Chapter 10

The next morning, they began weaning Tim off the olanzapine...and they had him with a psychiatrist every day, helping him learn to resist the fear that he'd become lost in the delusion again without the drugs.

...and perhaps to everyone's surprise, not just Tim's, the delusion wasn't reasserting itself as the dosage became lower and lower. In spite of Tim's stress, in spite of his fear, he was not convinced that he was dead. This didn't remove his dreams, his almost-constant worry about whether or not he was in trouble, but it did remove a major source of anxiety for his friends and family. None of them wanted to see Tim return to that strange state that had governed his actions for far too long. He still wasn't his former self, but that particular improvement was a distinct relief.

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

Three weeks later...

"Okay, Tim. That's the last time you have to get this stuff in your system. How do you feel about that?" Denise asked.

"I don't know." Tim rubbed at his scar. It was a nervous tic of his that nothing had managed to remove so far. "What now?"

"Just like usual. We're getting you back to full form."

"Can I?" Tim asked.

"A lot of it, yes. I don't know how much; so don't ask," she said with a smile. "How do you feel about starting some real walking today?"

"I'm still dizzy."

Denise nodded. "We think that some of it we can help you overcome by basically retraining your brain to balance you properly. Some of it will just have to wait until the lesions fully heal."

"What about surgery?"

"That's still an option, but you've had so much intrusion into your brain...the doctors would really like to avoid more. It's risky."

"But wasn't the drug risky, too? I mean...they didn't know if it would work."

"True, but if they get it wrong in your head, you could die, become paralyzed... With the olanzapine, if it showed no progress, they'd just take you off it as quickly as they could."

"I want...to be better," Tim said, sounding discouraged. "The more I can think, the more I know that I'm not...better. I'm...I'm dumb!"

"No, you're not, Tim," Denise said firmly.

"But...But I can't think right! I can read, but the words...sometimes, I can't figure out what they mean. People talk and...they just don't make sense!"

"Tim, we've talked about that. It's a matter of practice. They gave you an IQ test just last week. You scored quite high."

"Not in everything."

"No. You were slow in some sections and you're building up your working memory again, but they'll give you another one in a couple of months and I think you'll be surprised at how much better you do."

Tim sighed.

"Tim, what's really wrong?"

Tim didn't answer. He just stared down at the floor, his fingers absently running back and forth over the scar on his head. Denise sat down beside him and put her arm around his shoulders.

"Talk to me, Tim."

"It's like I'm...I'm looking through a veil," Tim whispered. "Not...like before when it was thick and hard to see through, but I feel like I'm trying to think through layers of...of stuff that keeps me from really getting it. I know that I shouldn't be worried about Gibbs being mad at me, but I am. I'm always worried about him getting mad at me, even when he's there telling me he's not. I have to learn how to balance again. I have to learn how to walk again. I have to let my brain heal and help me think right again. ...but what if I don't have the time? What if something else happens? What if I think that dying is the only way again? What if–?" Tim's eyes filled with tears and he looked around his room. "What if this is all there is?"

Denise let Tim lean against her and she patted his shoulder encouragingly.

"Oh, Tim. You can't think like that. I know that you're afraid...afraid of things you probably can't even really articulate right now, but you have so far to go. You aren't even close to being at the end of what you can do."

Tim took a couple of shuddering breaths and let them out slowly.

"Don't worry about comparing the way you are right now with the way you were. What you need to do is accept the way you are and take the steps you need in order to get further."

Tim shook his head. "The way I am is...awful."

"I know it's discouraging, but you have to start somewhere. If you feel you're starting at the bottom, then at least, you know you can only get higher."

"People are...mad...uh...frustrated with me," he said.

"Who?"

"My friends...when they come. They want me to be normal, and I'm not. It bothers them. They don't stay very long. They leave fast. I...I know it's because of me...because of how weird I am."

Denise stayed quiet, letting Tim talk. This was more than he'd talked almost ever that she was aware of. His problems with keeping his mind focused had meant that he spoke less than he might otherwise. Even if he couldn't see it himself, he was definitely improved even just in the few weeks since he'd come to the rehabilitation center.

"I think...they wish I'd died."

