Tim slept a little after that. Deep sleep, heavy and dreamless, and he felt better for it when he woke.

Still, standing hurt more than Tim felt was fair. He sank back with a groan, but a trip to the bathroom was fast becoming a matter of some urgency. He tried again, groping for the dresser to steady himself, then set out with determination out of proportion to the task.

When he was finished he perched on the edge of the tub and tried to work up the courage to examine his leg. He hadn't yet gotten a good look at the wound, but surely it couldn't be as big as it felt...

Only to find the dressings had been changed while he slept, the gauze pristine white and neatly taped. Tim released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and washed up at the sink, scrubbing away the metallic tang of fear sweat.

Back in the bedroom he found Ducky waiting. "Your friend came by," he said, "I felt it best not to wake you and took the liberty of proving your keys and address."

It made Tim nervous, thinking of Ducky and Barnes together, knowing full well the older man would have no qualms about probing the trainer for information. But he smiled and nodded, because what could Barnes tell Ducky that he hadn't already guessed?

"He's quite the...unusual fellow. Not what I was expecting."

Tim laughed. "He used to train dogs for the military."

Now he worked to rehabilitate those some canine soldiers after they came home from the battleground. They didn't call it PTSD when it happened to a lab or a shepherd, but the symptoms weren't that far off. Some were withdrawn, others skittish, and a few became dangerous, prone to outburst of aggression not unlike Jethro's.

Man or dog, war left its mark.

Ducky seemed pleased that Tim had tried to clean himself up a bit. Still he pulled back the covers on the bed, holding them high until Tim gave in and obeyed the all-too blatant hint.

"I called Jethro." Ducky was fussing about, smoothing the sheets and fluffing the pillows, and it was all giving Tim flashbacks to the many times he'd gotten himself thrashed on the way home from school. He half-expected his father to appear in the doorway to lecture Ducky on coddling 'the boy.' "So all you need worry about today is catching up on your rest."

Shit. Ducky had mentioned something earlier about talking to Gibbs, but Tim had been too addled to pay much mind. "W- what..." Tim took a deep breath and started over, focusing on shaping one word at a time. "What did you tell him?"

"That you had been hurt," Ducky said easily, "And that you would prefer to explain the circumstances yourself."

Relief made Tim sigh. "Thank you."

Ducky tugged at the quilt one last time, then twisted to sit on the edge of the mattress. "I won't pretend he was pleased by my refusal to explain. I do hope you will be honest with Jethro, Timothy. There is no reason to be ashamed..."

"That's not it." Not entirely, anyway. "I'll tell him, Ducky."

But maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to keep the scuttlebutt from reaching the others. Gibbs would understand if Tim preferred to keep his private business just that...right?

He was planning how he would explain the whole sorry situation when Ducky's hand settled on his knee, startling Tim into a flinch. "Timothy..."

The older man leaned in. Earnest eyes, earnest smile, and Tim cringed inside.

"I understand you care for the animal..."

And suddenly Tim was angry.

Angry that Ducky felt he had the right to judge. That he felt he had any advice to offer when he'd been silent at the start, back when it might have counted. When it might have made a difference.

"I'm not giving him up," he snapped, and it surprised Tim to realize he meant it. Even more so now, after all those afternoons working together in Barnes' yard. This was just a set-back...a bad one, sure, but Jethro had been doing so well.

Ducky too seemed taken aback by Tim's vehemence. "That wound is no laughing matter, young man."

"Neither was this."

Tim held up his arm. Twisted it to show where the scars were red and raised, and took petty pleasure when Ducky dropped his eyes.

"...no," the other man agreed, "It was not. I am terribly sorry for my own inaction that day. I wish I had a better explanation to offer, but the simple truth is that I was not paying attention."

Not very long ago, Tim would have leapt to reassure him. Would have hastened to tell him it was nothing, forgotten and forgiven long before this overdue apology. No harm done, because what Tim knew of forgiveness was how best to offer up the other cheek.

But his leg was throbbing, and he'd spent the night in a strange bed because he had nowhere else to go. Tim said nothing, and was proud of himself for it.

Ducky faltered then, and it was clear he had expected Tim to let things go just that easily. But damn it...all Tim had needed that day was one person.

One person to ask after his injures with actual interest in the answer. One person to stand up to Abby and tell her she was hurting him worse than the dog ever could. One person to tear into DiNozzo for breaking every rule about partners on the list.

Just one.

"Yes, well..." Ducky was fiddling with the blankets again, still not quite looking Tim in the eye. "There's still the matter of the dog..."

He held up a hand when Tim started to speak, turning to face him fully now. "I will not attempt to tell you what you should do. I only ask that you consider this...how you feel if Abigail lived with someone whom she feared?"

Tim scoffed. "He's a dog, Ducky...he got spooked, end of story. He's not abusing me."

"Of course not," Ducky agreed, "As you say, he is a dog, incapable of purposeful malice. But Timothy, I fear the effects on you are much the same. You feel unsafe, and you struggle to predicate his behavior. You have become isolated from your teammates..."

And that made the anger soar brighter, hotter, a wholly unfamiliar rage that made Tim clench his fists. Ducky trailed off, eyes widening just slightly, and Timothy wondered what it was in his expression that made the man look at him so.

"...Timothy?"

Tim hesitated. He'd been cruel before, had even enjoyed it, but Ducky's eye were so very sad. Tim had gotten his little taste of blood, and maybe that was enough.

But the words were already there, ringing out clear and firm. Not an attack, just simple truth.

"My dog isn't the one who isolated me."