Chapter 4

There was a moment of surprised silence...which was broken by Abby.

"Tim has...what?"

Naomi smiled weakly. "According to Dr. Khalid, it's called the Cotard delusion. It's when a person believes they're dead. Some people think they're being punished in Hell. Others see their skin rotting, even think they smell it. Some just think that they've died and for some reason haven't been allowed to move on. But the big thing about it is a belief in one's death."

"There's a whole..." Tony didn't know the word he was looking for. "It has a name? Other people have had this happen to them?"

Sam nodded. "Believe it or not, it was first diagnosed in the 19th century. The first patient, diagnosed by Dr. Cotard...she died of starvation."

"Whoa...how?"

"She believed she was dead. There was no reason to feed a dead body. They couldn't get her to eat."

"How is it caused?" Ducky asked.

"There's still a lot of uncertainty about that, unfortunately," Sam said. "The psychiatrists' theories run the gamut from brain trauma to depression to schizophrenia. There's too much they don't understand as yet because it's extremely rare."

"But trauma can cause it?"

"So they say. Actually, that's what Dr. Khalid is hoping for."

"Hoping?" Ziva asked. "He is hoping for more damage?"

"Not for more, but that it's due to areas in Tim's brain that still need to heal...because that means that when they do heal, Tim will recover from the delusion. But until then..."

"...he will keep believing...that he is dead."

"Exactly."

"What do we do?" Gibbs asked.

"Keep on as we are. Keep visiting him. Keep reinforcing the fact that he survived. Other than that...there's really nothing we can do. Dr. Khalid wants to discuss possible treatments with antipsychotics, but he wants to do some more research before recommends anything in particular. Sometimes, those drugs have worse side effects than what they treat."

"What if it's not because of his injury?" Abby asked. "Then, what?"

"Then...it's harder." Naomi's mouth twisted a bit. "In other countries, they've had some success with electroshock therapy, but..."

"Electroshock?" Tony echoed. "Are you kidding?"

Sam took Naomi's hand and held it tightly. "We've been told that it's not as barbaric as Hollywood makes it seem but...still, it's rarely used in this country anymore and...and we'd only even consider it as a last resort. ...but...we don't know how long it will take for this to...to go away."

There was a long silence and then Ducky got to his feet and walked over to the McGees. He took Naomi's hand in his own.

"Your son more than likely saved my life when he was injured. I will be forever grateful to him, and I'm sorry that there are so many adverse events following from his courageous actions."

Naomi's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "No, Dr. Mallard. You don't have to apologize. Tim would...he would never have forgiven himself if you'd been hurt when he could prevent it. This isn't your fault...and...and we have hope that something will happen to improve Tim's condition. He's alive, and I would never have expected him to survive. ...and I'm also sure that it is at least partly due to your quick actions...in the midst of a firefight, no less."

"Neither Mr. Palmer nor myself could have left Timothy lying on the ground as he was."

"Where is he?" Sam asked. "I've seen him a couple of times but never really had a chance to talk to him, to thank him for all he did for Tim."

Ducky looked around and then smiled. "I will let him know that you wish to express your gratitude. For now, I would like to look in on Timothy once more before leaving for the evening...if you don't mind."

"Not at all. We're...picking up Tim's sister from the airport," Naomi said. "It's been really hard on her. I'm not sure if knowing what's wrong will help her, but maybe it will. We want to explain things to her before she comes here again."

Ducky excused himself from the small gathering and headed for Tim's room. When he got there, Jimmy was standing in the hall, looking through the door at Tim. He was making no move to enter.

"Mr. Palmer, the door does work."

Jimmy didn't respond to the mild joke. He just stared at Tim.

"What do you think it's like for him? McGee...he's been sitting there day after day thinking that he died. Everything he's said makes it sound like he hates it, like...like it would be better if he really was dead." Jimmy looked away from the window and met Ducky's gaze. "Dr. Mallard...he's like this because he was trying to protect us! I've known people who wished they were dead, but I've never known a person who was...who felt like he was dead and couldn't do anything about it! ...I mean...if he was dead, he wouldn't be worrying about what to do. He wouldn't be worrying at all really, but...but this isn't fair!"

"Of course, it's not, Mr. Palmer."

"It's not right! He was doing the right thing and...and he's like this!"

Ducky walked over and turned Jimmy back toward the window.

"Take another look, lad. Do you know what I see?"

"I'm sure I don't, Dr. Mallard. You see lots of stuff I definitely don't."

"And don't you forget it. ...but I see a man who has been fortunate enough to survive something that is generally fatal. Physically, he's much better off than I had thought he even had a chance of being. When we found that he was still alive, I didn't think he'd make it to the hospital. When he did, I didn't think he'd wake from his coma. When he did that, I wondered what kind of brain function he'd have. I am finding that Timothy is constantly surprising me. I'm ready to be surprised once more. ...and there is a chance that he could break through this delusion. We don't know yet what the results will be, but there's definitely a chance, even a good one."