"No, they don't."

"Maybe not at first, but they don't like that I'm like this, and I think they think it would be better if I had just died."

Tim pressed hard on his scar and closed his eyes tight.

"Sometimes...maybe they're right. Maybe I shouldn't have...lived. I thought I was dead. Maybe that was the way I should have gone. Maybe it was a mistake that Jimmy saved me. Maybe they should have let me bleed to death. It wouldn't have taken very long."

"Tim, I want you to listen to me. Okay? Are you listening?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Your friends and your family do not want you dead. It was not a mistake that you lived. It was a miracle...a good miracle. You have to struggle with getting better and I'm sure it's hard for you, but don't think that it's a mistake you survived."

"I want to be me again," Tim whispered.

"You are you, Tim. Not the same as you were, but you're still you. Don't forget that." She squeezed his shoulder again. "Now, are you ready to start walking?"

Tim sniffled and nodded. "Okay."

"Good."

Denise wheeled Tim to his physical therapy and then went back and made some calls. Tim's beliefs were often deep-rooted and difficult to get him to let go, and if he was starting to believe that everyone wanted him dead, it could prove detrimental. It was important for Tim's friends to stop this idea before it had time to become engrained...if it wasn't already.

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

"All right, Tim. That's enough for today," Mark said. "We're going to get you running in no time."

Tim sighed as he sat in his wheelchair. He didn't say anything in response.

"Come on, Tim. You did a good job today. It's your first real attempt at getting back to full form, especially after your stint on the olanzapine which really screwed up your balance. You managed to walk before somewhat, from what I heard. This is just getting you on your feet again."

"Can you make my brain work right?" Tim mumbled.

"That's what I'm doing. Retraining your brain. You just need time."

"Yeah. Sure."

"Hey, is this the place?"

Tim looked up at the voice. He recognized it.

"Tony...you're here?" he asked.

"Course I am, Probie. I was told that this was the place to be."

"By who?"

"A little bird."

Tim furrowed his brow in confusion...and then frustration as he realized that he shouldn't be having this trouble following what Tony was saying. Tony's smile faltered slightly and then he grinned.

"You're all done for today, McGee?"

"Yeah," Tim said.

"Great! I'll take you back to your room!"

"Okay."

Tim felt Tony push the chair forward and he gripped the arms tightly to keep from feeling like he was going to tip out of it. He knew he wasn't, but sudden motion made him feel very unstable.

"You all right?"

Tim managed to make a positive sound. Not really a word, but a sound.

"You want me to slow down?"

"No. It's fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Hey, I'm the only one here right now, but everyone's coming. Is that all right?"

"Everyone?"

"Yeah. Gibbs, Ziva...Abby...Ducky...Jimmy. People you'd expect."

"Why?"

"To talk to you. ...but I wanted to talk first."

"Too many talking at once. I'll lose track."

"We know. We'll make sure you can follow us."

They got to Tim's room, and Tony helped Tim sit on a chair. It had to recline a bit so that Tim didn't feel like he would fall out of it. Tony didn't try to speak until Tim was settled. Tim closed his eyes, trying to restore his equilibrium after all the movement.

"Tim?"

It had been a few minutes of absolute silence, and Tim was pretty sure he could open his eyes without worrying about the room spinning.

"Yeah?"

"I want to tell you something, but I want to make sure you're really listening to me. Okay?"

Tim opened his eyes and carefully shifted position until he was able to look at Tony comfortably.

"What?"

"I am...so glad that you're alive."

Tim blinked at him. Tony had spoken slowly and very clearly, but he was surprised to hear it.

"I saw you get shot. I thought you were dead...like Kate. I didn't think there was a chance that you'd survived." Tony paused. "Are you following me?"

"Yes," Tim said softly. He wasn't sure he liked hearing about getting shot from someone else's perspective.

"Okay. When I realized that you weren't dead...all I wanted to do was make sure that you stayed alive. Then, when you were so sure that you were dead...it was...really hard to...to see you so confused, so...miserable. ...but I never wanted you to be dead. I never wished that you didn't survive."

