Gibbs stood outside of the men's bathroom, hesitant to enter. Inside he could hear the sound of vomiting and could only imagine how Tim was hunched over the toilet, his body shaking violently as he purged his body of his breakfast from that morning.

There were many reasons why it had happened. Maybe it was because the week had been slow and Tony had wanted to spice things up a bit. Maybe it was because Tim had been making good catches and had gotten more than one kudos from Gibbs. Or maybe it was just Tony trying to live up to his role as the older brother. Whatever the reason, he'd decided to present Tim with a fresh cup of coffee that morning in the guise of a friendly gesture. The only problem was that instead of said cup containing coffee, it had contained a mound of dirt. Worse, wriggling about in said mound of dirt were a bunch of maggots.

Upon seeing those wriggling, faceless blobs, Tim had grown as pale as the maggots themselves. He'd thrown the cup to the ground and high-tailed it to the bathroom, which was where he was currently taking residence while Gibbs waited just outside the door.

Gibbs wasn't quite sure why he was hesitating to barge in there; he'd never been squeamish about this kind of thing before. It wasn't the puking, of course; it took far more than a little puke to make him pause. No, it was more the look he'd seen in Tim's eyes just before dropping the coffee cup. This wasn't just a case of Tim being disgusted by the maggots or even annoyed by the prank. Gibbs had seen something more, something he hadn't expected to see.

Tim's distaste for maggots was fairly well known around NCIS. No one had ever questioned it, of course—disliking maggots wasn't unheard of, after all—but a few people had noticed how vehemently he opposed them and the lengths he would often go just to avoid them. Ziva had once made an effort to help him face this fear, but had soon after dropped the subject for reasons she'd never revealed (not that Gibbs had ever asked). Truth be told, Gibbs had noticed that Tim's fear of maggots had went beyond not liking bugs, but he figured it wasn't his business. But now, with Tim reacting this way over a prank—a cruel prank, but a prank nonetheless—Gibbs wanted to make it his business.

Another NCIS employee walked toward the door, obviously intending to relieve himself. One look from Gibbs stopped that and the man quickly turned around and went off in search of another bathroom. Still, Gibbs knew he couldn't spend the entire day keeping other people from going in there.

He knocked on the door. "McGee."

"One…one second, boss," Tim replied breathlessly. He wasn't gagging anymore, but he still sounded sick. Gibbs heard the water run from within. A minute later, Tim opened the door, his face still a little wet as he dabbed it with a paper towel. He'd regained some color, but there was still something unsettling in his eyes.

"Sorry," he said. "Just…just a little upset stomach. Must have been something I ate."

It was a testament to Gibbs' worry that he didn't admonish Tim for breaking the "Never Apologize" rule. Instead, he leveled Tim with a steady gaze, asking, "You sure you're okay? Looks like you need to lie down."

Tim shook his head. "I'm fine, boss. Really. I just need a breather."

Gibbs wasn't buying it, but he wasn't going to push the subject…yet. "Go see Ducky and make sure he thinks you're healthy. Then come back up."

"I will," Tim said. "Like I said, just a sour stomach. Nothing to worry about."

While Tim obediently went down to autopsy, Gibbs stormed back into the bullpen and made a bee-line for Tony's desk. Tony saw the storm brewing and winced even before the hand made contact with his head.

"What were you thinking, DiNozzo?"

There was no right answer Tony could give that would quell Gibbs' anger, so he thought it best just to be honest. "I was thinking McGee would just get pissed off and maybe gargle some mouthwash overdramatically. How was I supposed to know he'd freak like that?"

"Perhaps if you were a bit more observant you would have not made such a mistake," Ziva said, though she added nothing else to the conversation, save for a few dirty looks thrown Tony's way.

"Clean up the mess," Gibbs ordered, gesturing to the pile of dirt and maggots that had spilled onto the floor when Tim had dropped the cup. A few of them were still squirming about on the ground.

Tony grimaced but made no argument. He'd only just tossed the last creepy crawler into the trash when Tim returned, almost looking completely normal.

"You okay, McGee?"

"I'm fine, Tony. I just don't expect to see…those in my coffee. No big deal."

"Well, I'd say puking is a pretty big deal."

