Epilogue

November 13, 1982

It was an important day, and Tim wouldn't miss it for the world. No matter how much he still disliked going out in big crowds, he'd have to be dead to miss this. He saw the clouds and hoped that the weather wouldn't be too bad. It was really early. He hadn't slept well overnight and it was still almost dark outside.

He dressed very carefully and then left his apartment. He walked to the Metro station, being fortunate to live close to it, and headed to the Mall.

There would be a bigger event later, but there was something that he needed to do first.

After he got off the Metro, he walked slowly through the gloom, across the National Mall, until two long black slabs of gabbro came into view. He was unsurprised that there were a few other people there already.

He walked over to a stand holding a book. He looked through it, found a name, and headed to the wall. Carefully, without any hurry, he dragged finger along the names, crouching down as he reached the bottom of the list, and then stopped on one.

James Dillon Nelson.

He rubbed his hand over the name and looked into the reflective surface of the rock. It was almost as though he could see Jim standing on the other side, staring back at him. Tim leaned his head forward and rested it on the wall. He looked at the wall again and saw other names, the other men he'd served with so briefly. Loren Davidson. Allen Michael Laurent. Mark Antoine Mellon. Too many others, but it was Jim's name he kept coming back to. Then, another thought came to him. He got to his feet and found another day, another set of names. Robert Washington. Frank Williams. Daryn Nathan Larson. And four others. He stared at them for a long time. The men who had been ready to kill him but had, instead, died themselves. He avoided seeing his reflection here. If they were looking back at him, he didn't want to see them.

"I thought you might be here."

Tim turned around quickly, tensing up at the sudden voice. It was Jim's dad.

"Hi," he said. "Jim's name is over there." He pointed back.

"Show me?"

Tim nodded and gladly left behind the names of his old squad. He went to the slab and pointed to Jim's name, feeling the same stab of grief that he'd felt ever since that battle.

"He's right here," Tim said, feeling his throat tighten.

Jim knelt down and brushed his fingers over the name. Then, he got to his feet again and stared at the wall.

"I can still hear him," Tim whispered. "I can hear all the sounds of that hill."

"You know others in this spot?"

Tim nodded.

"A lot of them. They died the same day. Same battle. But not me." Tim could feel tears in his eyes. "I felt like I got left behind. It's selfish, but I did." He took a breath.

"You did get left behind, but that doesn't mean it's a bad thing."

"Yeah. I know. Most of the time, I know that. Not always. Not even now...all these years later." Tim looked at Jim. "They've given what I have a name now. Did you know that?"

"No, I didn't."

Tim nodded. "They're calling it Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Kind of a mouthful, but it's being recognized as something real. I still am...getting help for it. It's less of a problem than it was, but I still have trouble."

"You look a lot more stable than you did."

"I feel more stable...most of the time. Sometimes, it's still hard."

"That's all right, you know."

"I know."

"Are you going to the dedication?"

Tim nodded.

"I don't really want to, but I think I need to. I need to be here for that. I'm going to go to the National Cathedral, too. This is what we should have got when we came back. It's almost ten years late, and I owe it to all the men on this wall to be there...to honor the sacrifice they made. This country didn't honor them until now, and I need to give them that honor."

Tim straightened his shoulders.

"Today isn't just for us. It's for them." He jerked his head toward the wall. "It's for Jim."

"Sometimes, I wonder what my son would have done with his life if he'd survived," Jim said softly. "It's a loss to the country that he died."

Tim felt the tears again as he nodded. They stood together and stared at the wall for a few minutes. Then, Jim, Senior, patted Tim on the shoulder and left him to his solitary contemplation of the wall.

Tim stayed there until the crowds started coming. He looked around and saw Tony and Abby arriving. He walked over to them.

"Hey, Tim. Long time, no see," Tony said.

Tim nodded. "I know. Funny how easy it is to drift apart. You seen Gibbs lately?"

Tony shook his head.

"Tony's such a homebody," Abby said. "I've tried to get him to go traveling on our vacations and he just wants to stay home and watch movies."

Tim laughed.

"I just said that I'd seen enough of the world already, and I needed to make up for it by planting my feet very firmly on U.S. soil," Tony said, stomping his feet. "But I wouldn't have missed this for anything."