Tim stayed silent. He had understood everything Tony said...but it was so strange to see Tony so earnest...so...not joking. It was almost as strange a feeling as it had been to be seeing through that thick film before. Things weren't right because Tony wasn't acting how Tony usually acted.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you understand?"

"Yeah."

"Do you believe me?"

"I don't know."

"Why?"

"You don't...do this...don't talk like this usually. You're...joking more."

"I know, but I'm serious, and I mean it. I wouldn't lie about this."

"I know...but I'm not normal, Tony," Tim said, plaintively. "I'm not what I want to be. I feel...slow. Stupid."

"You're not."

"What if I can't go back to NCIS?"

Tim looked at Tony and was surprised when he smiled.

"You can make it. ...but you know what? If you don't...you can do something else...and we won't go away."

"I don't want something else."

"We don't know what's going to happen, Tim. It's going to take some time. But no matter what, we're not going to give up on you. So don't give up on yourself."

Tim didn't get a chance to answer because there was a knock on the door, and the rest of the team came in. To Tim's surprise (and relief), they weren't noisy. Even Abby had toned down her usual effervescence. They took turns talking to him. At first, it was simple stuff, and Tim relaxed a bit as they brought him up to speed on some of the things that were happening. ...but after about half an hour, the conversation took a sharp turn into something more serious.

"McGee?" Gibbs asked.

Tim looked at him. "Yeah?"

"You're not in trouble. Remember that?"

"Yeah...but I forget...and even when I remember...I can't help but worry about it," Tim said. "...and it's dumb."

"No, it's not, Timothy," Ducky said. "You're reacting to a traumatic event, one that not only nearly led to your death but also has led to damage in your mind. You need to remember that you've made it a long way so far, and we understand."

"But you don't like it," Tim said. "...and I don't, either. I hate how I am."

Abby hugged him tightly. "Tim, it's okay. How you are...it's not how you always will be, and we're here for you!"

"It's not okay, Abby," Tim said. "My mind is all screwed up...and I know it is. Before...at least, I didn't know...but I do now, and I hate it!"

"We do not," Ziva said. "We want you to improve, but we do not hate that you are here. We are so glad that you are alive."

"...and I'm really sorry, Tim," Jimmy said softly.

"Sorry...for what?" Tim asked.

"For being where you had to protect us. I wish I could not be there."

"You saved me," Tim said. "You kept me from jumping. I wanted to...just to see if would work."

"But you don't seem very happy now, Tim, and I really wish that I could...fix it...but I can't. I don't know how."

Ducky patted Jimmy on the back.

"You can't know how. No one does," Tim said.

"But I'm sorry anyway."

"You don't have to be," Tim said.

"Do you wish that I hadn't stopped you?" Jimmy asked.

"I don't know," Tim said. "I just want...to be...normal again."

"You can be, lad."

"But maybe not all the way!"

"Perhaps not, but we cherish your presence and we will be thrilled with whatever progress you make."

"And if you wish to make more and want our help, we will be here," Ziva added. "You are my friend, Tim. I would not give that friendship up."

Tim looked at Gibbs.

"You're not in trouble."

"Even if I can't get better?" Tim asked.

"No matter what, McGee," Gibbs said firmly. "If you don't get better, that's not something you'll be punished for. If you do get better, we'll all be happy about it. Don't mix up what happened to you with NCIS rules and regulations. They don't have anything to do with each other."

"I don't like this," Tim said emphatically.

Gibbs looked Tim straight in the eye with an expression that brooked no further argument.

"You won't be like this forever, McGee."

"How can you know?"

"I know. Okay?"

"But what if..."

"You'll be better...and not one of us resents you for the time you're taking."

Tim felt his throat tighten and his lip started trembling.

"I'm scared," he said. "I'm so scared."

Abby hadn't let him go since hugging him and she renewed her hold on him.

"We're here, Tim. We always will be. No matter what."

Tim started to cry...and crying made it harder for him to focus. The words that were spoken after that washed over him without meaning. For a few minutes, all he could do was...try not to cry. He started running his fingers over his scar again.

Then, he heard a voice in his ear. Very soft, but it penetrated the tears.

"You aren't alone in this, Tim. If you try you'll make it."

Tim closed his eyes and tried to believe.