Chapter 12

Tim came awake with a start and sat up, looking around frantically for a perceived threat. His breath still moved noisily and painfully through his trachea.

A hand on his shoulder startled him even more and he spun, ready to defend himself.

"Whoa. Calm down there, McGee," Gibbs said, smiling a little. "You only get to have one fight per day."

"How long...have I been...sleeping?"

"A few hours. Not long. It's fairly late."

"How much...longer will I be staying here?"

"Don't know yet. We're trying to decide if you're still in danger."

Tim grimaced and then coughed painfully.

"Throat still hurting?"

"Yeah..."

"Don't talk then. It's probably better if you just relax a bit. Ducky said you'd probably be waking up soon and he went to get you some ice."

Tim nodded. Ice sounded good. Whether it was for the outside or the inside of his throat, he figured he'd enjoy it.

Gibbs sat down.

"It...was the...same guy," Tim rasped.

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Stop trying to talk, McGee. We kind of figured. He was going after you?"

Tim opened his mouth.

"Just nod, McGee."

Tim shook his head. Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Then, what did he–?"

Tim pulled the flash drive out of his pocket and held it up.

"He...knew I had...a backup somewhere."

"McGee..." Gibbs began.

Tim shook his head and plowed on. "I...told him...it was in my...apartment. He was going to take me there...and then, kill me. I...had to stop him."

"Well, you impressed Henry."

"How?"

Gibbs chuckled. "According to him you have better moves than any wrestler...and I saw myself when we got there. It took a hit to the throat to get you to let go of him. It was impressive."

"I was scared...out of my...wits...Boss."

"That doesn't surprise me, but it doesn't change the fact that what you managed to do was impressive. You kept him from getting away. You signaled Henry in advance so that he wasn't taken by surprise...and you fought back, McGee. You fought back against someone who scared you. That's important."

Tim looked at Gibbs and then away.

"My...My hip doesn't hurt," Tim whispered.

"What?"

He looked back, almost afraid to say it aloud, for fear that it would mean he was wrong.

"What did you say, Tim?"

"My hip...it doesn't hurt. I did all that...and it...I'm sore...but I'm not...hurt."

Gibbs stared at him for a moment and then smiled. Whatever he might have said was cut off by Ducky's return.

"Timothy, it appears that those in authority are still deciding whether or not it's safe to move you outside the building. So I will do my best to help ease your pain until we can ensure that no serious damage has been done to you."

Ducky handed Tim a glass full of crushed ice. Tim took a few chips and put them in his mouth. His throat was dry as well as sore and the coolness soothed his aching throat.

"Better?"

Tim nodded.

"Does my...throat look as...bad as it feels?"

"Not yet, but I dare say that if you give it a few days, it will adequately represent how you must feel. I think you should try to avoid talking as much as possible until it hurts less."

Tim smiled. "Too...much to say...I guess." Then, he sobered. "What's...going to...to happen to...him?"

"He tried to abduct and kill a federal agent," Gibbs said. "Lots of witnesses. No question that he attacked you."

"And what about..."

"Still your call," Gibbs said.

"Too bad," Tim said and tried to smile. Instead, he winced and put a few more ice chips in his mouth and then rubbed at his throat.

"Take your time and don't push it. If this is the only guy after you, we have time."

"If..."

Ducky sat down beside Tim.

"Don't worry about it all just yet, Timothy. You have enough on your plate at the moment and you are as safe as we can make you."

"How...safe is that?"

Gibbs smiled. "Safer than you were before."

"Okay."

"Are you tired?" Ducky asked.

Tim thought about it...and then shook his head. He was pretty awake now. He'd probably lose his energy pretty quickly, but for the moment, he was alert.

"What would you like to do?"

The decision he still had to make pressed in on his mind and he took as deep a breath as he could without wincing.

"I...need to think for...awhile. Okay?"

"That's fine. Would you like some solitude?"

Tim nodded. Ducky patted Tim on the back and stood.

"Understandable. If you decide you would like company just give the sign."

"Someone will be keeping an eye on the room," Gibbs added.

Tim nodded in appreciation. He watched them leave and began sucking on more of the crushed ice. It seemed to be helping a bit. At least it was calming the dryness and it might even be helping his pain a little.

Still, he had bigger problems than a sore throat. He still had a decision to make, a difficult decision. ...and yet, it wasn't really a decision anymore. He knew what he had to do now. He knew what remained and he knew that, although he was being given a choice, he didn't really have much of a choice. Coming face to face with that man had loosened something inside him, something he had considered to be intractable. Now, he could feel it slipping away, slipping through his fingers. The feeling, the certainty, it was leaving him. He couldn't lean on it any longer.

He pulled the flash drive out of his pocket and looked at it, turning it over and over in his hands. Such a small thing to be killed for.

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

"So, come on, McGee!" Johnson prodded.

"What?" Tim asked.

"You know! You're an agent. You let it slip out at that panel and you just know that everyone in that room wanted to ask you the same question."

"What question?" Tim asked. "I really don't know what you're talking about."

