A/N: This is my entry for the NFA Tearjerker Challenge. It grew out of a boast I made that I could make an angsty story out of anything, even Tim reading the phone book. So, to prove my point, I wrote this twoshot. It's pretty much angsty from start to finish with a slight uplift at the end. We weren't allowed to have any of the main NCIS characters die...so no worries on that score, but I definitely do a lot to my favorite character.

Disclaimer: In what must be the most surprising confession of the millennium, I will admit that I do not now, nor have I ever owned NCIS real or fictional. It's really too bad, but we can't always get what we want.

Yellow Pages
by Enthusiastic Fish

Chapter 1: Grief

Why was it that he was holding the telephone directory? Tim couldn't really remember. There had probably been a reason at one point. It wasn't as though he was the kind of person who would randomly start reading the yellow pages, just for fun. Not even he, no matter what Tony might say, was that desperate...particularly not in the last few months. They had been the best months of his life. Each day had been a blessing, something to cherish for years and years to come...only not anymore. Now, each memory was a knife jabbing into his heart...over and over.

The chaos had long since moved beyond the room where he sat in shock. He had heard other screams, other wails. His room was silent. There was nothing for him to do...nothing except wait. He supposed he could call someone. After all...he was holding the phone book. He opened it...but he didn't look up any numbers. The people he could call were people whose numbers he already knew, whose numbers he had known for years. No, he didn't really need to call anyone right now. Maybe later.

She had always said that she wouldn't care if he was reading the phone book to her...she'd always love to hear his voice. She said it was sexy. He hadn't ever told Tony that, but he had treasured that statement. She had realized that and so...she had told him over and over...

...so now...he was reading her the phone book, the tears clouding his vision, the ink blurring as each one escaped and plopped onto an advertisement for Dr. Chang, an optometrist, an Oldsmobile dealer...Pizza Hut. He didn't go in order. He just flipped randomly and started reading until there were so many tears that he had to go to another page.

There was blood on the outside of it as well, soaking through a few of the pages, but that didn't matter so much. There were lots of other pages to choose from. Maybe...the Gs. ...or the Is.

"American Hypnosis Training Academy. That's in Silver Spring." Plop. "I never knew about that." Plop. "Institute for Ethical and Clinical Hypnosis. On M Street. Mr. Vinyl." Plop. "Multiple Pathways. Potentials Unlimited Hypnosis." Tears poured faster and faster. Too many to read the words anymore. Tim flipped through and then fumbled the large book in his hands. It slid to the floor, leaving a smear of blood on his bare legs.

Tim's hands were shaking as he picked it up. He tried not to look around, but the blood-soaked comforter burned into his brain...and beyond that...

He firmly turned away and opened the book again. This time, he moved to the Ts.

"Travel and Tourism." Those words alone were almost enough to overwhelm his already-tenuous grip on his sanity, but he forced himself to read. "Triple A Travel Services. They have seven branches just in DC and the areas around it." Plop. Plop. "Academic Travel Abroad. Two branches, both in DC." Plop. "Ah Travel." He laughed and a flood of tears ran down and smudged the ink on the page. "Only one of those...probably for good reason. We should have used them...just..." Plop. "...just so that we could say the name." Plop. Plop. Plop. "Blue Line Travel, Incorporated." Too many tears. Convulsively, his hand reached out and caressed the bloody leg on the bed. His own bare chest was covered in blood.

He turned the page again...this time to the Rs. "Restaurants." Another flood of tears and for a few minutes, he couldn't even get enough breath to read aloud...he couldn't even see the page as he tried to read. "I've read this to you before." Tim leaned over and kissed the leg...as he had done so recently, so lovingly before...before...

"Bilbo Baggins Restaurant. I wish I'd seen this before. Lord of the Rings. I would have gone just to say I had. It's in Alexandria." Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. "Bistro Francais. Bistro Italiano. Bistro Lepic. Bistro comma The. Not very creative, are they?" Plop. Plop. "Bistro Du Coin." The ink ran. He flipped forward a few pages to get past the ruined page. "Frankenstein Café. They really do have everything in here." Plop. "Fresco, The Italian Gourmet at Watergate. Watergate, huh? I bet that's really popular." Plop. Plop. Plop. Another ruined page.

There were voices in the hallway now. If it was the man returning, Tim wouldn't hide. He didn't care now. The screams and wails and cries resumed...except in his room. Tim didn't moan and wail. He just read the phone book. This time he flipped to near the end of the book. "Yarn Retail. You should have done some knitting." Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. "Inez's Stitchery. It's in Kensington. The Yarn Barn, Incorporated. That's in Burke." Plop. Plop.

