Chapter 10
It barely even hurt. The colors were bright, almost glowing. Tim watched his hand moving back and forth across his arm. He'd long since lost the strength to stand and was sitting on his bed instead. How much would he have to get rid of before he'd get purge himself of the drug he had used to destroy his life and damage the lives of everyone he cared about?
Even the bruise was obscured now, the purples and blues covered by bright red. Things were getting fuzzy again, but that was better, better than the pain, better than the realization of what he'd done to himself. It was so much better.
There wasn't much room left on this arm...but he couldn't switch to the other. His hand was slick. It wouldn't work. He had to get it all out of him.
Tim wished he could turn back the clock and just say no instead of giving into his anxiety...the anxiety he always felt. There was nothing...he couldn't do his job without the help of drugs.
What am I without my job?
His whole life was his job. There was his book, but his whole life was the job. His friends were there. He did his best work there. His hand moved to his pant leg. Soon, there were jagged slices in the fabric and his pants were red.
I'm nothing.
Every cut into the fabric gave him a feeling of relief, of knowing that soon it would be done.
No, I'm not nothing. I'm an addict. That's worse than being nothing.
The brighter the stain on his sheets, the closer he was to stopping the need, to breaking the habit, to ending the pain of admitting the truth.
I'm not all right.
The knife slipped from his fingers. He couldn't grip it anymore. Black spots glittered strangely in his vision and he slumped down onto the bloody sheets.
I don't want to be like this anymore.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"Where do you think he is?" Abby asked.
They were all still staring at each other. Whatever Tim was doing, it was obvious that he wasn't at the hospital. He wasn't all there for some reason. Was he using again? How had he left? He had admitted that he was an addict...and no one was there with him. What did that mean? Tim taking the blame for something, even when it was his fault, was rarely a good sign. Tim didn't take blame very well.
"What is he doing?"
"Where should we start?"
"Is he at home?"
The questions kept coming with no answers. Questions and no answers.
"Okay, stop!" Tony shouted finally. "We can't just stand here like idiots!"
"I will call Gibbs," Ziva said.
"I'll get Ducky. We can look."
"He's most likely at his apartment. He wasn't outside and I don't know where else he'd go," Tony said.
"Then, we'll head over there while we call."
"We?"
"Of course, we. I will not just wait to find out if Tim is all right," Ziva said with a dark smile. "I would like to see you try and stop me."
"Right. Fine." Tony didn't wait, but started to run. He was amazed that even Abby managed to keep up with him. "I'll drive. You guys call."
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"You're telling me that Timothy McGee, known to be an addict, just managed to waltz out of the hospital without being stopped?" Gibbs asked. He was furious. He had been on his way to the hospital when Ziva had called him. Now, he was browbeating a nurse. If he had worked at the hospital, he would have headslapped her. "Why wasn't anyone watching him?"
"This is a large hospital, Agent Gibbs. We do our best, but Timothy was nearly catatonic at his last examination. The doctor left the room for five minutes. He ordered an increase in the dose of diazepam to be closer to the equivalent of temazepam he'd been taking. When I came to fulfill the order, he was gone." The nurse was obviously annoyed and worried herself, but she was not just giving into Gibbs' anger. "We are not omniscient, no matter how much we try to be."
Gibbs knew that was true. He knew that Tim could get out if he wanted to...but that didn't mean he wasn't furious that it had happened. Furious and afraid. Why would Tim have left? Where had he gone? His apartment was the most likely place, but the blood on the sheets and the hanging IV needle told him that Tim was not thinking, not logically anyway because he hadn't shown any care in pulling it out.
He was afraid that Tim was going to kill himself, whether by intent or by accident...the end result would be the same: the loss of a man who could have been saved.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
It was almost a repeat of the day before with the addition of Abby and the subtraction of Jethro. Tony pounded on the door.
"McGee!" He tried the knob and discovered something else different. It was unlocked. He burst into the apartment. It was quiet. Too quiet. Both Tony and Ziva couldn't stop themselves from looking to the kitchen where they had found Tim, subconsciously expecting to see him there again.
