but Father Charles had been waiting for it, hoping for it. He looked at Tim and smiled.

"Good morning, Tim."

Tim's eyes were open. Heavy-lidded, true, but open. His broken and damaged face had begun to heal and his eyes weren't nearly as swollen as they had been.

"You...here?" he asked again.

"Yes, I'm here. I've been here to see you, to pray and give comfort where I can. Mostly, I've been hoping that I'd be here when you woke up. I'm grateful that I've had that, finally."

Tim smiled a little.

"Not...the time to...baptize..."

Father Charles laughed.

"I wouldn't dream of suggesting it at this point, but if you wanted..."

"No."

"That's fine. How are you feeling?"

Tim's eyes closed and then opened again, slowly.

"Not...great."

"I'm not surprised. Your body has gone through a lot in the last little while."

Tim nodded slowly and his eyes closed again.

"Father?"

"Yes?"

A long pause, and Father Charles thought that Tim might have fallen asleep again, but then, he opened his eyes one more time.

"Pray...for me?"

"Of course." He thought of all the prayers he knew, but none seemed quite right. Still, he closed his eyes. "O God...You have preserved this injured son, carrying him through the valley of the shadow of death. Bless him now. Give him strength and help him heal. I know that nothing is too hard for You. If it be Your will, heal his body and bring him back to full health. May the blessing of almighty God, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, come upon you and remain with you for ever."

He opened his eyes and looked at Tim. His eyes had closed during the prayer and he was sleeping. While Father Charles couldn't perform an anointing for the sick, he could continue to pray for Tim's recovery.

And so far, he could see improvements and that was all to the good.

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

Six months later...

This had not been a good day as far as Father Charles was concerned. The wiring in the church had just demonstrated how old it was and it would be two days before the electricians could come in and fix it...and the price tag was going to be very high. If the congregation didn't chip in, it would drain the operating budget for the rest of the year. He was just getting over a rather unpleasant bout of food poisoning that had laid him very low for two days, and that meant that a lot of paperwork (his least favorite part of being a priest) had mounted.

For now, though, he was approaching the altar with the hope of finding some calm amidst the chaos. He knelt and bowed his head. For a long time, he stayed where he was, letting the peace of God (even in a church without power) envelope him.

Then, he heard some halting steps behind him. Thinking it must be one of his congregation, he ended his prayer and stood. He heard a surprisingly familiar voice before he could turn around.

"It's kind of dark in here, Father Charles. What happened to the lights?"

"Old wiring and an electrician that can't get here until Saturday," Father Charles said with a delighted smile. "Tim McGee! It's wonderful to see you here. And on your own two feet!"

Tim was still looking very shaky. He was pale and scarred, leaning heavily on a cane, but he was walking. After he had stabilized enough in the hospital, his parents had decided to move him closer to them so that they could take care of him until he was able to take care of himself. That had been months ago and Father Charles hadn't seen him since.

"Barely," he said, but he smiled. "I'm far from recovered, but I'm at least able to be...almost on my own."

"Almost?"

"I'm staying with Ducky for now, but I wanted to start the process of getting back to my life and my parents agreed it was time to come back here."

"How did you get here?"

"Ducky's out in the car. He said he'd wait for me. I told him he could come in, but..." Tim shrugged and then, walked to a pew and sat down. "Sorry, I get tired really easily."

"No apologies necessary. I'm thrilled to see you getting around on your own. The last time I saw you was in the hospital and you were completely bedridden at that point."

Tim nodded. "It's been really hard, Father. I... There were times...I didn't think I'd make it, but I'm still here, and I'm still getting better."

"I can see that. It's like night and day to what I saw before. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing. I wanted to say thank you for all the time you spent with me in the hospital. I had friends and family there, too. It's not like I was ever really alone, but...but Mom and Dad told me how you came, just from hearing about it on the radio...and you kept coming. And praying. ...and you didn't forget Gibbs in the middle of all that, either. He appreciated you, too...even if he won't admit it."

Tim smiled and, although he looked very worn, the smile was the same and his eyes lightened with it.

"No thanks necessary. You may still insist that you're not Catholic, but I consider you part of my flock, and equally importantly, I consider you a friend, Tim."

Tim reached out and squeezed Father Charles' arm.

"The feeling is mutual." Then, his smile became a little mischievous. "About the friendship, at least."

Father Charles chuckled. "Good."

"I can't say that I know how much the prayers helped my body, but I felt better hearing them, and I heard more than you might have thought since I was in and out so much. I heard you praying for me." Tim hesitated, looking a little uncertain. "Is... Is there a way I should say thank you...to God?"

"There are standard prayers of gratitude, but you don't have to use them. You can just say thank you. He'll hear."

Tim nodded. "Okay. I don't know that I'll make it to Mass for a while. It's too hard to get around and stay up for too long. I just don't have the energy right now."

"That's all right. If you want to keep coming, the door will be open whenever you can come."

"I'm shooting for Christmas Mass. I don't want to miss it. I don't know that I'll make it before then, though."

"I'll watch for you, Tim...and if you ever want me to, I can come to you. It wouldn't be a Mass, but I'm happy just to talk. ...or I can give you a sermon if you'd like."

"I may take you up on that," Tim said, with a tired smile.

"I can tell you more about some of your namesakes. Remember, there are quite a few St. Timothys."

"I doubt I'll measure up to Catholic saints."

"You already have."

"What do you mean?"

"Sainthood isn't just about martyrdom...although I admit that many of them did face that ultimate test. Obviously, you're not ready to be made a saint, but there is another quality that all the saints share: persistent faith."

"I'm not sure I qualify. In fact, I'm pretty sure I don't."

Father Charles leaned forward a little bit. He wanted Tim to hear what he was saying.

"You have struggled, Tim. You have struggled and felt pain and gone through suffering that many would have faltered under. Through that, you didn't get angry and blame God, or if you did, it didn't last. Look at where you've come. Remember what you asked me. Even though you're still weak and in need of recovery, you asked how to show gratitude to God. Gratitude, even in the midst of suffering. You would not be out of place here...and yes, I will keep suggesting it until I wear you down."

Tim laughed.

"I know you will. It's a good thing I don't mind. I need to go. I've reached my limit today."

"Of course." Father Charles stood up and helped Tim to his feet and then leant his arm to give him more support.

"You must have had this kind of experience other times," Tim said as Father Charles helped him to the door.

"What experience?"

"Someone you know being seriously injured or ill."

"Yes. It does happen. More often than I'd like."

"How do you deal with it?"

They reached the front door.

Father Charles smiled and looked up at the powerless lights. "By having faith that, no matter how dark it is right now, it has to get lighter sometime." He looked back at Tim. "I just have to be patient."

"Thank you, Father."

"You're welcome, Tim."

He watched as Tim walked over to an antique car and got in. Then, Father Charles walked back inside his church, back to the altar and he knelt down.

The day had suddenly become good.

Faith had overcome.

And there was light in the midst of darkness.

FINIS!