Chapter 10

Eight months ago...

"Tim! I'm not going to take no for an answer. If you don't come out here, I'm going to go down into the street and start screaming your name!"

"Abby, please..."

"No, Tim. You need to get out of your negative head space."

Tim opened the door. He hadn't slept. His mind was running laps and refused to settle, even though he was exhausted.

"Please, Abby...I can't do this tonight...maybe not ever."

Abby was surprised at how listless Tim seemed. Gibbs had said he was having trouble, but he hadn't mentioned just how much trouble.

"You need this, Tim...even if you don't think you do. Come on. Nothing big, just some time."

Finally, he nodded. "Okay. Okay, Abbs. I just need my shoes." True to his word, less than a minute later, he was coming out of the apartment.

Abby led him down and out to the street. She stepped between a couple of cars and began to cross to her own. She didn't see the car with its headlights off. She didn't notice it suddenly speed toward her. Her mind was on getting Tim back in the saddle.

"Abby!" Tim's voice was agony itself. Abby looked back toward him, but her attention was arrested halfway there by the car that was so close to her...that was not slowing down, but increasing its speed. It was almost to her. She froze. Just before it reached her, she felt herself jerked violently to the side, but even so, the side-view mirror caught her a glancing blow and she hit the ground hard after it passed. The world started to go fuzzy, but the last thing she saw was Tim. He wasn't looking at her. He was holding her hand, but he was looking away, down the road.

"Tim?"

His eyes turned down toward her and the last thing she heard was him saying, "Abby, stay with me. Please, please, don't die on me."

Abby wanted to say that she wasn't going to die, but her mouth didn't seem to be working. Everything went dark.

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

Tim sat up in bed barely stifling a scream of pain, emotional pain, Abby's name on his lips. The physical pain was going to come later. He looked around the dingy hotel room. He wished more than anything that he was back in DC, that he had stayed with Abby. His dreams were full of Abby and her close call, Tony and his face as Tim had shot him...of the Sphinx, his face twisted in a kind of sadistic glee as he brought the glowing brand downward onto his skin. Tim winced involuntarily. He looked at the sandpaper he'd purchased in London. That was...three flights ago. He looked around the room. It was small, even by a podunk hotel's standards, but it had a sink. He was going to need it. He'd been putting off the task for far too long.

Slowly, Tim stood and walked the two steps to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror. He was losing weight fast. Probably too fast. He sure didn't feel healthy. His bare chest wasn't anything for the ladies to ooh and aah over either. He looked at his shoulder. He needed to do this. It was too obvious. He had no idea how far-reaching the Sphinx was. Not even the laptop Tim had mindlessly stolen had that information on it. Anyone at any time could see that brand and know that Tim was on the run.

How much will this take? Tim wondered. Would it hurt as much as that near miss, when the man had come at him with a knife? More? Can I really do this to myself?

Tim had no idea, never being into self-mutilation before. He turned on the water, clenched his teeth tightly and brought the sandpaper up to his shoulder. He couldn't do it. The scabs were large and infected. The brand already hurt. He knew he was going to make it worse. He stood frozen, staring at himself in the mirror for about ten minutes.

"Don't be such a weakling, Tim," he whispered to himself. "It has to be done. No one can do it for you. No one. You have no one but yourself...and today you need to move on. Do it!"

Seemingly of its own accord, the sandpaper scraped across his skin. Tim wanted to scream, but he held it in as tears of pain blurred his vision. He scraped harder and harder, seeing the blood begin to trickle down his arm as he scraped away the skin, the scabs, scraped away the physical evidence of the price on his head. The pain brought him to his knees, a low moan breaking free of the barriers he'd set up. Still, he scraped. He used up one piece and started with another, running the sandpaper back and forth with a shaking hand, scraping until there was no way of telling that there had been a sphinx branded into his skin...all that remained was a large open wound...and the blood pouring down his arm, dripping onto the floor. The bloody sandpaper dropped from his hands to the floor as Tim leaned his forehead against the edge of the sink and tried not to be sick, tried not to pass out...tried not to cry.

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

"Your agent screwed this whole thing up! He ran! The facts are staring you in the face!"

Jenny actually smiled. "Actually, the only thing in my face is you, Paul...and it's not a sight I'm greatly appreciating."

Paul turned from Jenny to Gibbs who had been doing remarkably well at keeping his temper. Abby had nearly been run over, Tony was still unconscious, and now Tim was missing and being accused of being a traitor. He was doing rather well...

"You people are ridiculous. No wonder NCIS is the laughing stock of the federal agencies! You hire incompetent fools who turn tail and run after ruining nearly a year of work! You can't even admit that..."

Gibbs snapped. He grabbed Paul by his lapels and rammed him against the table. "You had better shut your mouth. The only incompetent fool I can see is you! Agent McGee did not run! He is more loyal to his ideals than any man I've ever known. He would not turn on his country. He would not be bribed. He is not corrupt. If he is missing, it is because something has happened to him, not because he has done something wrong."

"You're pathetic."

"No. You're the pathetic one. McGee told you more than once that you needed a real team to take that shipment...but you ignored him!"