"Me, neither."

"What about Ducky?"

"I've seen him a lot. I've spent a lot of holidays at his place."

"You still aren't going home?" Tony asked.

"Not much. Mostly when Dad's traveling. He's been supervising some project or another."

"You aren't talking to him?"

"I said what I had to say already. It's up to him to say something to change things," Tim said. "He hasn't."

Tony looked almost pained, but Tim smiled.

"It's not a problem...not a big problem, anyway. I've had years to get used to it."

"You shouldn't have to. I still don't get your dad at all. My dad is at least just too disinterested to be involved."

"My dad won't admit to being wrong. That's not who he is. That's not how he became an admiral."

"We wanted to get a look at the wall before the dedication."

"I'm heading to the Cathedral. They're reading out the names of everyone."

"Everyone who died?"

Tim nodded.

"Hey...wait for us?"

Tim nodded, but he didn't want to stay in the crowds.

"I'll be over by Lincoln. Okay?"

"Sure. See you in a few."

Tim nodded and walked over to the Lincoln Memorial. He sat down on the steps and tried to relax in the face of the coming stress of being in such large crowds. It was going to be a long day. Worth it, but still long.

Someone came and sat by him.

"Thought I saw you at the wall."

Tim looked over.

"Hey, Gibbs."

"Big day."

"Yeah. Big day. This should have happened a long time ago. Maybe not the monument, but the welcome, the honor. It shouldn't have taken so many years."

"You're right."

Tim looked out over the Mall.

"I guess it's better late than never...but with everything that we have gone through... It makes me a little mad that it took so long."

"Just a little?" Gibbs asked.

Tim smiled.

"Yeah, just a little." Tim leaned back. "I wasn't sure if I really wanted to do this today, but I wanted to be here."

"How's the job?"

Tim laughed a little.

"It's classified."

Gibbs laughed, too.

"Really."

"Yeah. I'm doing some...military research."

"With computers?"

Tim smiled.

"Of course."

"Good."

Gibbs got up. Tim saw Tony and Abby coming up the stairs. He met them halfway and they went to the National Cathedral together. For a few hours, they sat in the Cathedral, listening as volunteers read the names of the fallen. Nothing brought home the sheer number of people who had been lost than hearing the names spoken, one at a time without rushing. It was going to take hours, maybe even days, to read them all. Name after name was read out. They didn't stop. Fifty-eight thousand names. That meant the deaths of 58,000 men. After a few hours, they all had to leave. Sure, it wasn't as high a number as had died in the world wars, but it was still enough that they couldn't keep listening. Even with all the time they spent there, they didn't hear the names of people they knew. That's how many names there were.

The dedication would come later; so they went, by unspoken consent, to get lunch together. They found Ducky and had him come with them. It became time to assemble for the parade. They walked together to the assembly spot. They found Ron Sacks, Stan Burley, even Ned Dorneget while they were walking, and it was a chance to catch up. They were actually enjoying themselves, but then, there was something else.

...or rather, someone else.

"Tim?"

It was a voice Tim hadn't heard in almost ten years. He looked at Gibbs who was facing the person speaking. He asked the question without saying a word.

Is it him?

Gibbs just nodded.

Tim wasn't sure he wanted to turn around. He took a deep breath and turned.

"Hi, Dad," he said, keeping his voice neutral.

He saw some movement from Tony and Abby. He gestured slightly, not wanting to muddle this up with their attempts to defend him.

Tim was surprised to see how much older his father looked.

"What are you doing here?"

"Your mother told me you'd be here. I've been looking for you all day."

"I thought you'd be busy."

"No."

"What do you want?" Tim asked.

"Can we talk?"

"The parade is starting soon. I'm not missing that, not for anything," Tim said.

"It won't take long."

"Okay."

They walked a few steps away from the group, giving the illusion of privacy.

"What is it, Dad?"

John took a breath and looked around at the crowds of veterans.

"I'm... I treated you wrong."

"Yes, you did."

John still wasn't looking at him.

"I haven't stopped thinking about what your CO told me."

Tim's brow furrowed.

"Gibbs? When did you talk to him?"

"After your accident."

"Dad, it's been years since my accident."

"I don't have any excuse, Tim."

