Chapter 11

Two weeks later...

"Sarah, I told you that you could go."

"Tim, I don't want to leave you alone."

Tim stopped digging through the floor of his closet and looked up at her. Sarah was sitting on the bed, petting Jethro...who had his leash in his mouth.

"I won't be alone. I have Jethro with me and you know, I do have friends, friends who have been almost annoying in how often they've been calling."

Sarah laughed but she didn't look up from Jethro.

Tim stood, wincing a little as his legs weren't fully recovered yet, walked to the bed and sat down beside her.

"Sarah, I'm okay."

"You had a nightmare last night. It woke me up."

They weren't looking at each other, just sitting. Mostly they were looking at Jethro who appeared to be enjoying the attention.

"Yes, I did...and the nightmares won't be stopping anytime soon. That's why I'm in therapy."

"Tim, you were crying."

"Yes. I know." Tim remembered very well the dream that had driven him from sleep the night before. It had been a variation of the same dream he'd had every night since his rescue. "But you still have a ticket. You're supposed to be going home for a visit."

"Mom and Dad will kill me if I leave you here."

"I'll tell them that I kicked you out of my apartment, leaving you alone and bereft, facing a cold cruel world of callous..." Tim laughed. "...okay, I'm running out of melodrama. Sarah, go. Go home, and I promise that no other serial killers will get me in the interim. I'm getting my stitches out next week, and I'll be just fine. I promise."

"You're not fine yet."

"No, I'm not. Not yet, but I will be. Just give me time."

Sarah nodded and finally looked at him. She stopped petting Jethro and threw her arms around Tim. "Oh, Tim. It could have been...you could have died!"

Tim hugged her back. "I could have...but I didn't, and Erikson is dead now. I'm safe. You can go. I'm safe, Sarah."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Okay, I'll go. Just don't disappear while I'm gone."

"Only if I get a invitation to the Bahamas from sultry mystery woman."

"What?"

"Hey, I can dream, can't I?"

Sarah pulled back and laughed. "Okay, okay. I can do without the imagery." She picked up her bag and walked to the door. Tim followed her. When she reached it, she turned back and hugged him tightly again. "I love you, Tim."

"Love you, too, Sarah."

She left and Tim closed the door behind her, staring at the knob for a few minutes before heading back to his bedroom.

"Okay, Jethro...time to go out. You ready to be my guard dog? Keep me from freaking out while we're walking?" Jethro began to bark and jump around. He had understood maybe four words of Tim's request, but he was happy with the idea of going out. "All right. Just remember that I'm not running. You can run when we get to the park, but not before then. I'm not up to it yet. Got it?"

Jethro barked a few more times and jumped some more.

"Okay, okay. I see it's useless trying to get through to you. We'll go. I promised my shrink I'd go outside every day. I haven't been out yet today; so let's go. I just need my shoes." Tim dug around for his sneakers and put them on. Then, he sat on his bed for a minute, looking out the window. "Jethro, I'm not going to let him win. Let's confront the wide world."

Tim stood up and left, Jethro bounding in his wake.

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

One week later...

"So, how's it going, Tim?"

Tim sat on the chair and looked out the window. "I had a bad night."

"How bad?"

"Woke up at two...never went back to sleep." He had learned that pretending nothing was wrong didn't help him and didn't get him out of therapy any faster. The best way to be finished was to actually make an effort. His therapist was nice and very competent. It made the whole unpleasantness easier to deal with.

"What brought it on this time?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well, let's think about it. Your sister is still gone, correct?"

"Yeah. She's visiting my parents."

"So, you're alone in your apartment."

"No, Jethro's there."

"I noticed that he's not here today."

"Yeah. I have a dog walker and since I'm going back to work next week, I wanted to get him back in the habit."

"That's a good idea. How are you dealing with that?"

"With what?"

"Your dog not being there. From what you've said in the past, he's been with you pretty much constantly since you got out of the hospital."

Tim shifted uncomfortably. "No. I'm sure that..." He thought about it a bit more. "You're right. I can't really think of a time when he hasn't been there. It's fine."

"Fine?"

"It is fine. I don't like it, but it's fine."

"So, back to your bad night."

"Right. Well...I don't think it's because of Jethro, if that's what you're wondering."

"You sure?"

"No, but I don't think so."