"He shot your Agent DiNozzo. He admitted it."

"DiNozzo was there because you sent him there. Everything that has gone wrong in this op has come from you. Agent McGee was doing his best, but you seemed determined to tear down everything he did."

Jenny finally intervened. "Agent Gibbs! Please, I think you got your point across."

Gibbs stared at Paul for a few more seconds before releasing him. They stared daggers at each other before Paul retreated. Jenny closed the door gently behind him.

"Jenny!"

"Don't start with me, Jethro. You have to admit that it looks bad. We know that McGee left the ER of his own volition. What happened after that is anyone's guess, but his passport, his ID, some of his clothes...they're all gone. It looks bad. You have to admit that."

"No, Jen, I don't have to admit that. With someone else, maybe I would, but not with McGee. He wouldn't turn his back on us...and he would never leave his family in the dark. Something happened."

"I agree, but we have no proof here."

"We don't need any. Innocent until proven guilty...at least last I checked."

Jenny just sighed. "How is Abby?"

"Fine. She got a concussion and a couple of bruised ribs, but she'll be fine. Tony should come around. Did McGee really mess it up?"

"We don't know for certain. He gave me his flash drive. It's still being analyzed. He put quite a bit on there. Who knows anything at this point?"

"We know one thing. McGee is missing. Regardless of the reason...we need to get him back. We need to find him."

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

"Can you do it or not?" Tim asked, impatient beyond measure.

"Of course, I can."

"Good. Get on with it."

"It will take some time."

"I'll pay you extra if you do it while I'm standing here waiting."

"How much extra?"

"Double."

"Done!" The scuzzy forger picked up his camera. "Ready? Smile for the camera."

Tim did not smile. He felt that there was very little for him to smile about at this moment. The forger took his picture anyway. He took a couple of photos and went back to his computer to start working.

"How good do these things need to be?"

"Good enough to get me through customs."

"Planning a trip?"

Tim felt extremely irritated. He was running low on pretty much everything at the moment. Someone had found him much too quickly in Rome, forcing him to leave sooner than he had planned. It seemed that even though he was routinely hacking into the airport servers and deleting his information, he wasn't doing it fast enough. Having a fake ID would simply give him another layer of security.

"You writing a novel?"

"Nope."

"Then, shut up and do what I'm paying you for."

"Just trying to make some friendly conversation."

"I'm not paying you to talk. I'm paying you to work."

"Touchy."

Tim leaned over and put his gun to the man's throat. "Yes...I am very touchy. That's why you should just shut up."

The man stiffened. "Si, senor."

"Good." Tim withdrew, not showing how horrified he felt at having just threatened the man. The old Tim would never have done that...of course, the old Tim didn't have an unknown number of people trying to kill him either. One month. It had only been a month and Tim felt changed beyond measure. He'd lost a lot of weight and gained a few more wounds.

"From the US, si?"

"Yes."

"Name?"

"Trevor Macavoy."

"All right. Any preference on place of birth?"

"West Coast. Your choice."

Tim waited impatiently, checking his watch, trying to keep himself from peeking out the windows. A month of running, a month of pain had changed him quickly. He'd had to adapt...or he'd be dead. He'd never thought he could sink so low as to get fake IDs from a forger. However, when the finished products were in his hands, he felt nothing more than a sense of relief and a shadowy feeling of guilt. He paid the forger and left. In moments, he was back in the shady hotel. He spent a few more nights there before deciding that it was time to move on. When he woke up that morning, he couldn't remember for a moment where he was.

Madrid, his mind told him. He sat up, feeling the peculiar sense of dislocation that dogged his every move. This wasn't him. This wasn't Timothy McGee. It was...it was the work of a hunted animal: running, hiding, evading the hunters. He just felt so incredibly outnumbered and he was getting so tired.

Pushing the thought to the side, he sat up, feeling the stretching of the skin on his shoulder. He moved his hand to it. That moment in the bathroom in...whatever city he'd visited had marked the beginning of how his life had changed. He'd actually been ill for a few days at his next destination, running a slight fever. A kind woman running a small bed and breakfast type place had cared for him. He had basked in those few days where he could pretend that he wasn't alone...but then, reality had intruded and he had disappeared again, leaving only a note thanking her for her generosity and some money to cover expenses.

As he left the hotel, he automatically made his way to one of the hot tourist spots, the Royal Palace. As he mixed himself in with the tourists, he noticed that most of them gave him a wide berth. It was still a strange feeling to be the one people were afraid of. Tim wasn't used to being intimidating.

As he walked toward the street, intent on hailing a taxi and heading to Barajas International Airport, he saw a glint of metal. He turned toward it without thinking. Suddenly, the side of his head felt as though it was on fire and people were screaming and running. Tim ran as well, holding his hand to his head. He brought it down once and saw that it was red with blood. He struggled to push down the panic and he kept running.

"Senor! Are you all right?" The voice was heavily accented, but Tim could understand him.

"I'm fine. Thank you...uh...gracias." Tim struggled to keep moving, wanting only to get away.

"You are bleeding, senor! Let me help you." There was a hand on his arm, supporting him. Tim needed that more than he'd like to admit.

