Author's Note: This is a story about Timothy McGee, in a particular story universe where he has suffered extreme trauma, both physical and mental...it in no way reflects on the actor who portrays that character.
Timothy McGee was exhausted; so tired that he could barely turn the key in the door of his apartment...he was home. Better than that, so was Ziva; they had found her at last and brought her back to DC. He could barely believe that only yesterday he was lying on the floor of a cell in Somalia. the last few hours had passed in a blur of medical assessments, airports, flights, and finally that welcome back into the squad room; he hadn't been expecting that, being the centre of attention was the last thing he wanted, so he stood aside and let the others take the applause.
Now he was home, and there was one thing he had to do before he got in the shower and tried to wash more of that desert sand away. He switched on his computer, and waited impatiently for his system to boot-up...he had set up a Bot to trawl the internet, searching for the video footage of the attack on him earlier in the year. So far, there had been no hits, but he couldn't take the chance that somewhere out there someone was watching him being kicked and beaten...that someone would believe the evil lies those men screamed at him as he lay on the ground.
Abby had pleaded with Tim not to watch, but he had to see; he remembered some of the attack, but there were holes in his memory, and he managed to convince himself that the reality couldn't be as bad as what he had been imagining; he'd been wrong. It had taken him four attempts to watch if through to the end without dashing to the men's room to throw up...but at least he knew what they had done to him. Now he couldn't forget, and he lived in dread that there were others out there that had also seen those pictures.
He shivered...time to get in the shower, and then try to get some sleep.
After a long, hot shower he was feeling almost human again, he was brushing his teeth and looking forward to lying in his own bed for the first time in days, when he caught sight of his face in the mirror. He looked...different, it wasn't just the cuts and bruises; his face was a little thinner...Tim knew he hadn't been eating as much as usual since he'd been released from hospital, he just didn't seem to have much of an appetite. The result was there for all to see, no wonder he had to fasten his belts a little tighter these days, he hadn't been paying attention, but he had lost quite a bit of weight.
He looked closer at the man in the mirror, the man who spent every day worrying that someone would recognise him from that internet footage. Who worried every day that he would be accused once more of abusing children...but what if he didn't look like that man any longer? He was already losing the rounded features he'd had all his life, maybe if he lost even more weight, he would look less and less like the guy being kicked into oblivion...He'd managed to lose weight without even trying...think how much more successful he could be if he worked at this...
Tim got into bed and switched off the light; lying there in the dark, in the comfort of his own bed, he knew sleep would be a long time coming, it always was. However, tonight he was a little more relaxed; not only was Ziva home, but he may have found a way to stop constantly looking over his shoulder, waiting for the pointing fingers...all he had to do was lose more weight, how hard could it be?