"Just drop it," Tim muttered, making it clear he had no intention of pursuing the issue further.

"Sorry," Tony said sincerely. "It was just supposed to be a joke."

Tim responded with a "hm," making it very clear how he felt about the joke. But right now he couldn't even muster up the energy to be angry with Tony; he just wanted to forget the whole thing and move on with the day. It was bad enough that it had happened and that Gibbs had not only witnessed it, but had also been standing outside the door while Tim vomited; the last thing he wanted to do was dwell on it.

Of course, he'd known that was going to be a bad day when he'd woken up. It was always a bad day. He just hadn't expected it to be quite so bad.

"Ducky said I'm fine," he informed Gibbs. "Anyway, it's my turn to do a lunch run, so put your orders in now."

Tony and Ziva told him what they would like and he duly noted them. When he turned to Gibbs, though, he was quite for a few seconds. "I'll join you, McGee," he said.

Tim almost dropped the pen he'd been using to take down the orders and Tony and Ziva both looked up in surprise. In all the time any of them had been on the team, Gibbs had never taken part in a lunch run or dinner run or any kind of run for food. He'd give his order if he wanted anything (and more than often he was too busy to care about food anyway), but he never actually took it upon himself to help in grabbing the food for the others.

"That's okay, boss. It's not a two-person job." But Gibbs was already pulling on his coat as Tim's feeble protests fell upon deaf ears. "Boss…"

"I'll drive," was all Gibbs said.

It was an awkward ride for them both, Tim more so than Gibbs. He wasn't stupid; he knew Gibbs intended to talk to him about what had happened and he knew Gibbs wouldn't relent until he had answers. Tim didn't have the energy to fend off the questions and so he knew he'd eventually give in.

Gibbs didn't immediately say anything. He let them ride in silence, with only the radio to fill the void. He was mulling it over in his head, waiting for the right moment. In the distance loomed a sign for "Don's Burger's" which proclaimed it to be the best burger joint in D.C. Gibbs pulled into the parking lot. "What do you say we dine-in."

"Dine-in? Won't Tony and Ziva be hungry?"

"I figure they can wait."

Tim frowned but nodded. He allowed himself to be led into the greasy-spoon restaurant and allowed himself to be seated in a booth with fake vinyl seats as a middle-aged woman named Dottie took his order. After she left, he kept his eyes down on the table and ran his finger along the top, drawing doodles that only he could see.

"Stomach okay?"

Tim nodded.

"Think you can keep a burger down?"

Tim nodded.

"Anything else bugging you?"

Tim did nothing. He didn't want to lie, but he didn't want to tell the truth either. Saying—or doing, rather—nothing seemed like his only option. But his silence said it all.

"Tell me about it."

"There's nothing to tell."

"So what made you puke?"

"I don't think it's an irrational response to seeing maggots in your coffee cup."

"Come on, McGee. This is about more than the maggots."

"It's nothing. Honestly. Just a bad day."

But Gibbs wasn't about to let him off that easily. He waited until their food arrived, sipping his coffee as Tim dug into the double cheeseburger. Apparently the incident hadn't made him lose his appetite.

"You really don't like maggots, huh?" he asked.

"Most people don't. They're disgusting…and they eat human flesh," he added with a small shiver. To most that last bit would have seemed like a mere after thought in the grand scheme of things; but to Gibbs it was a small entrance into the door Tim was trying to keep tightly closed.

"That bothers you? That they eat corpses?"

"Doesn't it bother you?"

Gibbs shrugged. Truth be told, he'd never really thought about it. To him it was just the natural order of things, like carnivores eating their prey. "Lots of things eat corpses."

"Yeah, but maggots are the worst. The way they wriggling along the skin, in and out of the crevices and openings, slowly developing into flies that will buzz over that same body until it's gone. They don't even realize what they're eating."

"Are you listening to yourself?" Gibbs asked with a half-smile. "You're talking about the ability of an insect to think about its actions.

And it was a silly thought, Tim knew. Of course maggots didn't realize what they were eating; they didn't even really have brains.

"What's going on here, McGee? I know what Tony did was stupid and worthy of more than one smack to the head, but even I wouldn't have expected such a reaction out of you."