"No, just...I just need to leave."

"No, senor, you cannot leave. You need help."

"No!" Tim tried to pull himself from the man's grip, but he felt so weak, and there was a dark curtain that kept sweeping in front of his vision.

"I will not harm you, senor. You will be safe...from the police and from whoever shot at you."

Tim barely had a chance to register what the man had said before he was urged into a darkened room and pushed down onto a chair. Blood still poured down the side of his face. His vision cleared and he saw that he was in a bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror and wanted to cry. Half his face was bloody. The other half looked simply bewildered. In moments, an old Spanish man came back into the room with bandages and a bowl.

"Sit there. I will help you."

Tim felt no energy to do anything else and submitted to the man's ministrations. His hands were gentle as they stopped the blood flow and placed small bandages on his head. Tim closed his eyes wishing that he could stop, that it all could stop, but knowing that it couldn't. They had found him again...he would have to run.

"There. You will not win any prizes, senor, but I have stopped the bleeding." Tim felt the man pat his shoulder and he opened his eyes.

"Gracias...thank you," Tim whispered. He started to stand but wobbled as his head spun.

The old man pushed him back down. "I do not think you should be moving much yet, senor. This is a safe place. No one will find you."

"People are uncommonly good at finding me," Tim mumbled.

"Not here. You are safe."

Tim suddenly felt exhausted. "I have to go," he said vaguely. It was the shock. He knew that, but he was powerless to fight it.

"No, senor. You will sleep first. Rest. You will be better able to run if you rest while you can."

Tim lifted his head and met the man's gaze. "How did you–?"

The old man smiled. "You are running, senor. You know it. I know it. Never mind how. Now, sleep." He pulled Tim up with a strength belied by his thin wiry frame. Tim followed already half asleep and fell onto a bed. He didn't want to sleep, but he couldn't help it.

"How can I ever thank you?" Tim asked, falling quickly toward unconsciousness.

"You can get away, senor. Many do not."

Tim's eyes closed. When he woke up a few hours later, the house was empty. Tim panicked for a moment and searched his bag, but everything was in place and nothing had been added. He took some time to get online. There was a wireless connection that he tapped into. First, he checked the bank account he'd set up. It was still solvent. Then, he checked the airport's site. The next flight with available seats was heading to Sydney, Australia. That worked. He booked a ticket and in moments, he was gone.

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

"Gibbs! There was something! I'm sure it must have been Tim. It must have been!" Abby announced. "I was looking at some stuff in the files and there was a blip. A short blip. It must have been Tim. It had to be him! Who else would be peeking in here? Some might think it was just a hiccup, but I know it wasn't."

Gibbs watched Abby as she paced back and forth, occasionally pointing to a section on the monitor that meant less to him than computers usually did.

"After all...it's only been a month...okay, a month and a half. He's fine. Right? I mean, he's just...he just needed a break. So he left and he'll be back and we'll all laugh about it and..."

Gibbs walked to her and stopped her frantic pacing. He didn't speak...and soon Abby's ramble stuttered to a halt and she looked at him.

"Where is he, Gibbs?"

"I don't know, Abbs."

"Why did he leave? Why did he leave us?"

"I don't know."

"I want him back!" Abby started to cry.

"So do I, Abby. So do I." Gibbs pulled her into a hug.

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

Where am I this time? Tim wondered. It was becoming much too easy to forget. Even Sydney, a place he'd never been before in his entire life, had joined the mush of cities he'd visited over the last month and a half...or was it longer? Now...he was...he looked at the sign above him...oh, yeah. Bangkok. He'd been here for about a week and was thinking about moving on. The bag on his shoulder, like the man holding it, had seen much better days. It was shredded, holey, one of the zippers was broken...but he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it. It was a part of his former life and he wanted to keep it with him, much like he kept his badge and gun, even though it was dangerous and could result in him getting in huge trouble...or worse, discovered.

"Got ya." The voice in his ear was menacing, and, more importantly, it was a voice he hadn't heard before. Tim dropped his bag to the ground in apparent capitulation and the man relaxed for a second. That was all Tim needed with every reflex on high alert. He silently blessed rule nine and pulled out his knife. Without another thought, he rammed it backward under the man's arm and felt the blood staining his jacket. The man fell to the ground. Tim let him fall and dropped his jacket on top of him. He pulled the knife out of the man's gut, grabbed his bag and left. He didn't look back. He stopped at a bridge and tossed the knife into the water. He could buy another one elsewhere...wherever he went next.

I can't do this anymore. Tim felt terrible. He felt sick, repelled by his own actions. It was no use telling himself that it was self defense. That didn't matter. He didn't feel guilty for killing the man. He hated the fact that he had been reduced to that. He didn't feel human anymore. He needed to get it back. He needed to go somewhere that would allow him the time to feel like a human being, not an animal. Thus far, he'd been sticking to populous, touristy places because it would be easier for him to blend in...but maybe he should change his tactics.

When he reached the airport, he saw a flight leaving soon for Auckland, New Zealand. Tim didn't see anything wrong with that. He bought a ticket and in a couple of hours was on his way...to what would be the final stop in his escape: Tutuila. American Samoa.