A/N: A couple of years ago, I wrote a story called Just Once More about Tim being a drug addict. When the story ended, I felt like there was more to tell, but I had to figure out how to tell it. Well, it took a while, but I did. You should probably read Just Once More to understand why this story was necessary, but if you don't want to, all you really need to know is that Tim was addicted to temazepam (a benzodiazepine) and he was off them by the end of the story. I started it as an entry for the NFA Sicknesses and Addictions challenge, but I didn't get it done by the deadline; so it's only inspired by the challenge.

Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS and I'm not making money off this story.


Never Again
by Enthusiastic Fish

Chapter 1

Just a few more hours. Three more hours, Tim. You can last three more hours.

Tim didn't often engage in counting down the time until he could leave, but today was one of those days. He'd felt off all day long and now, he was starting to feel genuinely ill. Breakfast had consisted of half a cup of coffee...and the rest wasted when he tossed his cup in the garbage upon his arrival at NCIS. Lunch had been...water. Now, with more time passing, Tim had estimated when they'd be able to leave. There was no way he was surviving another day of work if he started feeling worse. He seemed to have the beginnings of a stomachache...and it looked to be building up to a bad one if the onset was any indication.

He sighed and tried to focus on the screen.

"Probie?"

The words started to blur as his eyes decided not to focus again.

"McGee?"

Focus, Tim. There's work to do. You can be sick later!

"Tim!"

Tim jerked his head up.

"Yeah?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah...no," Tim confessed. "But I'll survive."

"What is it? I noticed that you did not eat lunch this afternoon," Ziva said.

"Not hungry," Tim said...and then there was an awkward moment of silence as the three looked at each other. "I think I'm coming down with something," he said to push past what they were all thinking. "I'll be fine."

"You're sure?" Tony asked. "I'm going to get something for dinner."

Tim's stomach turned at the thought of eating. "No, Tony. I don't think I want to eat anything."

"You should eat something, McGee," Ziva said.

"Not if I'll just throw it up later."

"You feeling that sick?"

"No, but I think I might be headed that way...but I'm not going to keel over."

"You sure you don't want anything?"

"Positive," Tim said.

That was the end of it, although inside he winced at those few seconds. They hadn't been much, hadn't lasted long, but they still happened sometimes. The question that always arose at anything unexpected in Tim's life. Never verbally expressed but always heard nonetheless.

Is Tim relapsing?

Tim returned to the computer and tried to think past the growing ache in his stomach. When Tony came back twenty minutes later with some sandwiches, the smell made Tim feel definitely sick. He stood up and ran for the men's room.

There was little in his stomach to begin with, but he got rid of it all...and then some.

The door to the men's room opened while he was sitting on the floor, deciding whether or not he was truly done.

"McGee?" Tony didn't come into the stall, choosing to maintain a discrete distance. Tim was actually grateful for that.

He cleared his throat and then spat into the toilet.

"Yeah?"

"You all right?"

"Obviously not."

"You know what I mean."

"I feel like crap, Tony," Tim said, too miserable to express appreciation for Tony's concern.

"You should go home, then."

"No. I'm not that sick. It's just..."

"Just what?"

A long pause and then Tim said what they had all been thinking. "I'm not using drugs, Tony. I'm just sick."

Another long pause. Tim knew that Tony was deciding whether or not to deny that was what he'd been thinking.

"I'm sorry, Tim."

"Don't be. It happens. I promise. It's not drugs. Clean as a whistle for two years now."

Then, the bile rose again and Tim realized that his stomach was not done. He leaned forward, retching, and threw up again. When he'd finished, he didn't feel any better. In fact, he felt worse...but he didn't think he was going to throw up again. Shaking, he reached out and flushed the toilet before getting to his feet and stumbling out to the sink.

"I think you're ready to go home, McGee."

"Maybe you're right," Tim mumbled, leaning over the sink. "It's your fault, you know."

"My fault!"

"Yeah. If you hadn't brought any food into the bullpen." Tim raised his eyes from the sink and met Tony's gaze in the mirror. He smiled.

Tony laughed. "Not my fault you have such a weak stomach." Then, his smiled faded. "Seriously, McGee. This is the second time you've been sick in the last couple of weeks."

"It was a twenty-four hour stomach flu last time, Tony. Maybe I ate something that didn't agree with me yesterday."

"Okay, okay. You really should go home, though. You look terrible."

"Thanks a lot. You've done wonders for my self esteem," Tim said, but he couldn't deny that Tony was right. He looked horrible. He felt worse. It was time to give in to his illness and fight another day. "Today is definitely not my day."

"Tomorrow's not looking good either?"

"Nope."

"You okay to drive?"

"Yeah. Is Gibbs out there?"

"Yeah. You want me to tell him?"

"No. I will. I have to get my stuff anyway." Tim rubbed at his stomach and straightened.

He and Tony walked back to the bullpen together and Tim told Gibbs he was leaving and that he'd probably still be feeling bad tomorrow. Gibbs' easy agreement told Tim that he either looked worse than he thought or Gibbs was in a strangely amenable mood. Regardless, Tim went home...and spent a miserable night in bed. His stomachache didn't improve. It got worse and worse as the hours passed even with the ibuprofen he decided to take. Still, he hoped that it would just go away after a few hours.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

By morning, the ache could no longer be described as merely an ache. It was definitely pain, and Tim was incredibly miserable. He felt sick, like he was going to throw up which went along nicely with the abdominal pain and he was pretty sure he had a fever.

Tony called him to see how he was doing, and Tim debated even moving to answer the phone since movement of any kind seemed to make the pain worse.

"McGee," he said.

"Man, Tim, you sound terrible."