Tim leaned back against the booth, hearing the cheap fake vinyl crinkle beneath his movement. His hands lay on the table, one clutching a ketchup-soaked French fry and the other holding his drink, the fingers softly tapping against the plastic cup.

"It's…" he began, but lost his courage before continuing. "It's stupid."

"Nothing that gets such a rise out of a person is stupid."

"It's been twenty years."

"What?"

And suddenly Tim's stomach went sour again and he was back to being that twelve-year-old boy. The house. The stench. The sight. The maggots. All of it hit him full force and had him sprinting once again for the bathroom. He burst through the door and fell to his knees before the toilet, not even caring that it was a public bathroom, that the floor and toilet were probably crawling with germs.

This time Gibbs didn't wait outside. He followed Tim right in and waited there, watching as Tim panted, sweat already gleaming across his skin. He didn't actually puke, but he gagged and coughed enough to be worrisome.

When all of that subsided, the weight of Tim's body pulled him down into a sag so that his cheek rested against the toilet seat and his hands dangled down near the floor. His eyes were closed, but he let out a low moan, letting Gibbs know he was still conscious.

Gibbs hooked his arms beneath Tim's arms and hoisted him up. He led Tim to the sink and splashed water on his face. "Dry off and meet me out there," he said, handing Tim a paper towel. "We're going to have a talk."

He exited the bathroom and settled the bill for their half-eaten lunch. When Tim emerged a little while later, they walked outside and found a bench just across the street. Ten minutes passed with Tim staring across the street as he collected his thoughts and Gibbs waiting patiently for Tim to speak.

"I was twelve," he said after many false starts. "My family was stationed in California and this kid, Roger, went missing. Roger was a couple of years younger than me and he always followed me around. It was annoying, like having another little sibling. The day he went missing, I was out riding my bike and he was trying to follow me. I…I guess I was already in a bad mood from my mom yelling at me for making a mess with my chemistry set, so I took it out on him. I stopped my bike and told him to get lost, that I didn't want him following me around anymore."

"I'm guessing he took that to heart," Gibbs surmised.

Tim shrugged. "When I looked back, he was just standing there, his hands on his own bike. I figured he'd gotten the message."

"And when he went missing?"

"It was crazy," he said, slumping forward slightly. "I mean, it was a Navy Base; things like that didn't usually happen. Some people said he'd run away; others suspected he'd just gotten lost somewhere."

"Did you tell anyone about what had happened?"

He nodded. "When they called in NIS, they talked to all the kids. I told them that I had seen him there, but that he had been okay."

Gibbs nodded, though he could tell that the tale was far from over.

"He'd gone missing right after Halloween and for the next week people kept looking. You couldn't step outside without seeing an NIS agent walking the street. My birthday came and my parents gave me the new telescope I'd wanted. I always suspected they'd just done it to keep me from dwelling on Roger's disappearance, but it definitely worked. I had something to take my mind off things, something else to focus on."

"Didn't last, I take it."

"I snuck out of the house one evening. Our house was only one-story and when I used the telescope, I couldn't see beyond the trees. But there was this house—an old, abandoned house near the back of the base—and it was taller than the trees. Kids used to say it was haunted. They would swap stories about what gruesome things could have happened in there, each one trying to top the other. I'd heard everything from mass murders to satanic rituals, but, of course, no one ever had any proof.

"I rode my bike there and slipped inside. The door was never locked anyway. I just wanted to get up to the attic and get a better look at the stars. I made my way up the stairs. They were unstable from years of rotting and probably termites and I could feel them shake beneath me. Then, when I was midway up, a couple of them broke and I fell through. Apparently, there had once been some sort of closet under the stairs, but it had been boarded up when the last owners left. When I landed, I hit something kind of soft, though I still got my fair share of injuries. I figured I'd hit an old blanket or something and thought nothing of it. My main concern was getting out of there."

Tim closed his eyes and leaned back against the bench. From the way his brow furrowed and his breathing became rapid, Gibbs figured he was remembering the incident a bit too vividly. "It smelled awful, but the house was so old I didn't think anything of that. My time spent in the WEBLOS had taught me to be prepared, so I'd made sure to pack my flashlight. When I flicked it on, I just saw that I was in a tiny little space, but the wood looked weak enough that even I could have broken a large enough hole to push through.

