A/N: This is a oneshot written for the O'Dark Thirty Challenge on the NFA. It takes place after One Last Score and that means season 8 spoilers! I thought that Tim's reaction to Leona Phelps' crime was too strong to be simply moral outrage. It seemed personal and so this is my take on it. There are also references to a conversation in South by Southwest in season 6.

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS and I'm not making money off this story. Any recognizable dialogue (all one line of it) belongs to the NCIS franchise.

Reaching the Dawn
by Enthusiastic Fish

"One may not reach the dawn save by the path of the night."
~Kahlil Gibran

They'd caught her. Yes, that was a good thing...but it really wasn't enough.

"You don't care about any of the lives you've ruined."

And it was true. Leona Phelps had cared only that she got caught and about getting away with what she'd done. Sure, she hadn't actually killed anyone, but she had ruined so many lives.

Too many lives.

Even one life would have been too many, but she had bilked millions of dollars out of people who had spent their lives in the service of their country.

Tim gritted his teeth. He was still angry about this. Catching her wasn't enough. She'd go to prison, yes...and she'd never get out if he could possibly prevent it, but it didn't change the fact that she'd ruined so many lives...on purpose.

"You gonna drink that or should I just dump out the booze and wash the glass?"

Tim looked up at the bartender.

"I've already paid for it."

"Yeah, but you've been staring at it for two hours now. It's three a.m. Do you plan on drinking it anytime soon?"

Tim's anger at the injustices he'd seen with this last case spilled over just enough that he let out a bit of it at the bartender.

"You running out of glasses?" he asked acidly.

"Nope."

"Barstools?"

"Nope."

"Then, mind your own business."

"All right. You feel like drinking something let me know."

"Oh, I will," Tim said sarcastically. "That will be first on my list."

The bartender went back to his work...and Tim went back to glaring at the glass. He didn't know why he'd decided to come to a bar. That wasn't his usual method of dealing with strong emotion. Usually, he went home and typed on his typewriter...or played a shoot-'em-up game or two. That was enough.

Not tonight, not after coming face-to-face with that...pitiful excuse for a human being. The anger boiled over into silent fury and he picked up the shot glass and drained it in one gulp. It burned all the way down, but Tim was angry enough that it didn't put him off.

"I drank it," he said to the bartender. "Give me another one."

Without a comment, the bartender refilled the glass. Black & White, the chosen whiskey of Richard Feynman...which was why this was about the only hard liquor Tim had ever tried. If a famous physicist had preferred it, it had to have something going for it.

His mind went back to the recipient of his anger and hatred. Leona Phelps. He could still picture her in his mind, so confident, so sure...so dismissive of the rights of others. So dismissive of everyone...

...until her own life was in danger. Then, she ran to us for help...and we helped her.

Tim picked up the glass and drained it again.

"How many is that?"

Tim looked back over his shoulder and then looked at the glass, now empty.

"Two. ...soon to be three." He signaled the bartender who gave him another refill.

"Why?"

Gibbs settled on the barstool next to him.

"Because I want to. That's a good enough reason."

"Not for you, it's not, McGee. Why?"

"My business." He picked up the glass and was about to drink it when Gibbs spoke again.

"We caught her, found where she'd hid all the money she stole. A lot of people are going to get their money back when the trial is over."

"Yeah, well, forgive me if I'm not doing cartwheels," Tim said and tossed back the glass. "That's three."

"I watched all the depositions."

"Did you?" Tim asked, staring at the glass. "That's a lot of video to watch...a lot of ruined lives."

"I was interested in one."

"Were you?" Tim asked, knowing where Gibbs was going with this but unwilling to help him along. "Which one?"

"How did you really lose all your money, McGee? Two years ago. You told Ziva it was a hedge fund that went sour. How did you really lose it?"

"Someone had to step in...and I was the only one who could," Tim said bitterly. "They didn't track her down until last year...and even then, they didn't find her money. ...not until now. Do you know how many lives she ruined?"

"Like I said, I was particularly interested in one."

"Yes! Okay?" Tim turned to Gibbs angrily. "Yes, my parents were two of the people who lost everything to her! You saw the deposition! You know that they were! Why come here to talk to me about it?"

"Because I think you need to talk about it."