"Tim!" Abby called, her voice tight with worry. She ran ahead of Tony and Ziva...to the bedroom. So she was the one who got the first glance. She screamed...like a victim in a horror movie, high-pitched and wordless. She actually backed up to Tim's writing desk, which had a drawer open, the only thing to halt her backward progress.
Tony and Ziva ran to see and, while they didn't scream, they could certainly understand why Abby had, even with her obsession with death and her general lack of squeamishness.
Tim lay in the center of sheets that had been white before. Now, the only white thing was Tim himself. He seemed totally bloodless...because all his blood seemed to be staining the sheets around him. There was a bloody knife near his outstretched left hand.
"Abby..." Tony started and then had to stop and swallow. He tried again. "Abby...call...911." Abby seemed frozen, her hands over her mouth. She looked as though she was going to be sick. "Abby!"
Abby didn't move. She was as white as Tim. For a moment, both Tony and Ziva didn't know what to do. Who to help. Then, Ziva crossed to Abby and pulled her out of sight. Tony heard her get on the phone. He went to the bed, but he hadn't the slightest idea what he was going to be able to do. There was no anger, only confusion, fear, and grief. He knelt on the mattress and put his fingers on Tim's neck.
A pulse. Faint, slow, but present. Tony sighed in relief.
"Tim, why?" Tony asked.
To his surprise, Tim's eyes opened, narrow slits, fluttering lids.
"Have to stop," he said, his voice nearly inaudible.
Tony looked at the knife, at the bloody mess Tim had made of himself and could no longer hold back the tears. He could barely see as he ran into the bathroom to grab some towels...anything that wasn't already soaked. When he returned, Tim was weakly grabbing for the knife again.
"No! No, Tim. This isn't the way," Tony shouted and pushed the knife away.
"Get it out," Tim mumbled.
The tears in Tony's eyes escaped. It was just like Tim to try and make things better...and to do it in the most extreme manner possible...but then, he corrected himself. No, Tim didn't normally do things like this. He took things too much to heart, but he didn't mutilate himself for it.
Tim's hand was feeling around.
"Help," he whispered.
"I'm not going to help you kill yourself, Tim," Tony retorted and began winding a large fluffy towel around Tim's arm.
"Gotta...stop..."
"Not like this. This isn't the way to stop."
"Only way."
Tony began wrapping towels around Tim's leg. He had no expertise to assess how deep the cuts had been and how much damage Tim had actually done beyond the attempted exsanguination. Besides, that detailed of an examination was something he desperately wanted to avoid. Tim wasn't helping all that much. His eyes didn't fully open but he tried to take the towel off and he kept searching for the knife.
Finally, Tony was too frustrated, too frightened and too angry to allow it. "McGee! Stop it! You're not helping!"
"Start...over...go back."
"Ziva!" Tony shouted.
Both Ziva and Abby came in, Abby a bit paler than usual, but composed. Abby sat beside Tim, ignoring the blood, and held his hands gently. Ziva rewound the towel on his arm.
"McGee, why did you do this?"
"Have to stop being..." Tim ran out of breath and his eyes closed again.
Abby tapped his cheek gently. "Stay with us, Tim. Please."
Again, the green slits showed themselves. Tim looked at Abby. "'m sorry. Jethro..."
Abby smiled but she had tears in her eyes. "You're an idiot, McGee, but that doesn't mean I'm going to hate you forever."
The green slits slid from her to Tony. "Don't leave. 'm an addict...Tony."
"I know, McGee. I already know that."
"Have to stop..." Tears leaked from the green slits and slid down to the bloody sheets. "...don' wanna be...this...'nymore."
"You do not have to be, McGee," Ziva said, softly. "But this will not help you. It will only make things worse. Let us help."
"No...help..."
"There is, but it will take some time. You must be patient."
"Get it out..." Tim whispered. He probably would have been screaming if he could, if he had the energy.
The siren of the second ambulance in as many days wailed up the street. Tim was carted away from a much bloodier scene than the day before, leaving Tony, Ziva and Abby standing in his bedroom, covered in his blood. They had saved him. He was still alive.
...and he was still an addict.