"I slowly turned to grab my telescope when the light skimmed across…" He paused and took a deep breath. "It was a leg. A boy's leg, I knew, because he was wearing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles sneakers. When I moved the flashlight up, I saw him. I saw him lying there, his eyes and mouth open. He'd been there for over a week and I could already see decomposition setting in. Maggots were crawling out of his mouth, crawling along his body, under his rotted flesh." He inhaled sharply, his eyes popping open in a fruitless attempt to dispel the image from his mind; the twenty-year-old memory was enough to make his stomach churn all over again.

"I screamed and clawed my way out. I didn't even bother with the telescope. I just ran out and kept screaming. I thought I had a few maggots crawling on me, so I fell to my knees and began slapping my hands all across my body to get them off. That's how all of the neighbors found me when they came out to see what the commotion was. I was so hysterical, I could barely explain any of it to them. I just kept pointing to the house, screeching about the stairs, about the monster under the stairs. Someone called NIS and they came running." He scrunched his eyes closed once again. "I don't remember much else…just sitting in the back of a car while they asked me questions; what had a I seen, what had I been doing there, had I seen anyone suspicious hanging around there, those kinds of questions. I gave them concise answers, just wanting to get home, take a bath, and go to bed. Maybe then I could pretend it had never happened."

"Did that work?"

Tim let out a mirthless chuckle. "No…every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. I stopped going outside for fear of seeing maggots or other creepy crawlers, or for fear of meeting the same fate Roger had. I couldn't even enjoy the telescope anymore because when I looked at it, I thought about that night. I just stayed up in my room for weeks, becoming a recluse."

"I'm sure it was difficult to stumble across a dead body at that age, especially a body of someone so young."

"It was," Tim agreed.

"So that's why you don't like maggots?"

"One of many reasons, but the main one definitely."

Gibbs nodded, suddenly understanding why Tim's reaction had been so aggressive. But he still had questions. "Today wasn't the first time you'd ever seen maggots, McGee. Never seen you puke over them, though."

"No, I've managed to get my stomach under control. It's just that…well…today is exactly twenty years since it happened. I try not to think about it, but every year, when this day rolls around…it's just not a good day for me, no matter what."

Now that Gibbs thought about it, Tim had seemed unusually gloomy that day, even before Tony's prank. "Ziva knows?" he asked, recalling her words to Tony earlier.

"Yeah. I needed to get it off my chest and she seemed the best person to confide in. I mean, Abby wouldn't be able to keep it to herself, Ducky's sympathetic, but I'm afraid he'd try to analyze my psyche or something, and you and Tony…well, no offense, boss, but neither of you is the type I feel I can go to for emotional support."

Gibbs had to agree, he wasn't exactly the "lean-on-me" type, but he couldn't deny that he hated the idea of one of his people not being able to be open with him, especially about something like this.

"It's been twenty years, McGee. Why are you still harping on this?" he asked. He could understand it being a sore spot for Tim, but the man seemed to be taking it quite hard, even after all these years.

"Because I feel like it's my fault."

"Why's that?"

"If I hadn't told him to leave me alone…if I'd just let him tag along for once instead of brushing him off, he wouldn't have been killed."

"Killed?"

"Yeah…strangled. Signs of sexual abuse. I wasn't meant to hear that, of course, but most of the adults talked about it in low voices when they thought the kids weren't listening. We knew, though.

"NIS caught the guy about a month later when he tried to abduct another young kids. He was a groundskeeper hired by most of the residents and by the base. He tried to take a little girl from her bike, but she screamed bloody murder and every adult within a three block radius went running. When I heard that he'd been caught, it was the first breakthrough in my road to recovering. In fact, that was when I decided I wanted to work for NIS; I thought that if I helped other people and helped save lives, maybe it would make up for what I did that day. So far, though, I can't say I think the score is quite even yet."

And then, Gibbs something he didn't do often. He reached out a hand and placed it on Tim's shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. "I think you're being far too hard on yourself, Tim."

"He was ten, Gibbs! And I just ignored him, left him all alone, giving some sicko a chance to swoop in!"