"Then, what is it? If you know what it's not, you must have some idea about what it is."

Tim laughed. "Good point."

"Well?"

Tim shifted around again.

"What is it, Tim? It's not like you to be so...reticent."

Tim opened his mouth and then closed it again. Finally, he blurted, "I'm getting my stitches out today. All of them."

"This afternoon?"

"Yeah."

"You nervous?"

An annoying lump formed in his throat and Tim looked away from his shrink. "Yeah."

"More than nervous?"

"Terrified," Tim whispered.

"Why?"

"Because..." Three weeks after the fact and Tim still had a hard time articulating what had happened. He could barely bring himself to look at his arms and legs.

"You can say the words, Tim. It won't catapult you back in time...or location."

Tim smiled a bit but it didn't last. "I know that. I just..."

"It's only been three weeks, Tim. You're allowed to have problems."

"All my nightmares are about getting cut open...and...and getting my stitches out is...it's just too much like that."

"Tim, take off your jacket."

"What?"

"Take off your jacket. I know it's not too cold in here. You can tolerate the temperature. So take it off."

Reluctantly, Tim shucked off his jacket, baring the long incisions running from wrist to elbow and elbow to shoulder. The transparent sutures were still visible and the incisions were healing to scars.

"Look at them, Tim. Look at them now."

Tim took a deep breath and stared at his arms.

"Touch the stitches. I know they don't hurt anymore."

The lump in Tim's throat grew larger and more insistent.

"Acknowledge that they're there because since you've decided not to do any surgery, they're going to stay where they are for the rest of your life. You have to come to terms with that and you had better start now...preferrably before you lose it with the very nice doctors who will be in charge of removing the sutures today."

Tim laughed, but a couple of tears fell down his cheeks as he gently touched the healing wounds with light fingers. He rubbed up and down first from wrist to elbow, then, with his other hand, he pulled up his sleeve and rubbed from elbow to shoulder.

"The doctors kept telling me how lucky I was," he said softly. "The first time they said that, I wanted to punch them in the face because I really didn't feel lucky...but as they kept on saying it..." He touched the stitches at the top of his chest. "...Only two inches up here. Two inches. He stopped at two inches...and he never got any farther. How much luckier could I get once I was on that table? I really was lucky."

"I'm sure you didn't see it that way."

Tim shook his head and ran his hands over his stitches again. "No. I'm still not sure I do sometimes."

"It can take a while to adjust, Tim. That's what I'm here for."

"Yeah, I know." Another deep breath. "I know."

"What time is your appointment?"

"One thirty."

"Call me when you finish...and take someone with you. You don't have to do it alone, you know."

"Everyone is working."

"And you think they won't drop everything to come if you ask?"

"No, I know they will."

"Then, what's the problem?"

Tim shrugged. "Me. I'm the problem."

"Seriously, Tim."

"I just don't like imposing on them. I know they'd do it and, especially Tony, would come running."

"Especially Tony?"

"Yeah. It's kind of weird. He keeps calling, dropping in just to 'see how I'm doing' or something like that. It's really not like him."

"Have you talked to him about it?"

"No. I tried once but he shrugged it off."

"Well, take someone with you in any case, no matter who it is. It will decrease your stress levels, make you much less likely to have any problems. You need someone you know with you."

"Yes, sir."

"That's the spirit. And don't forget to call me. Good or bad, I want to know. At our next session, we'll need to make a new schedule."

"Right. Thanks."

"They're just stitches. Remember that. Just stitches, not scalpels."

Tim nodded.

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

"Ducky, I know you had the day off. I hope this wasn't any trouble."

"Of course not, my boy. In fact, getting away from my mother for a couple of hours was rather nice. I love the woman, but sometimes..." Ducky grimaced. "Regardless, I am flattered that you would call upon me in your hour of need."

Tim flushed. "My shrink said I should have someone with me. Everyone is working, but..."

"I was not and you did not wish to see the entire squadroom show up to watch the removal of your sutures?"

"Something like that."

"Well, I'm still flattered. Knowing you as I do, I would assume that had you really disliked the idea of my presence, you would have simply gone on your own and risked the displeasure of your therapist."

Tim smiled as they walked into the hospital. "You're right. I would have."

"Well, I am always ready to be distracting, Timothy."

"Good. I think I'll need some distraction."

