Gibbs' revelation had caused Tim to - for the lack of a better word - swoon. Tony teased him mercilessly about it for the next two days as he recuperated in the hospital. Doctors had been in and out, testing him and poking and prodding him.
In the end the doctors insisted that he must have Systemized Amnesia - the mental erasure of a person from a patient's memory. In this case he had erased his daughter - Grace Laetitia McGee. The doctors had mentioned that normally this type of amnesia was stress related and not injury related, but it was the only explanation they could come up with at the moment. They suggested he spend as much time with his daughter as possible in hopes something would spark the return of his memories.
Which was why Tim was now in a room with a child he did not know sitting by him on the bed chattering at him a mile-a-minute about her day. This was the first time they had been left alone together since he had revealed that he didn't know who Grace was.
He listened with half an ear, too entranced in looking at the child - his daughter - to be able to give her his undivided attention.
Several years ago Tim had found himself working late with the rest of his team - even Gibbs - having gone home hours before. He had been looking through files trying to find one last piece of information to complete his report when he had come across the MorphPro program. He had forgotten it was even on his computer.
Tim hadn't even been fully aware he was doing it, but before he knew it he had on his screen the female offspring of him and Abby. He had slowly advanced the years and watched as his would-be daughter aged into a beautiful woman with his eyes and chin and Abby's nose and cheekbones.
He had clicked out of it in a hurry and trashed the program from his computer, never wanting to see what would never be taunting him again.
The software was amazing because the child he was looking at was much like the image presented by MorphPro. Her nose was a little more broad - a gentle mix of his and Abby's - and her chin was out of a genetic pool deeper than her parents' - being more angular than even Abby's chin.
All-in-all, Grace took his breath away. A living, breathing, continuously-talking example of what would have happened if he and Abby had stayed together.
Tim had no doubt that his mind was perfectly fine. What was happening went well beyond amnesia. If it was true he wasn't just forgetting about a child. He would have also forgotten a relationship between Tony and Ziva. And he had seen the ring on Abby's finger and could clearly see the indention on his own ring finger where a matching band would normally be. There was no way he was forgetting he and Abby had married.
He had a vague idea what might be happening, but more than anything he knew he wanted out of the hospital. He wanted peace and quiet, somewhere where he and Abby could talk about what was going on.
When he looked up from Grace Abby was in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb as she watched father and daughter interact. On that first day after regaining consciousness he had noticed almost right away that her figure and style had changed slightly. She still did her hair in pigtails and her makeup was dark - per normal. But her hips were wider and her chest was a little… more. On this day her pigtails were tied back low. Her black T-shirt had a skeleton family on it - Mom, Dad, child and baby, even a skeleton dog - and was matched with a red and black plaid skirt that fell to just above her knee. White knee-highs were paired with black Mary Janes studded with rhinestones - although these shoes were normal Mary Janes as opposed to platform versions.
"How're you feeling, Timmy?" she asked him once Grace fell silent.
"I feel okay, a little sore, but nothing too bad."
Abby looked at him, appraising the truthfulness of his comment. He was telling the truth though. He was sore, but not in any real pain. The worst thing wrong with him was the constant confusion of trying to figure out what was going on.
Finally she nodded, obviously finding whatever she was looking for in his eyes.
"Okay. The doctors say you can go home as long as you take it easy. And you have to schedule an appointment to come back to talk to the psychiatrist if," she glanced then at Grace, who was listening to her intently. "If the owwie in your head doesn't get better." She looked at him, a mixture of anxiety and hope in her eyes. "Is the owwie getting any better?"
Tim looked at Grace and then back at Abby, fixing a smile on his face. "Yeah, I think what I need to know is coming back to me."
Relief flooded her fixtures and Tim felt ashamed of lying to her, but he needed to sit her down and talk things over - preferably at home. Wherever that was.
Abby was about to say something when she was gently pushed further in the room by Tony.
"All right Abs, enough mushy husband and wife moments!" Tony said, grinning hugely as he propelled her further in to the room. "Let's get Probie out of here!"
Abby laughed and stepped aside so Ziva could join them in the room.
"Grace-baby!" Ziva said, heading right for Grace. "How would you like to stay with Uncle Tony and Aunt Ziva tonight so that your Mommy can take care of your Daddy?"
Grace fixed Tim with a very Abby-like accusatory stare.
"Said owwie better!"
Tim wracked his brain to figure out what to say. Finally he settled with saying whatever he felt like he would say if this truly was his daughter in front of him.
"Grace, Sweetheart, my owwie is better but it's not all better. I need Mommy to take care of me tonight and hopefully I'll be all better when you come home tomorrow. Okay?"
He waited with bated breath to see if he had been convincing as Grace's father and when Grace broke into a grin and nodded he knew he had succeeded.
Tim watched in awe as a Ziva swooped Grace up in her arms. Ziva was beaming with joy and her eyes were sparkling with hidden laughter as Grace shrieked in joy from being snatched up into her arms. It was a look he had never seen on her face before.
"Okay Timmy, I'm going to get you checked out of here and Tony's going to help you get dressed." Abby shook her finger at him. "And let him help you! You don't need to be pulling any stitches."
"Yes ma'am," Tim saluted with a grin and Abby just shook her head and walked out, followed by Ziva with Grace.
Tim turned to get out of bed but found his way blocked by Tony, who was glaring down at him.
"Uh, Tony? I'd like to get out of bed now."
But Tony still blocked his way.
"Tell me what's going on, Tim. You're lying to Abby about being okay and she knows it. You still don't recognize Grace and I just saw you looking at Ziva like you've never seen her before either."
Here was another thing that made Tim feel uncomfortable - being called 'Tim' by Tony. It wasn't every time they talked, but it was mostly either 'Probie' or 'Tim' that he was called - with an occasional 'McNickname' thrown in.
"Yeah, Tony, there's more going on than me not knowing I have a daughter. But don't you think I owe it to Abby to talk to her first?"
Tony stared at him for several long moments before nodding.
"All right, Probie, let's get you up and dressed!"
Fifteen painful - and painfully embarrassing - minutes later Tim was sitting in a wheelchair being wheeled out of his hospital room. He was already worn out and daydreaming about crawling into bed and sleeping for the next three days.
"All right Probie-san. I'm going to get you down to the car and then I'll follow you home. Abby's going to need help getting up you to your room. Once you're settled in I'm out of there."
The wheelchair stopped in the middle of a - luckily deserted - hallway and Tony walked around until he was standing in front of Tim, arms crossed and stern look back on his face.
"I'm coming over tomorrow and you're going to tell me what's going on so we can fix whatever's wrong. Got that?"
Tim nodded, too tired to explain that what was wrong just wasn't fixable.
Laetitia is a Latin word that means joy, gladness and delight. Pronounced La-ti-sha.