"No. I don't need to. Mom and Dad are...making do now. They weren't living paycheck to paycheck before. If Dad hadn't got...if he hadn't had some health problems, they would have been fine, not great, but okay."

"But he did?"

"Yeah. Insurance will cover a lot, but not everything...especially not when you get sick as often as Dad does."

"You gave them what you had?"

"Yeah. Almost all that I had in savings. They didn't want to take it. They didn't even tell me at first...but they didn't have much choice. ...and all because that...that woman decided that people don't matter! All because she wanted to get as much as she possibly could. She couldn't have spent all that in her lifetime! But that didn't matter! All that mattered was that she had everything and everyone else had nothing!" Tim turned back to the bar. "Give me another," he demanded.

Another shot. Tim picked it up and drank it down. He wasn't a big drinker, and he knew he was nearing his limit. ...but for tonight, who cared about the limits?

"No matter what happens to her...it won't be enough to make up for what she did."

Gibbs was quite for a few seconds and then he signaled the bartender.

"I'll have one, too. What is it?" he asked.

"Black & White."

"Interesting choice. Why that?"

"Feynman liked it."

Tim heard a chuckle and then looked sideways as Gibbs sipped at the whiskey. He got another refill himself and drank it quickly.

"I think you've had enough, McGee."

"No. Not yet."

"Why? How will this help?"

"It won't."

"Then, why do it?"

"Because nothing will help. I told you. Nothing could make this right. My parents were so humiliated to need financial help from their son. All the money in the world isn't going to erase that, but I can forget for one night...while it's all still fresh in my head. I can forget it...and let it go away again."

He stared at the bar, felt the burning in his gut...and he knew that Gibbs was right. It was time to stop...but he didn't want to stop. Not yet.

Gibbs didn't bother to finish his shot. He just pulled out his wallet.

"I don't need you to pay for me, Boss. I'm not poor."

"I know." He put down enough to cover both their drinks. "Come on, McGee."

Tim stood up. He wasn't feeling impaired just yet, although he knew he probably was. That was why he hadn't bothered to bring his car.

"I can get home myself," he said, knowing he sounded petulant.

"I know that."

They walked out of the bar and Gibbs led Tim to his car. Then, he drove...but not back to Tim's apartment. He drove to The Yards Park just east of the Navy Yard.

"What are we doing here?" Tim asked, starting to feel more than a little impaired.

It was nearing five a.m. The eastern sky was still dark, but that would change soon enough, Tim knew.

Gibbs said nothing. Instead, he led Tim to the end of an empty dock on the bank of the Anacostia River.

"Sit."

Tim was feeling too befuddled to disobey.

"What are we doing? Going for a swim?" he asked.

"No. Just sit here."

Tim did as he was asked, but the silence was too much for him.

"Boss...why did you bring me here?"

There was a long silence and then Gibbs answered.

"Sometimes things look best if you can watch the sun."

"Yeah...how is that going to help this?"

"Maybe it won't, but it's better than what you're doing."

"I just...don't understand how...how she could be so...so inhuman."

"It's probably good that you can't. Besides, understanding won't make it go away either."

"I hate her," Tim said bluntly. "I really hate her."

"Yeah. Caught that."

Tim sat there and stared at the eastern sky. It looked just a little bit less dark than it had before.

"What time is it?"

"Just after five. Nearly dawn."

"I've had a bad day," Tim said finally.

"Maybe this day will be better."

"With the hangover that I'm going to have? I doubt it." Tim laughed a little and then bit his lip. "What's wrong with people?"

"Don't know."

Tim nodded.

"But she's not getting away with it, Tim. Even if it doesn't feel like enough, she's going to pay the price for what she did, and even though it's too late for some, they'll get something back."

"But it's not enough."

"Doesn't have to be, not right away."

"It's still been a bad day."

Gibbs put a hand on Tim's shoulder and squeezed it.

"It'll get better. Promise."

Tim sat quietly for another minute.

"How much longer are we staying here?"

"How long has it been since you watched the sun come up, McGee?"

"Just watched?"

"Yeah."

"Long time."

"Okay."

Slow, he might be, but Tim caught on and smiled. As the first light of dawn graced the eastern sky, he thought that just maybe Gibbs could be right.

FINIS!