Davidson rolled his eyes. "You know. We're all geeks here. Johnson and I rarely even see the light of day. What's it like?"

Tim smiled. "Daylight? Well, there's this thing called the sun and it..."

Larson laughed. "Ah, tell 'em, McGee. They're never going to leave you alone if you don't."

"What's the specific question?"

"Your life is on the line every day," Johnson said. "What's that like?"

"You don't really think about it."

"I would be," she countered. "All the time. Some guy could come bursting into view with guns blazing and start shooting at you. The worst I'll have to deal with is a firewall."

"Really, you don't think about it. You can't. If you start worrying about whether or not you're going to be killed that day...you'll never be able to do anything. It's just not practical."

Keating laughed. "You're such a geek, McGee. I spent a few months as an agent...and I was glad to go back to Cybercrimes. I did think about it...especially after Langer."

Tim nodded. "When someone does die, you think about it. A lot. I did when one of my teammates died, but mostly...you just go to work assuming that everything will be okay...and usually, it is."

"And when it's not?" Davidson asked, arching an eyebrow.

"When it's not...you can at least take comfort in the fact that you'll almost never have to face it alone."

There was a pause.

"And what if you are alone?" Larson asked quietly.

Tim looked at him, wondering what was really going through his head.

"If you are...then, you try to find a way that you won't be. Otherwise, you just have to face it as best you can...and hope you survive."

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

It was after midnight when they finally took Tim to the hospital to be checked over. He was taken under guard, but there was no sign of any danger. The doctor checked him over thoroughly and said that, while there was definitely some bruising and he'd be sore and hoarse for a few days, maybe a week, there was no permanent damage. Even better, there was no damage to his hip. The doctor on duty recommended that Tim see his physical therapist, but confirmed that he could detect no extra damage to Tim's ilium or to his hip socket.

After that, he didn't return to NCIS. Instead, Gibbs took him, again under guard, to his house. Tony and Ziva came along on guard duty and two agents were outside. Tim was sent to the spare room to sleep. He had intended to think more about what he still had to do, but as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was down for the count. Too much had happened in the past couple of days...so much that the days seemed to have lasted for months just in and of themselves.

...and he was so tired...

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

Three days later...

Tim came down the stairs. It was late. He'd allowed himself the luxury of sleeping in while he recovered from everything. His throat was still extremely sore and the bruise was now very obvious. His voice was still hoarse, but he'd had some improvements.

More importantly, he'd made an important decision and it was time to implement it. He had wanted to wait until his voice was back to normal, but it was looking like that was going to take some time and he couldn't put this off any longer. It had to be done, no matter how much he hated it. It was a necessity now.

Gibbs was making a smoothie, of all things. Tim had learned to become close friends with anything liquid, anything soft while his throat recovered. Smoothies had turned out to be great because they were cool and didn't have any sharp edges. Gibbs had surprised him by owning a blender. Tim didn't know why that surprised him particularly, but it had, and watching him actually using it was extremely entertaining for some reason.

Gibbs look up as Tim sat down at the table.

"Better?"

Tim shrugged. He'd learned the art of mute eloquence over the past few days, speaking as little as possible to save himself more pain. Gibbs smiled and set the smoothie in front of him without comment. Tim drank it, hoping that one day he could return to solid foods. This wasn't awful, but it did get boring. After he finished, he looked at the empty glass and then pulled the flash drive from his pocket and set it on the table.

"What is it, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"I need to talk to Fornell," Tim said in his hoarse voice. "Can you get him over here? Or me over there? Either way. I need to talk to him."

"About that?"

Tim nodded. "This and more."

"I'll get him over here."

"Thanks, Boss."

Gibbs merely nodded and got to his feet. Tim picked up the flash drive again and examined it closely. It was so small...and yet so important. Everything that had consumed him for the last year was right there in his hands.

"He's on his way," Gibbs said. "You sure about this?"

Tim looked up and smiled. "No...but it has to be done and I can't put it off anymore."

"You want me here or gone?"

Tim considered the options for a moment and then gave a half smile.

"Gone, please. This is between Fornell and me...but I'll tell you after. Is that all right, Boss?"

Gibbs nodded. "I'll be down in the basement."

"Thanks, Boss."

Gibbs merely grunted and left Tim in the kitchen.

Tim had time to kill so he went back upstairs and changed into something nicer. A lot of his clothes had been ruined, but some items had been salvageable and he was grateful for that much.

Then, there was a knock at the door.

"Agent McGee, it's Fornell!"

Tim smiled at the precaution and opened the door.

"Agent Fornell," he said hoarsely.

"Man, kid, you sound terrible."

"This is an improvement," Tim said with a smile. "Come in."

"I'd heard you'd been in a fight, but no one mentioned being strangled."

"It was the elbow to the throat that hurt more than the strangling."

"I'll take your word for it."

Tim gestured for Fornell to sit.

"What's this about, McGee?"

Tim took a breath and steeled himself.

"It's about why someone almost killed me...and what the FBI is going to do about it."