A/N: This is a oneshot tag to the season 4 episode Cover Story, inspired by the Neil Diamond song "Be", which is one of my favorites. It's just a short conversation between Tim and Ducky.

Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or its characters and I'm not trying to get rich off this.

Be
by Enthusiastic Fish

Be
As a page that aches for a word
Which speaks on a theme that is timeless
And the one God will make for your day
"Be" by Neil Diamond

Tim looked at his typewriter for a few seconds and then sighed and left. Ever since he had seen just what his writing had brought out in people, he hadn't had any desire to keep it up. Two murders because the wrong person had read Deep Six and become obsessed with the story.

No desire to write, just a longing for it. He wished he could go back to the wonderful way that writing had touched his soul. He had written for years before trying to get anything published. The words on the page had been the way to express the things he couldn't express any other way. Sure, Deep Six had been on the melodramatic side, but it had been his own words. People had wanted to read his words. They had appreciated them. He had looked forward to seeing what they thought of Rock Hollow.

...but now, his words had led to people dying.

How could he keep writing them when death lay in the pages he'd written already?

He couldn't. He'd already decided that he would never write again. Never. Not one more word.

So he went to work early, instead of writing a few words in the morning, and then, when they were released, he lingered after everyone else, instead of rushing home to write. No more words. Gibbs could say what he wanted, but the plain fact of the matter was that, if Tim hadn't written the words, Landon wouldn't have targeted and killed those two men. No court would convict him, but it didn't matter. Tim had convicted himself. An accessory to murder. Unwilling, unknowing. But still an accessory.

He walked out of the building alone and then toward the pier. He was in no rush to get home tonight.

No one knew he was still upset. No one thought he had any reason to be. Abby was only concerned with what happened with Amy (and the answer was nothing because Tim wasn't writing anymore). Tony's only concern was that Tim's writing had been inconvenient (which it wouldn't be any longer). Gibbs didn't think he should have been upset at it at all. To be honest, Tim was afraid of even mentioning his worries to Ducky or Jimmy.

His typewriter had been his prize possession, not because it was expensive. It wasn't. It was because he had found it, fixed it and it was the medium of expressing himself.

Not anymore.

He would have to decide what to do with it. He couldn't leave it sitting out on the desk, silently calling for him to come and sit and type. He couldn't get rid of it, either. It meant too much to him.

He reached the river and looked out toward the west. The sun was just setting and the clouds in the sky turned the garish colors that looked beautiful up there but never could translate accurately to any other medium.

"I should have tried to be an artist instead," Tim said softly to himself. "No one ever died because they got obsessed with a painting. And I definitely wouldn't have been any good at it. No one would have ever known."

Another sigh.

"Timothy? Is that you?"

Tim turned around. Ducky was walking across the park toward him.

"Hey, Ducky. Just watching the sunset. I thought you would be gone already."

"I had paperwork that couldn't be put off any longer. You?"

"Just not in a hurry to get home, and the sky looked pretty."

Ducky joined him but gave Tim an evaluating stare.

"Would your reluctance have anything to do with the case last week?"

Tim just shrugged.

"There's no reason to place any blame on yourself."

"Who says that I am? I just like watching the sunset," Tim said. "No one else seems to think it's a problem."

"It occurred to me that, given the situation, you might be thinking that there was some responsibility you bore for those two unfortunate young men."

"Well, I'm not," Tim said, refusing to look at Ducky. "I'm just enjoying the sky."

"Ah. My apologies for intruding. It is a lovely sunset. I'll leave you to it, but if you ever want to talk, my door is open. Figuratively speaking, of course."

Ducky started to walk away. Tim stared at the sky for a few seconds and then, he turned around. Ducky hadn't gone more than a few steps away.

"No one else thinks there's a problem. Why do you?" he asked.

Ducky turned back with a slight smile.

"Because two men were killed by a delusional young man who had read and become obsessed with your writing. Even though it's not at all your fault, it's a natural reaction to this kind of situation."

Tim looked back at the sky. The colors had begun to fade, becoming more muted as the sun dipped lower and nighttime began to take over.

"Except that it is my fault. I wrote the story. I chose to use real people as my inspiration. Without that, they would still be alive," he said. "There's no law that says I'm guilty, but morally, I am. What I wrote led to murder. I was just trying to decide what to do with my typewriter because I'm never going to write again."

"You shouldn't make decisions like that in haste, Timothy," Ducky said.

Tim shook his head and kept staring out at the river and the sky. He didn't look at Ducky.