"Hey, here's another open door! Anyone alive in there?"

Tim paid the voice no heed. "Yoga. I remember you said you wanted to get into that. I said that if you did, I'd do it, too." Another flood. "Dahn Yoga and...and...Healing." The book trembled in his hands and he looked...beyond the bare leg to the bloodstained negligee she had put on just to make him blush. She had said that was sexy, too. It didn't make him blush now.

"I thought I heard a voice."

"Washington DC Dahn Center. Guess where that is." Plop. Plop. "Willow Street Yoga Center. That's even in Silver Spring." Plop. Plop. Plop. "Maybe you could..."

"Hello?"

Tim couldn't finish the sentence. He knew she'd never get a chance to take up yoga. "Oh, Kara...wake up, please. Wake up."

"Sir?" The voice couldn't continue. In fact, someone ran out, probably to be sick. Tim looked at Kara. He had known she was dead from the first moment he'd come running out of the bathroom. He hadn't even seen the bullets flying, but you didn't have that many bullet holes and get out of it alive. If only he hadn't been in the bathroom. If only...

"Sir...are you...are you hurt?"

Hurt? It was laughable that he would ask that question. He wasn't hurt. His entire soul was ripped in pieces. Perfect happiness to exquisite despair in a split second.

Another voice, kindly, old. "What's your name, son?"

Tim looked up into a pair of kind eyes. They were brown. He remembered that for a long time afterward. He wasn't sure why, but he remembered the color of the old man's eyes. He remembered that...even though he didn't remember what the man had looked like...beyond being old.

"Your name?" he asked again.

"T-Timothy...McGee," Tim managed to say.

"Will you come with me?"

"No!" Tim backed away and put his arms around Kara. Her limp, lifeless arms flopped as he pulled her close, feeling the blood, still oozing from her body as it smeared against his chest, covering the drying blood from the first time he had held her. "No, I won't leave her."

The old man didn't push. There were other voices, but Tim didn't listen to them. He picked up the phone book again with one hand and pulled it toward him. "Architects and Builders Service. Acanthus Architects...that's on Quebec Street." The tears no longer plopped. There were too many and Tim's head was no longer bent over the words. Instead, the tears flowed steadily down his cheeks as he held Kara close and read to her. "Adamstein and Demetriou Architects." He flipped a page or two. "Here's one in Silver Spring. Esten Harold Lionel. I wonder if he's any good."

"Son? Timothy? Do you have someone we can call for you?"

Tim stopped reading, but he didn't look at the brown eyes again.

"A friend? Family member? Boss?"

"Boss? Yes, I have a boss. I call him that," Tim said. "Kara always thought it was funny...like we were a part of the mafia or something."

"Is that her name?"

"Kara," Tim repeated and smiled. He kissed her forehead gently. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is. What's the name of your boss?"

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs...but no one calls him Leroy."

"Where do you work?" he asked patiently. Later, Tim would marvel at the patience of this man, dealing with someone so lost in grief.

"NCIS. That stands for..."

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service. I know. I was Navy man myself once...a long time ago."

Tim didn't really listen. He looked at the yellow pages again, but his eyes were too blurred with tears to read the tiny printed words anymore. He didn't notice when the old man left, when he came back in a few minutes later, when he tried to speak. All he noticed was the woman in his arms...because he couldn't read to her anymore.

"Tim, your voice is so sexy I'd pay good money just to hear you read the phone book!"

"White pages or yellow pages?"

"Both, of course! But the yellow pages are more fun."

"Tim?" That was a voice he knew...but it wasn't the one he wanted to hear. The one he wanted to hear was gone forever.

"Tim? Look at me, please."

Tim looked up. "Hey, Boss," he said softly, the tears never ceasing. "Kara's dead."

"I know."

"She was so excited to stay in the honeymoon suite."

"I know."

"I was so happy that I could afford to do that, that I could give her something she wanted."

Gibbs smiled, but his eyes were brighter than they should have been. "I think she already had everything she wanted. Didn't she say that yesterday?"

Unwillingly, Tim flashed back to the day before. Kara, radiant in her white gown. He had thought she looked like an angel. He almost couldn't remember the words he was supposed to say. In fact, if Tony and Jimmy hadn't been there to kick him in the shins, he probably would have stood there staring at her for hours. That's all he wanted. She had been all he wanted and needed...and she had been his...for less than a day.

