Chapter 1

AN Warning for whole story: Major Character Deaths, Cursing, Dark Themes. Enjoy. :)

I shift in my seat as my back continues to bother me, ignoring the stares i'm getting from my team.

I try and focus on my paperwork, only to get distracted by my back, and the memories it drags with it, shaking my head, I try and ignore the fact that the anniversary is only a few days away, that Damian hasn't called asking me to attend the memorial, and that my back is constantly preventing me from getting comfortable in my chair.

I breathe a sigh of relief when Gibb's leaves the room, only to return a few moments later, telling us to grab our go bags and be in the car in 5.

I'm out of my seat before he can finish speaking, grimacing in pain, because when my back gets like this, I can't stand sitting down for too long, yet standing up is almost as painful, although I know that after a few minutes of moving the muscles should start to loosen, lessening at least some of the pain.

I somehow end up on an elevator with Gibb's, who stops it about halfway down, staring me down as he puts together what exactly he wants to ask me.

"What's happening?" he asks, going for a broad question, even though I know what he's talking about.

"Nothing" I answer, sounding nonchalant.

"Bull" he retorts, his searing look telling me to 'try again'

"An old back injury is bothering me, that's all. I'll be fine once I move around" I tell him, fudging the truth a bit.

He just nods, narrowing his eyes before he pulls the emergency stop on the elevator, sending us back towards the ground.

The case was insanely easy, although physically draining, the suspect, and culprit, was still on the scene when we got there, meaning we had to chase him around a locked down Marine Base for a few hours, resulting in everyone being covered in mud, some blood, and a whole lot of sweat and frustration.

My back officially hates me, and i'm tired as hell, considering I haven't slept more than a few hours due to my back and the time of year, and Tony is somehow, still talking, and annoying the shit out of anyone within hearing distance.

I tune him out as we make the semi-short drive back to the NCIS offices so everyone can shower and go home.

When we get there, I decide fuck it, and hope that everyone is either too tired or too annoyed to be looking at me, because I need to get the mud off me, and my back would very much appreciate a hot shower before I attempt driving home.

I shuffle with Gibbs and Tony to the guys locker room, peeling off my muddy clothes and wrapping a towel around my waist before I go to a shower stall, scrubbing my skin clean of the muck, and then spending a few minutes letting the decently pressured hot water stream down my back.

I quickly dry off, once again wrapping the towel around my waist before going to my locker to grab my clothes and get dressed, but when I get there, Tony and Gibbs are there too, both of them already half dressed, and when Tony turns, his mouth already open to no doubt spout something to get on my nerves, his eyes widen instead, his words getting frozen in his throat.

"What the fuck McGeek?" he asks, and although I know what he's alluding to, I raise an eyebrow, pretending to be wondering what he's talking about.

"Do you not own a suit that's actually your size? Who the hell knew you had anything under that suit aside from pudge, jesus christ, you have muscles!" he says, and I look down at my torso, waiting for him to comment on the scars, which, now that he's looking at me, he's bound to notice.

"One, I own plenty of suits that fit, I just don't wear them anymore. Two, Gibbs knew I wasn't pudgy" I tell him tiredly

"How would Gibbs know that?" he asks, screwing his face up in confusion.

"He ran my physical" I comment, looking up to find blue eyes boring into mine, causing me to look down and momentarily squeeze my eyes shut, shutting out the images of someone else's blue eyes.

The truth is, Gibbs doesn't intimidate me, or scare me, at least not like the rest of the team thinks he does.

I don't like looking him in the eyes, because his are the same color as theirs were.

I flinch when he appears out of nowhere with a growled command, not because I didn't know he was there, but because he's only a few octaves off from bringing me hurtling back into childhood memories, hurtling back into memories that I don't want to relive.

I'm quick to do as he says, because he's too similar to Bruce for me not to.

I stare when he slaps Tony in the back of the head, not because i'm trying to make sense of it, or because I don't like it, but because I can just as easily imagine Bruce flicking Dick in the nose for being an idiot.

I abruptly snap out my reverie, turning to my locker and deftly spinning the numbers in, pulling out jeans and a tee shirt, wincing when I realise that the shirt I stuffed in my bag this morning is a Batman one I haven't pulled out of my drawer since I stuffed it in the bottom, but since I haven't done laundry in weeks, and I was running dangerously low on shirts, I must have just grabbed it along with my jeans and thrown it in my bag this morning.

With nothing else to wear, I pull on my boxers and jeans, fingering the soft fabric of the shirt before I turn slightly to pull it over my head, although I realise my mistake when I hear a shocked intake of breath from Tony, who is now behind me.

"Tim?" he says hesitantly

"What happened to your back?" he asks gently, and I understand the cautiousness, if Tony had turned around and his back was in the state mine is in, I would be shocked too.

I don't need to look in a mirror to know what my back looks like, there are burn scars across the expanse of it, and littered in between those are various other scars, from puncture wounds to gashes, and every other scar that had been on my back before that day, is now covered up by these ones.

"An accident when I was a teenager" I tell him, turning back to my locker and grabbing my bag before closing it and making my way out of the room, quickly rushing down the stairs and to my car.

I lock the doors when I get there, remembering Jason's yell as he shoved me out the third story building, my landing being fucked up by the explosion, which blew me into a telephone pole, back first, and I remember laying there, yelling at my body to get the fuck up as fiery debris landed on and around me, burning through my clothes and searing my back, while other pieces simply smashed into me, cutting through the skin that was exposed by the burning debris that continued to fall around me, yet no matter how much I tried, I couldn't make my body move.

Someone honks their horn, snapping me out of painful memories, and back to the present, I slowly pull on my seatbelt, start my car and pull out of the parking lot, driving to my apartment.

AN Thoughts? Good? Bad? Meh? Lemme know what you think. :)