Tim glanced at the clock for what seemed like the hundredth time and yet not even an hour had passed. Turning back to his new typewriter, that had taken him three months to find and was well over what he was prepared to pay, he stared at yet another blank page. Sighing, his eyes followed the crumpled pieces of paper that littered his desk, floor and even some of his semi-open draws.

He knew it was useless, working at two in the morning never got him anywhere yet he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until he had written something.

He quickly glanced at the clock, but just as quickly looked away, knowing barely a minute had passed since he'd last looked at it. Turning his gaze to the muted television he watched the tennis for a minute glad to see that the Russian was beating the Spaniard. Glaring back at the typewriter in front of him, Tim couldn't help but think maybe his writers block was it's fault. He hadn't written anything he was proud of since he'd got it, and although it wasn't an excuse he couldn't think of anything else. Well he could, but he didn't want to go there. Not to the basement, or the boat, or Gibbs, or Mexico, or Chloe, or any of it. It didn't help that Gibbs had come back.

He knew he would. He didn't know how he knew, for Tim was the first to admit that he was socially inept when it came to picking up "vibes" from people, always finding out things AFTER they had happened, but this time was different. He knew that telling Gibbs he shouldn't go would make him want to go more, and all he really needed was someone to talk to him rationally. And yet he hadn't stopped him and he hadn't wanted to for he knew he would come back.

But not so soon. Not when he was still getting over having told his boss, the man he looked up to, about a part of his past that very few knew. He knew he would regret it when he was telling Gibbs, but he also knew it would help the man, even if it didn't help him.

A knock at the door jarred him out of his thoughts, and, immediately expecting Tony to bound in after having picked the lock, Tim quickly pulled some pants on knowing he would rather die than let DiNozzo see him in his boxers again. When the door didn't swing open Tim slowly approached and opened it, not wanting to face one of his neighbours again. Seriously, you would think by now that they would no not to piss off a federal agent, but no.

There was silence. Complete and utter silence after he opened the door to see Gibbs standing there. Tim tried to think back to a time in his life where he had uncounted a situation like this and the etiquette for getting out of it. ‘Nothing. Damn. Guess you're on your own this time Tim.'

"Ahh, hi." Tim managed to blurt out as he opened his door wider to left Gibbs in. "Did we ah, get called in, sorry if I didn't hear my phone, it must be dead, sorry about that umm- so what are we doing, what's ahh, what's going on? Not that I mind you in my apartment or anything it's just that, well you know…" Tim trailed off feebly as Gibbs turned to face him

"You knew I would come back." Statement. Not question. And he sighs. And he feels the world turning again and it's happened so quickly that he almost sways because of the sudden movement.

For Gibbs has recognised this, recognised that he gave him part of himself that night, not because he wanted him to stay, but because he now knows that he needed to stay.

"Yes."

"None of them knew what I was going through, what I needed. How come you did?"

And of all things Tim thought Gibbs would ask him about what had passed between them THAT was not it. Not by a long shot. Damn, how to respond.

Gibbs is now sitting on one of his chairs, looking up at him as though his answer would FINALLY set him free from what has been going on in his mind since he woke up in that hospital bed. He has never seen him so vulnerable, so human as he is just now and it scares him. Deeply.

"I didn't tell you what you needed to hear." Tim answered, almost sighed out of his mouth as he sat down opposite Gibbs. "I told you what I needed to say."

And he can tell by Gibbs's face that THAT answer was not the one he had been expecting, but it was the only one he had and that would have to do, for now anyway.

There is utter silence for a long time, the two of them looking at each other but not seeing each other and although Tim knows it's cliché he makes a mental note to add it in his book somewhere.

Half an hour later finds them both watching the television as the Russian beat the Spaniard in three sets. And Tim can't hide the smile on his face as he just won $100.00 from his sister. He he he.

"I didn't expect you to be up this late." Gibbs states, startling him.

"Couldn't sleep." Tim mumbled, going with the age old rule that the simplest story is usually the best.

And as he watches Gibbs stand and make his way back out of his house he can not help but smile, knowing that although they will never speak of this again it has cleared an air between them and they can move on.

Just as Tim went to close the door Gibbs turned around, a sly smile on his face as he scanned the apartment for the dozenth time that night.

"You know, if you got a paper shredder it would be far easier." and with that he closes the door in Tim's face and leaves.

"Bastard." Tim muttered to himself as he searched for his shoes and keys to get to the nearest Wal-Mart knowing that he definitely wouldn't sleep now.