"I'm not rushing. It's been days. Everyone else thinks it's over. To them, it's just another case. They aren't annoyed by anything that I wrote anymore. Gibbs was just annoyed that I was bothered by it. I can't write a story, knowing that the possibility exists for someone to commit murder for it. It would be irresponsible of me."

"No, Timothy. With the depth of Landon's obsession, if it hadn't been your book, it would have been something else. You can't let his crime stop you from doing what you love."

"Yes, I can. I should because I'm the only one who benefitted from my book. I've been profiting off something that got people killed. I can't keep doing that. It's...blood money."

"No. Giving up writing would only punish an innocent man. Timothy, your success aside, writing is something that is important to you. You were writing long before you published, correct?"

"Yeah. I've been writing since before I was working for NCIS. Publishing wasn't in my plans, originally. I just liked to write."

"Precisely. You are a writer. You're not merely an author. You are a writer, and that's not something you can stop being, not without changing who you are. Whether you choose to publish or not is another matter, but you should not let this tragic event destroy part of what defines you."

The colors of the sunset were almost gone. Tim finally turned and faced Ducky directly.

"People died because of my writing, Ducky."

Ducky smiled at him and shook him gently.

"No. People died because of a young man's delusion. Don't let him claim another victim by becoming someone other than you are."

Tim furrowed his brow.

"Ducky, why do you care so much about this? You didn't like Deep Six any more than anyone else did. I thought Jimmy would never talk to me again. I'd think that everyone would be thrilled to know that I'm not writing."

Ducky shook his head.

"It's nothing so extreme, Timothy. To be sure, I was surprised by the characterizations, but I remembered that it was a fictional story, not something I needed to be worried about in terms of your actual perceptions."

Tim flushed a little. While it was true that much of it was fiction, he had put in some things that he had thought were real.

"What does concern me is that you're letting everyone else decide for you, and you shouldn't do that, whether it's a delusional killer or your friends and colleagues."

"So...you think I should keep writing?"

"Yes."

"Even though two men were killed because of it?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

Ducky laughed. "Yes, Timothy. Really. Perhaps use more caution in your descriptions if you do continue to be inspired by the real world around you. Otherwise, do what brings you joy. Life is to be lived to its fullest and you can't do that if you're afraid of doing what you love."

"You really don't mind the things I wrote?" Tim asked. He wasn't sure he believed Ducky was so blasé about it.

"No, I don't. Even if I did, you shouldn't let that keep you from writing. Don't give up writing because of what happened. I'm not telling you to publish if you don't want to, but don't stop writing. Be who you are."

Tim was touched by how concerned Ducky seemed to be about something that meant a lot to him. It wouldn't kill him to stop writing, but Ducky was determined not to let him.

"Thanks, Ducky," he said, not knowing how else to respond.

Ducky just smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

"The sunset is over, Timothy. You should go home."

Tim smiled back.

"Okay. See you tomorrow, Ducky."

"Indeed."

Ducky walked off toward his car. Tim gave one last look at the sky. All the colors were gone. He nodded to himself and set off for home.

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

Ducky was unsurprised to see Gibbs standing by his car.

"Good evening, Jethro."

He was also unsurprised when Gibbs said nothing. Instead, he just raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

"You were correct, and I believe he is back on the right path. You could have spoken to him yourself, you know."

"He wouldn't hear it from me," Gibbs said, breaking his silence. "He'd see it as criticism."

"Perhaps, but you could have done it just as effectively, albeit with a slightly different approach."

"Doesn't matter who does it, just that it happens."

"True, and while I don't doubt that he'll have his share of uncertainties and bad days, he will be able to get through them and be himself."

"Good."

Then, Gibbs walked away, and Ducky got into his car and went home.

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

When Tim walked into his apartment, the first thing he saw was his typewriter, sitting in its usual spot, untouched since he'd realized what had happened. For a moment, he was unsure about it. Ducky's encouragement didn't change the fact that two men had been killed.

...but at the same time, he really wanted to write. Not necessarily on his book. Just write. Get the words down on the page.

He dropped his bag on the floor and walked over to his desk.

He rolled in a blank sheet of paper and stared at it for a while.

Then, he took a deep breath, and stood up. He walked over to his record player and started it going.

Then, he sat down again.

Looked at the page.

Another few breaths.

He began to type.

There is something about an empty page. It wants to be filled, and I want to fill it.

Tim smiled.

FINIS!