Ducky patted his shoulder. "You are looking remarkably well, Timothy. Much better than the last time I saw you."

"Thanks." Tim approached the desk. "Hello, I'm Timothy McGee. I have an appointment."

"Of course, Mr. McGee. Just down that hall, room 113."

"Thank you." Tim walked, but his pace slowed significantly.

"Timothy, I do believe you have the pace of a funeral procession."

"Sorry, Ducky. This is why I'm supposed to have someone with me today."

"Well, if you decide that you would like to hear any pointless stories...unrelated to the practice of suturing, I'm your man."

Tim swallowed. "Thanks, Ducky."

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

"Okay, Mr. McGee. That's one leg down. You seem a little tense," the nurse commented.

"I am."

"How did you get these injuries?"

Tim took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "That's why I'm nervous."

The other nurse looked at him more carefully. "Wait a second. Timothy McGee?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You're the NCIS agent who..."

Tim cut her off. "Yes, I am."

"I see. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Let's just get it done."

"Right."

Ducky, realizing that he wasn't fulfilling his responsibility, sat down in front of the bed and attracted Tim's attention.

"Timothy, did you know that–?"

Tim cut him off, but with a smile this time. "I don't know why you ask if I know, Ducky. I never do."

"True. It is rare, but I must start somehow."

"All right. Go on." Tim's hand clenched into a fist as the nurses began to remove the sutures from his knee to his hip. As Ducky told a long rambling story about the first time he'd ever broken a bone (falling from a tree at the age of five), Tim forced himself to watch each suture as it was removed from his leg. The nurses would look up at him every once in a while and give him a sympathetic smile. He would try to smile back, but he didn't succeed very often. About an hour later, the nurses finished up removing all the sutures from Tim's legs and arms. They almost missed his chest, but an absent rubbing on Tim's part reminded them and those were taken out in minutes.

"You're done, Agent McGee."

"Thanks. Thanks a lot."

"Didn't hurt a bit, did it."

"Nope. You were very gentle."

The nurses chuckled. "You say it, but your face says that we just put you through the ringer."

"That wasn't you. That was my own head. You didn't hurt me."

"All right. If you need a recommendation for a cosmetic surgeon..."

"I won't be needing one," Tim said, shaking his head.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Well, we'll let you get changed and then we'll sign you out."

"Thanks."

The nurses left and Tim reached for his clothes. Ducky handed him the pile, looking grave.

"Timothy."

"Yes, Ducky?"

"Are you sure you would not prefer to have surgery to get rid of the scars? It would not be complicated."

"No, Ducky. I don't want it."

"Why not?"

Tim took his clothes and pulled the curtain around, closing it in front of Ducky's face. "I don't want it."

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

A few minutes later, they left the hospital in silence. Tim looked at his watch. "Thanks for coming with me, Ducky. I promised my shrink I'd call and report on how it went."

"Timothy..."

"No, Ducky. Thanks for coming."

"Any time."

"Say hi to your mom for me...even if she won't remember who I am."

"I will. See you next week."

"Right. Bye!" Tim walked away before Ducky could ask again. As he headed for his car, he had to keep himself from looking over his shoulder. It was easy to fall into paranoia, and he was determined not to do so. He went home and pretty much ran to his apartment. His legs twinged a bit, but nothing major. He'd be ready by next week. Jethro was there, excited to see him as always.

"Jethro!" The dog jumped up on him, nearly knocking him over and Tim laughed. "You know, I'm not sure I'll ever get used to calling you that. It was a really bad choice on Abby's part. Maybe she doesn't mind, but I sure feel weird about it. I keep thinking that at some point I'm going to accidentally call Gibbs a good dog...and that would be absolutely humiliating...not to mention dangerous and hazardous to my health...so don't tell him I said that, all right?"

Jethro barked again.

"So...no serial killers in my apartment this afternoon? Good. Then, I can sit down, relax and not worry." Tim walked into his bedroom and sat down. Jethro followed. Tim exhaled and stared at his bare arms. "The stitches are gone, Jethro...but the scars are still there. The scars will always be there. No one understands why I don't want to get rid of them. It's not just that I'm afraid of surgery. That's part of it, but it's not all. Even if I get rid of the scars, I'll still feel them there." He took another deep breath. "I'll always have the scars."