Chapter 1: Confessions
Sunday...
Tim knew where his family was. He knew basically what they'd be doing. It was summertime. Sarah was home for a visit, goofing off, seeing old friends. Sam hadn't started his summer course yet and so he'd be filling the hours with research. Naomi would be switching between tearing her hair out at the two people invading her territory and trying to plan some time when she could either drag Tim home or could get all them out to DC. She tried to plan a family reunion every summer. She had not yet succeeded. They'd all more than likely be home.
Tim knew all that, but he'd been staring at his phone for the past hour, trying to work up the courage to call them and tell them his news. The diagnosis actually followed on the heels of a solid month of lethargy, weight loss and general illness. He'd probably taken more sick days in the last four weeks than he had in the last four years. ...and he hadn't mentioned his fears to anyone. They'd hate that. It wasn't even that he was trying to hide something from them. It was that he had thought...or rather hoped...that he was simply overreacting, that he'd worn himself out and needed a vacation or something like that. Even though, as his doctor had said, he had looked at all the different possibilities, he hadn't really seriously considered cancer as a likely outcome.
Putting it off wouldn't make it any easier to say. He picked up his phone and dialed.
Sarah was laughing when she answered.
"Hello, McGee residence."
"Sarah?"
"Hey, Tim! You'll never guess what Dad just did."
Tim closed his eyes and swallowed. He wanted to just tell her to shut up, but maybe a joke would make it easier...probably not.
"What?"
Sarah laughed again and he could hear some commotion in the background. "He was showing off, trying to wheel Mom around and ended up tipping his chair over. Mom's on bottom."
Tim laughed weakly. "Is she okay?"
"Of course. Dad's pride is hurt more than Mom's body. What's up?"
"Tell..." Tim stopped. He really didn't want to ruin their weekend, but he knew he needed to tell them. He paused too long.
"What is it, Tim?"
"Tell Mom and Dad to get on the extensions."
"What's going on?" Sarah was no longer laughing...at all.
"Just tell them." He heard her calling to them and he heard the laughter fade away as if it had never been there. In seconds, his parents had picked up the other two extensions.
"What's up, Tim?" Naomi asked.
"Mom...I went to the doctor yesterday. You remember how I told you I was feeling under-the-weather this past month?"
"Yes, I remember. You said you were probably just worn out."
"Yeah...I said that. It wasn't that."
"What is it, then, Tim?" Sam asked.
"I have cancer."
The silence was deafening. Tim couldn't say anything else himself. He just sat and waited for the reactions.
"What...what kind?" Naomi asked, the first to recover...as usual.
"Leukemia. Acute myeloid leukemia."
"What does that mean?" Sarah asked in a whisper.
"It means I get to go bald," Tim said, trying to make a joke. No one laughed.
"How long have you known?" Sam asked.
"The test results came in yesterday. Yesterday afternoon. I was trying to...figure out how to say it."
"Well..." Naomi said, with artificial cheer, "...I suppose planning a family reunion will be a little bit easier this year. We'll know exactly where you are."
"Or it could be harder. You'll know exactly where I am."
"All depends on how you look at it, Tim," she replied. "What happens now? Do you want us to be there?"
"Yes, but not yet," Tim said quickly. "I have another appointment this week and we'll figure everything out, schedule-wise. I'll let you know, and I'll...I'll tell you what happens."
"Have you told your friends yet?" Sam asked.
"That's tomorrow's task," Tim said grimly. "I'm going to tell them. Honest."
"You'd better. They won't like being left out," Sarah said.
"Yeah, I know."
"How are you doing, Tim?" Sam asked.
"Oh, I've been tired and...and sick for a month. Today was one of my better days."
"But...how are you doing?" Sam repeated.
Tim breathed in deeply and let it out in a shaky exhalation. "I'm really scared, Dad."
"So am I...but we'll get through it. You'll get through it."
"Right. Right, Dad."
None of them had anything else to say. Really, what was there to say? I'm sorry you could be dying?
"I guess I'll...go...do some more research," Tim said, finally.
"What was the name of your cancer again?"
"Acute myeloid leukemia. They were hoping for acute promyelocytic leukemia which has a higher cure rate and is more common in young adults, but..."
"Those names don't exactly roll off the tongue, do they," Sam said, gently cutting off his ramble.
"It gets easier when you repeat them a few times," Tim responded.
"I'm sure it does. Call us...call us when you know what's going to happen...or if you just need to talk."
"I will, Dad. Love you."
