Chapter 2

Tony had relayed the message about Tim being ill enough to warrant a trip to the hospital. No one was asking, but everyone was secretly wondering. This was the first time in two years that Tim had done something drastically unexpected...and there had been his previous stomach ailment not long ago. ...and he'd stopped eating before...and...

...but no one was saying it. No one was admitting to thinking it. It was no longer the big elephant in the room. The elephant was a lot smaller...but it was still there. They were all thinking and wondering...and not speaking.

Then, Gibbs' phone rang. As he answered, he noticed Tony and Ziva both watching intently. They were expecting something about Tim. It was patently obvious.

"Gibbs."

"Is this Leroy Jethro Gibbs?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"This is Dr. George Weimann. You're listed as the emergency medical contact for Timothy McGee?"

"Yes. What is it?"

"I need you to get to the hospital as soon as possible."

"Why?"

"Mr. McGee has appendicitis and he is refusing treatment. If he doesn't have surgery, he'll die but he is insisting that nothing be done. His shift was dramatic. Does he have a phobia of surgery? He didn't mention it to any of us."

Gibbs was already on his feet, heading to the elevator. Ignoring Tony and Ziva as they asked him questions, he listened intently.

"No. Not that I'm aware of."

He waved Tony and Ziva back to their desks before the elevator doors closed.

"Then, it's even more important that you come and talk to him. I think he'd leave if he wasn't in so much pain. We need to get the anesthesia started, but he is resisting even analgesics, as if he doesn't trust us not to start the surgery without his consent."

"I'm on my way."

"Thank you. Check in at the front desk and they'll send you back."

Gibbs hung up and drove as fast as he could without worrying about getting pulled over. At the hospital, he hurried through the halls to Tim's room.

"Mr. Gibbs?"

Gibbs nodded.

"I'm Dr. Weimann."

"In there?"

"Yes, if you can get him to explain or convince him otherwise. There really is no other option. He'll die without surgery. Maybe not today, but soon, and he'll be in horrible pain the whole time. Surgery is the only treatment."

"Okay." Gibbs didn't waste any time. He opened the door and walked into the exam room. Tim was on the bed, obviously in extreme amounts of pain. He was sweaty, pale, and holding his abdomen, almost curled into a fetal position. "McGee."

Tim opened his eyes, panting and grimacing from the pain. "B-Boss. What are you...doing here?"

"What's going on, McGee?"

"It's...nothing."

"You have appendicitis."

"I know."

"You need surgery."

"No!" Tim said, almost shouting and then groaning and curling his body further inward. "No, I won't."

"You have to, McGee."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I can't."

Gibbs strode over to the bed. "Why." It wasn't a question. It was a demand.

Tim let out a loud gasp as a particularly strong stabbing pain hit him. It left him almost wheezing.

"Why, McGee. Because I'll tell you right now that there is no way I'm letting you die like this. No way. So you explain to me what's going on."

"Anesthesia," Tim gasped out.

"What about it?"

Another stab of pain. Gibbs grabbed Tim and lifted him up, ignoring the increased moans.

"What about it, McGee?"

"They...use...benzodiazepines."

Tears leaked from Tim's eyes and rolled down his cheeks as Gibbs let him back down. He didn't spend any time wondering how Tim knew what they used in anesthesia. Knowing him, he had probably searched out every place benzodiazepines might be found whether before or after getting clean. ...and now Gibbs understood why Tim wouldn't accept surgery. Fear of falling into the same trap again.

"Tim."

"...rather...die..."

"No. Why not just tell them?"

"That I'm... a drug addict?"

The other problem Tim still faced: guilt and shame over his previous actions.

"I'm no doctor, McGee, but you're getting that surgery. This is a stupid way to die." Gibbs turned around and walked out of the room. Dr. Weimann was waiting.

"Well?"

"You use benzodiazepines in anesthesia?"

Dr. Weimann looked at him in surprise. "Yes, we do. Midazolam. It's the standard premedication for anesthesia. Why?"

Gibbs lowered his voice. "McG..Tim was addicted to benzodiazepines. He's been clean for two years and is terrified of getting hooked on them again."

Comprehension dawned on Dr. Weimann's face. "I see. There's no risk, not with anesthesia. I don't know of a single case of a patient forming a dependence from general anesthesia."

"Don't tell me that. Tell him."

Dr. Weimann nodded and quickly walked into the room.

"Mr. McGee?"

Tim looked at him but said nothing.