"No, you don't. Dad, you don't have any excuse. What are you here for? You always told me to face things head on. If you have something to say, you need to say it. To me. To my face."

"You're right. I'm sorry. That's what I came here to say. I'm sorry for how I treated you and for taking so long to admit it. I'm not going to pretend that this is going to change everything. Maybe not anything, but you deserve to know, and if you want to, I'd like to try fixing what I broke."

Tim looked at his father for a long while. It was what he'd wanted his father to say, but he'd wanted it almost ten years ago. It seemed rather late in the game for his dad to say it now. But he also knew his father, that he was honest, that he didn't tend to say things just to make someone feel better. Tim also knew how hard this was for him to say.

"Dad...this isn't the place or the time to talk about this. If you're serious, then...maybe we can try...but not now."

As Tim expected his dad didn't protest. He nodded.

"I'm glad for...all of this, Tim." He waved his hand around at the mass of people. "You all deserve it. I won't keep you."

He stepped back, and Tim watched him go. He wasn't sure how he felt about his dad's attempt at this point. It wasn't that it was unwelcome, but he'd spent years giving next to no thought to his father because that was how he'd felt his father had treated him. To have this sudden shift was strange and not something that he could just accept without a lot of thought. He walked back.

"What did he want?" Tony asked, sounding affronted.

"To apologize," Tim said.

"And?"

"I told him that I couldn't think about it now...and I definitely can't forgive him right now."

"I don't think you should at all," Tony said.

"I don't know if I can, but I need time to think about it. ...but right now...something else is more important. All this...but he's here for this. Maybe there can be more. Later."

He said it with some finality, hoping that they would take his cue and drop it.

They did.

They moved on to the parade staging area. There were thousands of veterans ready to march down Constitution Avenue. Many were on crutches or in wheelchairs. Others, Tim knew from personal experience, had scars that no one would be able to see. As he looked around at all the people assembled in this space, he wondered how many of the men who had died were there in spirit, ready to march with their brothers-in-arms one last time.

There were a number of Marines from Chu Lai right around him. Tim was happy to see the ones who had survived but he regretted those who had died. Finally, it was time to start walking. They walked together toward the memorial, and Tim heard applause. For the first time since he had returned from Vietnam, he heard applause instead of jeers. People wanted to cheer for them instead of harangue them for the actions of a few, for the decisions made by people in higher positions. Part of Tim wanted to tell them that he didn't want their applause, but he couldn't. He couldn't deny that it felt good to have approval...and he knew that his father was out there in the crowd somewhere, maybe with his mother and sister who had always supported him.

After the parade came the dedication. There were so many people there that it was hard to find a place to see. Gibbs managed to carve out a space where they could see the speakers and Tony, Gibbs, Abby, Ducky and Jimmy all crowded around to see. They listened to a fellow veteran, Everett Alvarez, Jr., and then to the keynote address by John Warner, a senator who had helped get the memorial built.

"...for you, indeed, are a living memorial..."

The words washed over him. He listened and heard but at the same time didn't really hear anything.

"Victory can only hope to be achieved if we support those we send to fight..."

After the words came the time to sing the national anthem. Tim found one of the many flags and focused on it. He sang with everyone else and then watched as the state and territorial flags were retired.

Then, Jan Scruggs read another quote. It was a poignant illustration of what Tim himself had felt.

"...You were faithful, Levy, but your country was not..."

And then, there was the statement that now there was a memorial to the people the country had wished to forget.

And another song. "God Bless America".

A moment of silence and then a closing prayer by a chaplain who had served in Vietnam.

"Why have they been smitten?, he asked, and then for us there was no healing. We looked for peace but could find no good. We looked for a time of healing, and, behold, we found terror."

Tim closed his eyes in recollection of how much those words resonated with his own experience.

"God, let this monument and this dedication forever remind us that we will come together to mourn our dead. We will come together to reach out to our wounded. We will come together to remember and honor our brave. Only then may we have the vision to dream our dreams again. Only then may we have the faith to pray our prayers again. Only then may we have the courage to march together again – to stand together again – and–together–to help make this the kind of country, and the kind of world, for which we pray."

In his mind, Tim was saying yes over and over to the statements the chaplain was making. And with the final amen, he spoke the word with a deep reverence.