There were murmured love yous back and then Tim hung up. It was only when he'd disconnected that he realized his dad hadn't made any quotations. He must have been really shocked.
One group down...and that was the easy group. Tim put down the phone and leaned on his computer desk, bringing his hands to his head.
"How am I going to tell everyone else?" he asked aloud.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Monday...
Tim woke up feeling like crap. That wasn't unusual. He'd felt sick more often than he'd felt well the last few weeks. Some days, it went away. Today was not one of those days. It was really hard to drag himself out of bed and to the bathroom to get ready for the day. It had almost become common practice for him to feel like this, go to work and then turn around and come back home. He knew that Gibbs was watching him more closely, lately. If it wasn't for the fact that he wanted to tell everyone today, he would have just called and said that he was sick...again.
"I can do this," he said to his reflection. "Just say it. I have cancer. I have cancer." Tim nodded a few times and then closed his eyes to hold back the tears. "I have cancer," he repeated softly.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Tim got to NCIS early, and he tried to work, but he really felt terrible. Maybe it was just knowing now what he had. Maybe the knowledge was making him feel even worse.
"Probie, you're not looking so hot today," Tony observed as he walked in. That was an all-too-common assessment of late.
"Really, Tony, thanks. I wasn't aware," Tim said wearily and rubbed his temples. He felt the presence of someone at his desk and looked up. Tony was looking at him with great concern.
"McGee, are you all right? You've been...looking like crap for a long time."
That's as good an opening as any, although I had hoped to get away with only saying this once...maybe twice. He stood up. "No, Tony, I..."
"Grab your gear, we have a possible murder out at Anacostia," Gibbs said abruptly as he walked into the bullpen. He looked over at Tim and a look of concern flashed across his face. "Are you okay, McGee?"
"No, Boss," Tim said again. "I was just about to say that..."
The elevator doors opened again and Ziva and Abby both came in together. Attention again diverted, the men looked over at the two women.
"Are you sure it is 'getting down to brass tacks'?" Ziva asked.
"I'm positive," Abby said.
"Then, what does it mean?"
"It means that you're getting down to business."
"Why?"
"Uh..." Abby looked over. "Tim, what does 'getting down to brass tacks' mean? If you don't know, I'm sure Ducky will... And you're not looking so good. You sick again?"
"Abby is right, McGee. You do look ill...again. What is wrong today?"
"I'm trying to tell you..." Tim started but had to stop and catch his breath. He wasn't sure if it was because of the normality of the morning making this task so much harder or if it was because he was just short of breath.
"Tim, you're pale," Abby said. She pushed him back down onto his chair. "You going to pass out?"
Tim closed his eyes and shook his head. "No. I'm not." Tim laughed. "I finally have everyone's attention, but I don't know how to say it."
"Say what, McGee?" Tony asked.
Tim opened his eyes and looked at them all. "I have cancer."
There was the same disbelieving silence from his friends as he had from his family...only this time he could see their faces. He could see the shock, the fear, in their expressions as his eyes moved from person to person...the desire to deny what had just been said.
He saw that it was up to him to break the silence. "I have a type of leukemia. It's called acute myeloid leukemia or AML. That's why I've been so sick this last month."
Still, no one spoke. They just stared.
Tim tried again. "My doctor told me on Saturday. I have another appointment tomorrow." He looked at Gibbs. "Boss, will that be okay? If I miss work for that?"
Gibbs finally seemed to snap out of his shock. "Of course, Tim. That will be fine."
"What's going to happen, Tim?" Abby asked, her eyes beginning to fill with tears.
"That's part of what I'll find out tomorrow, but I know there will be chemotherapy...and that means being sick for at least another month." Somehow, seeing them all so shocked made Tim feel less shocked. He mustered up a smile. "And I won't have to worry about doing my hair either." There were tears near the end of the sentence and Abby hugged him tightly.
"Going back to the buzz cut, Probie?" Tony asked, trying to bring the conversation out of the doldrums into which it had fallen.
"More like the no cut, Tony. It's pretty much certain that all my hair is going to fall out."
"Well, that will be easy to maintain."
Tim nodded, shaking loose a tear. "Yeah, that's probably why they do it."
"I'm sure it is."
Gibbs smacked Tony on the back of the head...but not very hard. "We still have a dead body in Anacostia. McGee, you feel up to it?"
"Honestly, Boss?"
Gibbs looked at Tim closely. He nodded. "Okay. Tony, Ziva, let's go."