"You were twelve, McGee. You were a young, headstrong boy and you viewed him as a pestering younger sibling. You're not the first person to become annoyed by having someone follow you around all the time. You didn't know there was someone like that lurking around on the base. It was a Naval Base; you expect a certain degree of security. And from the sounds of it, this pervert was someone who'd been planning this for a while. If he hadn't gotten him then, he may have at another time. You can't blame yourself for the actions of someone else."

"That's a nice talk, boss, but it's not going to help me sleep at tonight."

"Then try thinking about all the good you've done, the people you've helped."

"What? Like Erin Kendall? Detective Benedict? The guys who were killed because I used them as the basis for characters in my book?"

"How about that blind girl and her mother? Or Lt. Wilkerson, when she was stuffed in the trunk of her car? That little girl who was kidnapped on Christmas? Hell, even Ziva!"

"Those weren't me; they were the team."

"Yeah, and you're a part of the team, McGee. We can't win every time, but we try damn hard to win, and I know you do too."

Tim was silent as he digested these words, his mind still on twenty years earlier. So many "If only" wishes had floated through his mind in his life, but none so often as that one.

"McGee," Gibbs said, "I don't doubt that, if you could, you would go back in time and change that day. But you can't, and there's no use in dwelling on things we can't change. Instead, focus on the now, on the people we can help and the perverts we can catch."

Tim nodded, though his gaze was still vacant.

"Still keeping score in your head?"

He nodded again, though, if asked, he couldn't possibly give an exact score at the moment; he just knew it wasn't even and probably never would be.

Gibbs nodded. "Yeah, I thought so." Then, he gave Tim a swift smack to the head. "Hope that knocked that right out."

"What?" Tim asked as he rubbed his head.

"There is no score to keep, McGee. What happened, it wasn't your fault, and I'm not going to sit here and let you torture yourself over it. You help people; that's what you do. That's what you've been doing for the past eight years. I think there are a lot of people out there who, if you were to ask, would partially credit you with helping them sleep at night. So there's no reason you should be losing sleep over anything that happened when you were a kid. Trust me, McGee; I'm someone who knows a hell of a lot about guilt and regret."

And suddenly Tim felt almost silly. When he thought about what Gibbs had gone through, his ordeal seemed like nothing. "Sorry, boss. I forgot…I mean, I wasn't thinking…"

"Don't need to apologize."

"It's just that I know that losing…I mean…well…what happened to you was worse…"

"It's not a competition, McGee. I didn't say that to make you feel like what you went through wasn't terrible; I just want you to realize that I know what I'm talking about. You've got too much going for you to allow something like this to let you lose sleep."

Gibbs nudged him and nodded toward the diner. "I imagine by now DiNozzo's stomach is growling so loud it's starting a mini earthquake. What say we grab some food and head back?"

Tim nodded. "Yeah…that'd be fine."

Gibbs stood and Tim did as well, though more slowly. He lagged behind as they walked back into the diner, his cheeks red as he was sure everyone in there knew he'd thrown up minutes earlier. Gibbs put in an order and paid, a move that was surprising; Tim had never seen Gibbs foot the bill for lunch.

When they got back in the car—food in hand—Tim turned to Gibbs tentatively. "Hey, boss?"

"Yeah, McGee?"

A pause. "Thanks. For the talk."

Gibbs smiled slightly. "Anytime McGee." And he meant it.

That night, Tim readied himself for bed. The rest of the day had been uneventful, save for a contrite Tony constantly apologizing and trying to make amends. Not that Tim was too angry with him; he knew Tony hadn't meant for the prank to have that effect on Tim. Still, that didn't mean Tim couldn't milk it for all it was worth.

As he lay in bed, he thought about Gibbs, about what he'd said. He thought about Roger, too, and about the terrifying ordeal. Then, he thought about his time at NCIS and about what he'd done during that time. The people he'd helped. The lives he'd saved.

When he closed his eyes that night, he did see Roger's face—a gaping face with maggots crawling about—but it was soon replaced by the face of a life he'd helped save, and then another and so on and so forth. He wasn't worrying about evening the score any more, about atoning for his actions all those years ago. He was concentrating on being the best person he could be now and in the future.

And he slept peacefully.