Chapter 14

"Have a seat, Agent McGee."

Tim sat down, on the edge of the chair.

"I've read your file. It's incredibly holey for a file of drug use. Care to elaborate?"

"I don't know what's in there," Tim said. Five hours and ten minutes...

"Then, why don't we start with you telling me your drug philosophy?"

"My drug philosophy? I don't understand."

"Why do you use drugs?"

"Drug. Singular. Only one," Tim corrected and then looked down.

"Considering the volume you must have used over the years, I don't think using the singular is accurate."

Tim flushed and didn't look up.

"Tell me how things go for you, Agent McGee. In order for this to help you really stop, we need to know why you use drugs, what triggers your desire, how you cope...how you justify your drug use. If you expect to just get all the drug out of your system and then you're fine, you're sadly mistaken. It takes a lot of work, a lot of patience, and a lot of endurance. Are you ready for that?"

"Honestly?"

"Yes, that would be nice."

"I don't know. I know I want to stop, but I don't know if I'm...strong enough to stop."

"Agent McGee, that's why you're here. So you don't have to do it alone. A lot of it does depend on you. You take responsibility not only for your past actions but for your present and future actions as well. What we need to do here is set up your schedule. How often you come to the clinic for sessions, group and individual, how quickly or slowly you taper your doses...all these things depend on you. I will give input and there are certain things we expect of you, but you are not just passively accepting what we have to say. We are your guides, not your taskmasters."

"You keep saying we."

"I did say group therapy sessions, Agent McGee. No one can get through this alone. Even if you have a good support system, this is going to be hard. Now, I believe I asked you for your history."

Tim couldn't think of what to say.

"I'll help you. You started at seventeen, correct?"

"Yes," Tim whispered.

"Okay. Why?"

"I was stressed."

"How often?"

"During finals."

"Every semester?"

Tim nodded, still not looking at her.

"Agent McGee?"

"Yes?"

"Are you under the impression that what you're telling me is somehow worse than anything I've ever heard before?"

Tim didn't reply.

"I assure you, it's not. Even if it was, I still wouldn't be condemning you."

Tim nodded at his lap.

"Then, stop hiding your face and look at me."

Tim looked up and looked toward Dr. Young, but he wasn't really looking at her. She didn't press the point.

"Now, what about when you started working for NCIS?"

"A...a few times."

"Give me an example. This is still when you were stressed or nervous, correct?"

"Yes. Only then."

"Such as?"

"My first day...well, the night before my first day. I was so nervous, I couldn't sleep and I knew that I wouldn't be able to do a good job if I didn't get some sleep; so I...had one the night before."

"But you didn't always only use for one night."

"No. There were...some times when I...used it longer."

"When?"

"When Kate...she was...on the team. She died." Tim's eyes darted around the room. He didn't like doing this, but Dr. Young simply waited. "She was murdered by...a Mossad double agent. It wasn't even in the line of duty. It was all supposed to be over...but it wasn't. I started seeing her around NCIS. I couldn't go home because Ari was still out there...but after that...I just couldn't. It wasn't every night...well...it was...at first, but..." Tim took a deep breath. "It...it was about a month before I stopped completely."

"But you stopped? On your own?"

Tim nodded.

"What happened the next time?"

"I shot someone...a cop, it turned out. I thought he was shooting at me, but he wasn't. I didn't ever find out if I was the one who actually killed him...and even if I wasn't, I still shot him...twice."

"How long?"

"About a month."

"Every night?"

"Yeah."

"And then you stopped?"

"Yeah."

"What happened when you stopped?"

"It was hard. I had some bad days, but those ended and I went back to normal."

"Okay...so...what was different this last time?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you were using for nearly six months, correct?"

"Yes."

"And you started increasing your dosage...nearly to the point of overdose, correct?"

"Yes."

"So...you stopped every other time...what's different? How did you explain it to yourself?"

"It was just...the...the stress didn't seem to be going away. First, Director Shephard was..." Tim stopped; no matter how confidential this might be, he did not have permission to reveal the true nature of Jenny's death. "...she died and then, Director Vance split us all up, sent Ziva to Israel, Tony to Agent Afloat...me down to Cybercrimes. I thought it was because of what happened, but it wasn't. Vance came down after the first week and gave me...us...an assignment. It was the hardest work I'd ever done, and he ordered me not to tell Gibbs about it. I didn't want to keep a secret from my boss...even if he wasn't my boss anymore. So...the work was really hard and I...I've never been good about lying. Then, Gibbs found out and...well, I know he wasn't happy about it. Then, we all got back and...and I kept screwing up, but I was the only one screwing up. It was like I'd forgotten everything I'd been doing for the last five years. And we had one bad case after another and...and Gibbs still was mad at me for lying to him, for hiding things. There just wasn't a time to stop."

"Agent McGee, why do you persist at this job when you know that it triggers the kind of stress that leads you to use drugs? Wouldn't another job be a better fit?"

Tim stood up immediately, ready to run. "You...you can't be saying...it's...NCIS is my life! I'd rather...be dead than give it up."

"Agent McGee, please sit down."

Tim did so, only reluctantly.

"I wasn't suggesting that you quit your job. I'm just trying to get at why you chose it and why you have stayed. Since you obviously love your job, then what is it that really drove you to take so much temazepam that you became addicted?"

"It's just stress."