"I've never had someone...do that for me, Dr. Mallard," Jimmy said finally. "I've never had anyone...almost die to save me. I've never needed that...and I don't like it."

"I don't either, truth be told, but whether I like it or not, my life was likely saved by Timothy's actions. I am choosing to be grateful for his sacrifice. I am choosing to look on the positive side and hope for the best. I'm not saying that it's easy, but I prefer it."

"I don't know if I can. I've...I've only gone in there a couple of times, but...I look at him and think that it's my fault he's there."

"It's not. You and I were doing our jobs. Those who deserve the blame are all dead. They have received their punishment. Too quickly for my taste, but they have. They are the guilty ones. It's useless for you and I to take the blame on ourselves simply because we were where we were supposed to be."

Jimmy was silent for a moment.

"Do you think Tim sees dead people?"

"What?"

Jimmy flushed at how it sounded. "I mean does he think he sees dead people? Or is it just that he's dead?"

"I don't know. What I do know is that he's scheduled for another CT scan this evening which will hopefully shed some light on the inner workings of his brain. His doctors are discussing possible treatments, and his family is not giving up hope, although they are understandably upset. They wish to thank you."

Jimmy shook his head. "No, doctor. I...I couldn't let them thank me for...for this."

Ducky put a companionable arm around Jimmy's shoulders. "Mr. Palmer, you aren't letting them express gratitude for your sake, but for theirs. They see, in us, a positive result of a horrible situation. By seeing you and saying thank you, they are affirming that Timothy's situation didn't happen for no reason. This is one case where gratitude is not about what you did or did not do. Your surviving is what matters. So...swallow your feelings of guilt and let them have that small comfort of knowing what their son did for you."

Jimmy looked at Tim again. His eyes were closed. He was still rather pale. The stitches were very obviously marking the place where the bullet had penetrated his skull. He twitched and then became still again. To Jimmy, it was almost like another person was lying in the bed...as if Tim had been replaced by a stranger.

"Come, Jimmy. We may be able to catch the McGees before they leave for the airport."

Ducky urged him away from the door.

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

"Agent McGee?"

The voice penetrated the horror and Tim woke up with a start. He looked around, confused. Where was he? This place was different. It wasn't what he expected.

The angel was back. She was smiling gently at him.

"You drifted off while we were transferring you to the CT room," she said.

Tim looked at her, the words washing over him meaninglessly.

"Why won't you take me with you? I don't want to stay."

She smiled at him again. "We're just giving you another CT scan. We need to see how your brain is functioning."

"It's not!" he said. "It can't function if I'm dead!"

"That's very true, but you're not dead."

"Yes, I am! Please...let me go with you!"

"Go where?"

"Heaven."

"I'm not an angel. My name is Angela. I'm one of the nurses on shift in the evenings."

Tim touched his forehead again. He could feel the spot where the bullet had gone into his head.

"Why did you put stitches in my head? Tony said that all Kate would need was a little mortuary putty in her forehead. The back...couldn't be fixed, but you didn't have to look at that. Why use stitches?"

Tim really wanted to understand why all these people who supposedly cared about him were leaving him to rot inside his own body after he'd died. Couldn't they just let him go?

"We used stitches because you survived the gunshot, Agent McGee...and once we extracted the bullet, we had to stitch it up."

Finally, the frustration was too much. Tim started to cry.

"I hate being here. I hate being like this. Why can't I just be dead like everyone else? Why can't I just die and be buried? What did I do wrong? What did I do to deserve being stuck like this?"

There were arms around his decaying body. He was surprised that anyone would want to touch his dead flesh.

"Agent McGee, you didn't do anything wrong."

"Yes, I did. I disobeyed an order. I came out of cover. ...and I died for it...but I didn't think it was that bad a crime. I didn't think that I'd be punished like this."

"You're not being punished, Agent McGee. You're being helped."

"No! No, this isn't helping!"

"Yes, it is. I know you don't see it, but it's true. You're not being punished for anything. On the contrary, everyone really wants you to get better."

"You can't get better from being dead."

"No, that's true, but you can get better from thinking you are when you're not."

Tim just shook his head hopelessly. Even the angel wasn't interested in helping him. Even she was insisting that he had to stay here. It was up to him to get out on his own.

"Now, Agent McGee, can you stay still while we give you the scan?"

Tim didn't see a point in answering. He just lay on the table and stared up. A dead person didn't need to move. Maybe if he stayed still enough, his body would crumble to dust and set his spirit free.

"Exactly. Just stay in that position while we take the scan. It may get a little uncomfortable..."

Tim just laughed. Uncomfortable? He was completely uncomfortable every second that he was stuck here.

A noise started up and he was lying in a small tube. What kind of a scan could they get from a decaying brain?

He wanted to run away, but he could tell that they wouldn't let him. He would have to figure out how to get out of this place and out into the world. Maybe that would help. He wished that someone would actually help him, but if he had to be on his own, he would do that until he could finally get out of his body.

Tim just wanted to be free of the torment of his death.