"I feel terrible."

"Worse than yesterday?"

"Much."

"Maybe you should see a doctor then."

"It's probably..." A particularly sharp pain stopped Tim mid-sentence.

"Okay, if you're hurting that bad, Probie, you're going to a doctor."

"Tony...I don't..."

"No way, Probie. This is non-negotiable. You're going. I'll take you there myself."

"I can drive myself, Tony," Tim said petulantly.

"Yeah, right. If you don't let me give you a lift, I'll call Abby."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Tim sighed and then grimaced. If he were honest about it, he had to admit that this was a lot worse than he'd ever felt before...with a couple of exceptions. His cramps and pain when he was withdrawing from temazepam had been worse. Perhaps that comparison could explain his reluctance...and Tony's concern.

"Fine. Come on over."

"Good."

Tony hung up and Tim pulled himself out of bed, determined to look at least semi-presentable. However, he gave up after getting his sweats on. Every twist sent another stabbing pain through his abdomen. Jethro began weaving himself around Tim's legs, whining his own anxiety.

"Don't worry, Jethro," Tim said. "I'll be fine. You and me...we've been through worse, right?" He winced again. "Right." He sank down onto his computer chair and waited for Tony to arrive.

It seemed to take Tony forever to get there and Tim did not want to get up when the knock came. He clenched his teeth and stood up. The walk to the door seemed very long, but he opened it and managed a weak smile at Tony.

"Hey...how's it goin'?" he asked.

Tony didn't smile back. "McGee...you look awful. Why didn't you just go to the ER before?"

"It's probably nothing, Tony. Another bout of gastroenteritis or something."

"You really think it's something like that, McGee? You're looking a lot worse. Let's go."

"They're just going to send me home again," Tim said.

"Only if it's not serious. Come on."

Tim could see that there was no getting out of it. He nodded and let Tony lead him out to his car. The trip to the hospital was agonizing. Every jolt made his stomach hurt worse. He could swear all the pain had coalesced to a small area of his abdomen...choosing to attack in force rather than wreaking havoc on his entire torso. He wasn't sure which was worse.

"There's no way this is just a stomachache, McGee," Tony said as they neared the hospital.

"It could be."

Tony laughed. "You're kidding yourself. Have you ever had it this bad?"

"Once."

Tony didn't reply because he knew what Tim was talking about. A jolt brought a surprised exclamation from Tim's lips.

"Sorry, Tim."

"Yeah. It's okay...you can't control the roads."

They arrived at the hospital and Tim got out, his left arm wrapped around his stomach. Tony unassumingly helped Tim into the hospital.

They went in to triage. The ER was pretty busy, but for a wonder they only waited for half an hour before being seen by a nurse.

"All right, what's the trouble?"

"Stomachache," Tim said.

"He threw up yesterday and has been acting like it's killing him. It's more than a stomachache," Tony said.

"Tony," Tim said and winced.

"Is the pain localized?"

"Yeah. Here," Tim said, pointing at his right side.

The nurse continued the preliminary examination and then nodded. "Okay, let's get you registered and into an exam room. The doctor will be there soon."

"Okay." Tim looked at Tony. "Tony, you can go. I guess...I'll be here for a while."

"It's not like I have a job or anything, Probie. I can just..."

Tim smiled. "No, Tony. It's fine. Just go. I'm in good hands. Right?"

The nurse grinned. "We'll take good care of him."

"You sure you'll be all right, McGee?"

"Yeah. Just don't let Gibbs think I'm malingering. It's all your fault that I'm here."

Tony laughed. "I'll do that, McGee."

Tim watched him go and dropped the bravado as soon as Tony was out of the room. He sighed and closed his eyes.

"Whoa. You all right?"

"No. Just...keeping up appearances. Can't be too...much of a wuss. I'm...ready to go."

"All right. This way. We'll get some blood tests running and I'd like to get a urinalysis as well."

"Okay. So...I'm guessing you're not going for the...food poisoning or passing stomachache?"

"More than likely not."

"What then?"

"There are a lot of possibilities. The doctor will let you know his diagnosis when he gets here." The nurse got him sitting down in the exam room and then left.

Suddenly, Tim felt his stomach roiling uncomfortably. He looked around, saw a garbage can and staggered over to it, gagging and heaving. After almost a full day of eating nothing and drinking only water, he had very little to show for his body's efforts, but it did leave him shaking and quivering on the floor for a few minutes.

"Okay..." he whispered to himself. "Okay. This is worse. Much worse."

Tears formed in his eyes as the pain cycled between unbearable and wishing he were dead. In the hour it took for the ER doctor to get to him, he threw up, or at least went through the motions of throwing up, six times.

The doctor took one look at him and his expression turned grave.

"Mr. McGee?"

Tim nodded.

"Okay. I'm Dr. Weimann. We've got your tests back. I think I know what we're dealing with here, but let me do a physical exam and be sure."

Tim nodded again.

"Have you been vomiting?"

Tim smiled a little. "I...would have been...if I'd had anything to throw up."

"Right. Okay." The doctor pressed painfully on Tim's abdomen...exactly where it hurt the most and Tim moaned. "Okay. Mr. McGee, based on your blood tests and urinalysis, I think it's pretty clear."

"What?"

"You're suffering from appendicitis and I'd bet it was fairly far along. I'm going to get a surgeon in here and we'll get you going."

"Surgery?" Tim asked, suddenly feeling about a hundred times worse.

"Yes, that's the only treatment for appendicitis. We'll give you a general anesthetic and perform an appendectomy. It's not a complicated procedure. It only takes a couple of hours."

Tim looked at the doctor, frightened. "NO!"