"You have nothing to fear from general anesthesia."

"No," Tim whimpered. "No."

"It's true. There's not one case of an addiction forming through a single use of benzodiazepines, not in any situation, but particularly not in anesthesia."

Gibbs sat down by Tim. "McGee, there's no reason to think you'll get addicted again. None. How long were you using before? This is nothing like that. You have to let them operate."

Tim's eyes moved from Gibbs to the white scars covering his right arm and then back.

"That's not going to happen, McGee. ...but you will die if you don't have surgery." Gibbs hesitated. "Don't make me see that happen."

A strong pain hit Tim and he let out a loud groan, curling in on himself in agony.

"Please, Tim."

Tim didn't speak, but he nodded. Dr. Weimann nodded with relief and hurried out to get everything ready. Gibbs started to stand, but Tim grabbed at him with a shaking and sweaty hand.

"No..." he gasped. "I...can't...do this, Boss."

Gibbs forced a smile. "You don't have to do anything, McGee. Just sit there and let them do their jobs."

Tim did not smile. His face crumpled and he began to cry, shaking his head. "I...don't...want to..."

Gibbs sat back down. "You're not going to turn into an addict again, Tim. The doctor said so."

"Doesn't...know...for sure..."

"Yes, he does. He's the doctor. Not you. Not me."

"Scared..."

"I know. I know you are, but there's no reason to be. Just calm down and you'll be fine."

"Hurts...so much..."

"Not for long...but I'll stay here until you go into surgery. Okay?"

Tim nodded, teeth clenched, whole body rigid with pain. It was almost more than Gibbs could bear, sitting with Tim as they prepared him for surgery. It was only when Tim was out and his body relaxed...something that took longer than it should have because of his fear and the tension in his body...only then did Gibbs feel as though he could take a deep breath...and let the others know what was going on.

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

The surgery took just over two hours. Dr. Weimann said that Tim's appendix was so inflamed that it would have burst probably within hours had they not removed it. Gibbs sat beside Tim, watching him as he slept. It was a relief to see him not suffering from the intense pain that had colored his last meeting. Tim didn't wake up for another hour, but when he did, he looked at Gibbs without speaking. There was exhaustion and fear in his eyes.

"McGee," Gibbs said.

Tim blinked and took a deep breath, wincing slightly, but not much other than that.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better," Tim said.

"That was stupid," Gibbs said, bluntly.

"Never again, Boss," Tim said, no apology in his voice. "I won't risk it."

"It wasn't a risk, McGee. It was your fear, not reality that was dictating what almost happened here. You could have died because you wouldn't tell anyone what was wrong and because you allowed your fear to get the better of you. Are you going to tell me that you didn't see that there was no risk of becoming dependent on the anesthetic?"

"There's no differentiation between former addicts and normal people in the literature," Tim said. "I'm not willing to risk it, Boss. I won't. Ever. I became someone I hated and I didn't even realize that I'd done it. I'm not going to do that to myself again. I'd rather die than become an addict again."

"You don't have to become an addict because you had medical treatment."

Tim shook his head. He was still pale, but adamant. "People in the group sessions I attend are mostly made up of those who went to a doctor because they had a medical problem and became addicted to the very prescriptions they were given. Most people aren't like me and just stupidly used a drug to deal with normal life. They had a genuine illness, injury or other problem and used it like it was supposed to be used and became drug addicts! Who's to say that it won't happen to me?"

"Apparently, the doctors who are the experts."

Tim just shook his head again.

"Tim, you've got to get this in hand. What if something like this happens again and they can't get a hold of me?"

"I only have one appendix," Tim said.

Thwack!

"Don't joke about this. Not the time for it. What if something like this happens? Are you going to die just because you're too afraid to reveal the problem you used to have? Are you going to risk death just because you're afraid of what could happen, no matter how remote the chances are?"

Still, there was no sense of Tim backing off, realizing what danger he'd put himself in or the pointless nature of it.

"I will never put myself at risk of becoming an addict again, Boss," Tim said firmly. "Never. There is nothing that I wouldn't put on the line to avoid that. Nothing. I don't care what it is, even if it's my life. I never want to feel how I did when I was addicted to temazepam. Never again."

The door opened and Dr. Weimann came in to see how things were going. Gibbs didn't say anything, but he was now very worried about Tim's mindset. On the one hand, it was good that he was so determined to stay clean. On the other, it was frightening that he had no compunction about giving up his life if it meant he wouldn't be an addict.