Ziva had said nothing through the whole exchange. She had simply stared. As she slowly turned to follow Tony and Gibbs, Tim caught her eye. He didn't say anything more, but he smiled comfortingly at her. She managed only a brief upturning of her lips in reply before she spun around and left.
"What are you going to do now, Tim?"
Tim tore his eyes off the closed elevator doors and looked back at Abby. "Oh...well, I need to tell Jimmy and Ducky and then..." He took another deep breath. "...then, I need to...request extended sick leave...and..." Abby looked at him sympathetically, and Tim felt the tears getting closer to the surface. "...and...well...I'll need to fill out some forms, maybe get my mail stopped while I'm in the hospital and...help my parents find a place to stay when they come...and..." the words petered out. "I'm scared, Abby. I have cancer. I keep saying it, thinking that maybe it will seem more...more real, but it doesn't. It's like a nightmare...only I can't wake up." He stood up and tried to will away the sickness inside him, knowing that it wouldn't work.
Abby slid an arm around his waist. "Do you want me to tell them for you?"
Tim shook his head. "No, I should do it myself...while I..." He clamped down on the words, but he might as well have said them... while I still can. "...while I'm still here...at work...today."
Abby knew exactly what he had been going to say, but she didn't comment. Instead, she kept her arm around his waist and directed him to the elevator. Tim didn't resist her assumption that she would go with him down to Autopsy. Truth be told, he could use the support.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"Yes, Mr. Palmer, I do believe you are correct," Ducky was saying as Abby and Tim entered. "Cause of death was most definitely not strangulation." Ducky looked up from the corpse he and Jimmy were examining. "Timothy, you look absolutely awful. When are you going to take my advice and see a doctor?"
"I did, Ducky," Tim said.
Ducky didn't hear him. "It puts me in mind of a young man who ended up on my table a few years ago. He..."
"Ducky! I did."
"Oh. I see. And?"
"And..." Tim found he couldn't just say it like he had to the team. For some reason, he felt the need to explain. Maybe because it was Ducky...master of tangents, with five stories for every question asked...at least. "Well, after you told me to go see a doctor, I...made a few lists."
"Lists of what?" Ducky asked. He saw Abby's expression which was a combination of understanding and sadness. Jimmy simply looked confused.
"Symptoms. How long they lasted, severity, first signs, things like that. And then I...I went onto the Internet and made a list of all the possible diagnoses. There were enough serious possibilities that I decided you were right."
"Aren't I always?" Ducky observed, but he could sense a very serious trend in the conversation.
Tim smiled. "Generally. My doctor wasn't very happy about me doing all that, but I smoothed it over by telling him that I was only trying to be sure I wasn't wasting his time. He didn't take it too seriously, but he decided to humor me because..."
"Timothy," Ducky interrupted gently, "what did he say?"
Tim flushed, the redness bringing his pale face slightly closer to his usual coloring. "He ran some tests." Tim stopped again and looked at Abby who gestured for him to continue. "On Saturday, he gave me the results. I have cancer, Ducky. Leukemia."
There was a clatter as Jimmy dropped his scalpel to the floor.
"Sorry," he said quickly and picked it up. "I'm really sorry, McGee."
"Yes," Ducky agreed. "That must have come as quite a shock for you."
"Yeah...just a little," Tim said with an ironic grin. "Even though I knew it was possible...I never thought..."
"...that you could get cancer. Don't we all think that way, Timothy?"
"I guess. Anyway...I just wanted you both to know. I'll be gone for awhile."
"Which type?" Jimmy asked. When everyone stared at him, he gulped and added, "It's just that there are so many and some of them are more serious than others and..."
"It's okay, Palmer," Tim said, smiling a little. "Acute myeloid. I don't know which subtype."
"I wasn't going to ask," Jimmy said, blushing. "It's curable, though."
"Yeah, it is. Twenty-five to forty-five percent of cases, depending on medical history and severity of the disease."
"So, you could be all right," Jimmy insisted.
"You're right. I could be. Thanks." Tim turned back to the doors. "I won't be here tomorrow, and I'm not sure if I'll be back at all this week. I have an appointment with my doctor tomorrow morning...to discuss what's going to happen."
Ducky pulled off his gloves and put a gentle hand on Tim's shoulder. "Keep your chin up, Timothy. All will be well."
"I'll try to remember that, Ducky," Tim said and then he and Abby left once more.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
After officially requesting extended sick leave, Tim felt so wiped out that he got Abby to give him a ride home. As he lay on his bed thinking about how quickly his life had changed, he found himself wondering something else.
No one really said anything...I wonder they were thinking.