"Tim, breathe!"

Tim inhaled through his tears.

"Now, breathe out."

Obediently, he exhaled.

"Now...let Kara go."

"No!"

Gibbs sat down on the edge of the bed. He looked Tim in the eye. "Tim, Kara is dead."

"I just went into the bathroom for a moment. She kicked me out of bed. She said that I had to get ready first because...because...the groom was the one who should be slaving for the bride."

"Sounds like her."

Tim caressed her cheek...her cold cheek.

"I heard the gun. Oh...I heard her...I heard her scream. But before I could get out...she was dead. I didn't even..." Tim couldn't go on for a minute. "I wanted to say I love you one more time, but she was already dead."

"She knew you loved her. For goodness sake, you said it a million times a day until Tony threatened to gag you."

"It wasn't enough...I thought I'd have a lifetime to say it."

"She knew, Tim."

"Oh, Kara," Tim whispered.

"We need to go, Tim. You need to let her go."

"I can't. I can't. My wife is dead."

Gibbs, ignoring all the blood, put his arms around Tim...and Kara. "You need to let her go. Kara's gone. You can't stay here anymore." He didn't pull Tim away. He just waited until Tim was ready.

Finally, Tim acquiesced and allowed Gibbs to lay Kara down on the bed. Then, Gibbs pulled Tim up and, wrapping a blanket around him, led him out of the honeymoon suite. Tim didn't say anything. He couldn't. Silent tears continued to course down his cheeks, but he didn't resist leaving the building. He didn't notice the cameras flashing in his face. He didn't notice when Gibbs put him in an ambulance. He didn't notice when the doctors tried to ask him questions. All he heard was Kara's voice, over and over again in his head.

"Tim, your voice is so sexy I'd pay good money just to hear you read the phone book!"

He kept seeing her body, lying on the beautiful bed, the place where they had slept together for one glorious night as husband and wife, just as he had wanted. The marriage bed had become a death bed. Kara, her beautiful brown hair spread out, tangled across her face, the rest of her body marred by bullets. His wife, downed by a maniac with an automatic. Twenty people had died that day. Twenty people in as many minutes. He had gone to that floor and begun shooting, moving from room to room, not caring who had died, wanting to cause as much damage as possible. The only reason it wasn't twenty-one was that Tim had gone into the bathroom thirty seconds before the man had reached their room.

Tim, unwittingly, became the poster boy for the massacre. Two seconds before Gibbs decked him, a man ducked under the police tape and snapped a photo of Tim, his eyes vacant, his body covered in blood. He sold it to one of the major newspapers. One of the few survivors from that floor. It was a tragedy worthy of Shakespeare: A man and his wife, married only hours before a psychotic gunman had opened fire on the hotel patrons early in the morning. The headline read "'Til death do we part."

Tim didn't know about any of that. He shut down...so thoroughly that no one could reach him. He wasn't dangerous. He didn't try to hurt himself or others...but he didn't try to care for himself either. He simply stared...or read from the phone book he had taken with him. People visited and tried to talk to him, but it didn't help. Nothing helped. Tim didn't even cry at Kara's funeral. He just stared. Gibbs told him what to do and he did it, but he didn't seem to notice what was actually happening.

Gibbs became his main link because as the time passed with nothing, people began to lose hope that he would ever come alive again. His doctors said it was possible, but it had to be Tim that did it. No one could force him. And that was hard to take...except for Gibbs who abandoned his most recent boat to sit beside Tim at the mental hospital. He sat. He listened to Tim read, his heart breaking for the wreck of the man in front of him. Tim walked, talked, even seemed to see every so often, but he wasn't really alive.

Gibbs was afraid he never would live again. He himself had nearly ended it all when Kelly and Shannon had been killed...but he hadn't. He had found another way: revenge. Tim wasn't taking either route. He couldn't deal with the pain and so it didn't exist. He didn't exist. Nothing existed in his world...except Kara...and that stupid phone book. Gibbs didn't know why Tim found that so important, but he refused to stop. It wasn't as though he was reading it sequentially, but he was still...reading from the phone book. He even made comments every so often. Gibbs could tell that whatever Tim was doing made sense to him in a way that could not reach anyone else...except maybe Kara.