Then, there were more announcements and the retirement of the colors and then, the mass of people surged toward the memorial and away from the memorial. Tim himself wanted to get away from the crowds. The others seemed to feel the same way. They all drifted away from the memorial. They got dinner together and then made arrangements to get together again the next day.

Late that night, Tim lay in bed. He'd been trying to sleep for hours but failed. So he finally got up and went back to the memorial. It was quiet now, where before it had been crowded. He didn't need to approach the wall again. He just wanted to be here, but when he got closer, he saw one person slowly walking beside the wall, one hand dragging lightly along the surface.

There was something familiar about that figure. It had been years, but still...

"Ziva?"

The figure turned. He came close enough to see her face.

"Ziva," he said again.

She smiled.

"I hoped to see you here."

She hurried over and hugged him tightly. Tim hugged her back.

"Were you at the dedication?"

"No. I was only just able to come here. I wanted to be here for that. I knew it would be important to you."

"That's all right. I didn't expect to see you."

"It has been a long time, and after the suicide attack on IDF headquarters, I thought I might have to stay for much longer."

"I saw that on the news."

Ziva nodded briefly. Tim could see a new hardness in her gaze that had not been there the last time. He put a hand on her cheek. She smiled and the hardness softened somewhat.

"I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again," Tim said.

"It has been hard to get away. I traded one war for another war...but it will never end, I feel. We are fighting, but there is no end and we cannot go home because that is where we are...and it is where they are, too. We are both home and have nowhere else to go. I do not know if there is a solution."

"I'm sorry, Ziva. I hate that you are stuck in that all the time."

"I do not like it, either, but I cannot abandon my people."

Tim nodded.

"But if you ever need a break, you're always welcome here."

"Thank you. When I come here, I feel a calm that I do not get at home. I know your country has its problems, too, but you are not always under attack."

Tim put an arm around her, somehow feeling comfortable with the close contact that he usually avoided. Ziva leaned against him, and her new hardness made him fairly certain that there were few people she would do that with. They walked together to a bench and sat down. They sat in silence for a while, looking at the monuments and the memorial they'd just left.

"I felt from your letters that you had healed," Ziva said, finally. "And seeing you now, you have. You have a confidence that you did not have the last time I saw you. I am glad that you have it now."

Tim smiled. "I don't really feel all that confident most of the time."

Ziva laughed. "That does not surprise me. You are not one who recognizes his own strengths. Trust me when I say that you are much improved."

"Okay. I will. I've trusted you with a lot more, Ziva. I can trust you again."

"I am staying here for a few days. I hope that I can see you."

"Yes. Absolutely. Actually, tomorrow, we're all getting together for lunch. You should join us."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Tim said. "Yes, please, come."

"I would like to."

"Great. Do you have someplace to stay?"

"Yes. I have a hotel."

"Okay."

They got up together, sensing the end of their solitary contemplation. They'd had the same common feelings in Vietnam. They walked away from the Mall. Tim saw Ziva to a taxi and then, he looked around. There was something she had said that had got him thinking.

There was something he needed to say, something he should have said before. Yes, he could wait, and there was a chance that he'd be a disturbance, but he thought not. Not tonight. Any other night, probably, but not on this night after this day.

It was a bit of a drive out to Reston. He parked and looked at the house. He smiled at the sight of a light on. He walked up the stairs and knocked softly. The door opened.

"What are you doing here, Tim?" Gibbs asked. "Ducky's been in bed for hours."

"Not you?" Tim asked.

"No."

"I came to see you. Not Ducky."

"What is it?"

"I just wanted to say thank you, Gibbs."

"For what?"

"You did keep your promise."

Gibbs' brow furrowed for just a moment and then he smiled.

"You promised that we'd all go down together or we'd all succeed together. I owe you my life, and it took me a long time to appreciate that. I do now. I'm not perfect and I don't think I ever will be, but I have a life that I'm glad I have...and I wouldn't have had any life at all. You kept me from killing myself out in Vietnam. You kept me from hiding myself when I came back. You didn't let me give up when that's all I wanted to do. You made me a promise and you kept it even when I didn't want you to. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Tim smiled and then, he turned to leave.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

That was all he said. That was all he had to say.

Tim went home.

And he went to sleep.

FINIS!