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

Tim and Kara had been perfect for each other. Everyone could see it from the first day. Tim had begun to change...not in the essentials, but he became richer, more developed, not on the outside, but inside. His stammer, which had largely disappeared already, vanished completely. Tony's teasing had to find some other outlet than Tim's love life. Tim wasn't hiding her, and he wasn't flaunting her. She was just there...another part of his life, a part he obviously cherished.

The irony was that they were nothing alike. Kara was brash, confident...at least on the surface. She was as computer illiterate as Gibbs. She was a sports writer. When Tim had told them about her, they had all laughed...all of them. The idea that Tim could attract and be attracted by such a person was hilarious. Then, they met her...and they saw the same type of...soul in Kara that they saw in Tim...although none of them would admit to something so sappy as the concept of soulmates.

Nothing had been rushed. Nothing forced. The two of them had taken things slowly, figuring each other out, figuring out themselves. When Tim proposed, it wasn't a surprise to anyone, but he still went all out to do the deed. Kara had loved it...and of course, accepted. The wedding had been planned the same way. Carefully. They wanted things to work out. They didn't want to be tearing their hair out by the end and wishing they'd simply eloped.

The wedding had been as perfect as the rest of their courtship had been. When the two of them had left the reception hall, everyone had predicted that the they would be celebrating their golden anniversary in fifty years, still as much in love as they were right at that moment.

...but no. As Gibbs watched Tim turn to the Ls this time, he couldn't help but see him as he had been such a short time ago...happy, complete. He had finally achieved everything he wanted.

All that had been stolen in a second...by a man who had randomly chosen a hotel, randomly chosen a floor, randomly started kicking in doors and killing the people inside...before killing himself.

How many days had it been already? Gibbs wasn't sure. They seemed to blur together...at least here they did. The hospital was beautifully-designed, meant for healing...but how could Tim heal when he wasn't even acknowledging the existence of the wound?

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

Tim didn't notice the time go by. Minutes, hours, days, weeks passed without his knowledge. Time didn't matter in the world in which he was residing. A world full of mindless words...until one day, for no reason at all, he opened his eyes and realized that he wasn't where he thought he was. He wasn't at his apartment. He wasn't even in the hotel room where Kara had died. He was...he wasn't sure where he was, but he was holding a phone book in his hands.

Why was it that he was holding the telephone directory? Tim couldn't really remember. There had probably been a reason at one point. He turned it over and saw the blood...and he remembered. He remembered what he had and what he had lost...lost forever.

Tim looked out the window in front of him and saw the beautiful sights around him: trees, fountains, flowers...but the most beautiful sight was gone forever.

"She said that my voice was so sexy that I could read the phone book to her," he whispered.

"What was that, Tim?"

Tim looked up from the phone book. Gibbs was there. He had been there...a lot, Tim remembered now.

"She said that my voice was so sexy I could read the phone book to her."

"Kara said that?"

"Yeah." Tim smiled at the memory, but then grimaced at the pain of remembered grief. It threatened to drag him down into insanity again, but Gibbs broke the spiral by chuckling softly.

"So that's why."

"Why what?"

"Why you've been reading the yellow pages."

"Have I?" Tim looked at the phone book again. "Where am I, Boss?"

"Hospital."

"Why?"

"Because you haven't done anything but read that stupid phone book for the last six months."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Tim's eyes were haunted at the memories he had. He wanted them to be nightmares, but he knew they weren't. "Kara's dead, isn't she?"

"Yes."

"She's not coming back."

"No."

Tim began to cry. He dropped the phone book, what comfort could that give him, huddled on the bed and sobbed. He didn't notice Gibbs move until he felt Gibbs pull him up and then hold him tightly as he cried and cried, the grief as fresh as if it had all happened just that day.

"It's okay, Tim. It's okay," Gibbs said, as if he were calming a fretful child. He rocked Tim gently.

"My wife is dead. Kara is dead," Tim wept. "Can't you bring her back? Can't she come back?"

"No, Tim. She can't. She's been buried for six months. She's gone."

"No, no, no, no..." Tim sobbed.

"Yes, Tim. It's okay."

"No, never. It will never be okay."

"It will...someday, if you want it to."

"It hurts...so much I can't breathe."

"You can. It hurts, but you can keep breathing; it gets easier."

Tim cried. He cried for half an hour before the tears gave out and he fell asleep. Gibbs stayed that night beside his bed, praying that the following day would see Tim still aware. He was. He was nearly paralyzed with the grief that had not come out before, but he was aware.

...and so began the long road to healing.