"No, Agent McGee. If it were 'just stress,' you would have...at least tried to stop when worst of the stress stopped. You didn't do that, did you?"

"No, I didn't."

"So..."

Tim dropped his head again. "It's not their fault. It's my fault."

"What?"

"I...I'm afraid I don't fit anymore. I've never been as good at this stuff as Tony. Ziva came in after I'd been an agent for two years. She'd never had any experience before. She got better than me. She was working for Mossad while we were split up...and she didn't have any trouble at all going back to work...but I did. I feel like...like there's something wrong, like there's a...a wall or something between...between me and...and them. I'm afraid that I'm going to lose it all."

"Did you ever consider, Agent McGee, that perhaps that feeling was engendered by the drugs you were taking?"

That simple question was...it was as if he'd been sucker-punched. Tim felt himself sag and he wasn't quite sure why it was so devastating, but it was. With a loud exhalation, Tim leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands as he felt the tears well up in his eyes.

"I did this to myself?" he asked. "It's bad enough that I...but...this, too?" He swore softly. "This is my fault, too. Why do I keep ruining my own life?"

"Agent McGee." Dr. Young's voice was calm and kind. "By now, you should see that it's simply a vicious cycle. You worry about doing your job well enough; so you take drugs to help you work better. Unfortunately, some of the typical side effects of temazepam include impairment of memory, increased reaction time, inattention, overall a reduced ability to function. That means that you noticed the effect your long-term use was having on your abilities, but you didn't correlate it to using drugs. Instead, you just chalked it up to your own weaknesses...meaning that you kept taking the drug to help you function better when, in reality, it was making things worse. So you took more hoping to help...and on and on. You're on the path to getting all that back. You can, even if it will take a long time and a lot of work."

Four hours and thirty minutes...

"I still want it," Tim whispered after a period of silence. "What if I'm nothing without it? What if that's all...what if I can't do my job without that...help?"

"It's not helping you anymore, Agent McGee. It's killing you," Dr. Young said firmly. "It will kill you if you continue on the road you were on before being admitted to the hospital. Do you want to stop?"

"Sometimes."

"Not always?"

"Not right now. I just want to take the drugs so that I can feel normal again."

"That will pass. What happened to you when you were first admitted has put some snarls in your recovery. First, they shifted you over to diazepam too quickly and then they didn't give you enough. Normally, we would have made the transition to diazepam over the course of a couple of weeks. These things happen sometimes, and unfortunately, you're the one who has to pay for the mistakes. We'll just have to take that into account when we plan your withdrawal."

"Can I go to that instead?" Tim asked, hope warring with disgust.

"No, Agent McGee. At this point, it would not help you to go back onto temazepam. We'll simply leave you on the full diazepam a little bit longer before we step down."

"What if I fail?" Tim asked, voicing his deepest fear. He hadn't lifted his head since Dr. Young's question.

"Then, you try again."

"What if I fail again?"

Just as calmly and with no change in tone, Dr. Young answered, "Then, you try again. The majority of people who attempt to withdraw from benzodiazepines succeed on the first try, but those who don't often succeed on the second. It's just a matter of not giving up, even if you slip."

"I don't want to..."

"What?"

"I don't want to fail. I don't want to...do that again...do this again." He raised his arm and then dropped it back to his lap where he began tracing the patterns of the cuts.

"Agent McGee."

Tim didn't reply or look up.

"Stop hiding your face. In here, you have nothing to be ashamed of. You are just one of the many who have slipped down the slope toward addiction. Now, you're ready to try to claw your way back out. Don't hide from that."

Tim slowly lifted his head. "I don't want to fail," he said again.

"You might. We don't plan on your failing but you have to accept that it's a possibility...and that it's not the end of the world if you do."

"I don't want to put my friends through that again."

"Good. Then, be honest with them...and with your family."

Tim was horrified. "No," he said pleadingly. "I don't want to tell them. I don't want them to know. I don't want to...to let them know that...that I...that I'm...an addict." It took every ounce of strength Tim possessed to keep him from screaming. "No."

"Agent McGee," Dr. Young said softly. "Your family loves you, don't they?"

"Yes."

"You love them?"

"Yes."

"Do you think they'll stop loving you?"

"I don't...I...no, I don't, but...I don't want to tell them." Then, like a child...he begged, "Please, don't make me."

"We don't force people to do anything here. It depends on you, but, Agent McGee, you should tell your family. Think about it...don't say yes or no just yet. You have time."

Now thoroughly agitated, Tim sprang to his feet and started pacing, filled with nervous energy. Dr. Young didn't appear put off by that. Instead, she picked up a piece of paper...and then she waited while Tim continued to pace back and forth. He wasn't speaking and neither was she. After a few minutes, Tim felt calm enough to stop and look at her in embarrassment.

"Are you ready, Agent McGee?"

Tim swallowed and nodded. He sat back down.

"Okay. Let's take this one week at time. Now, I'll give you feedback and information to help you, but this has to be something you agree with...and it's not set in stone. If, when you get to the point that it's time to step down the dosage and you don't feel ready, come and talk to me and we can put it off. The one thing you really can't do once you start is step backwards. Always move forward...or at least stay still. We won't ever increase the dose. Okay?"

"Okay. Okay." Tim took a deep breath and scooted forward to start planning the schedule to get him off temazepam.

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

Tony walked down the hall determined to play the role of the calm and collected friend. He'd been unusually angry the last few days...even Tim's admission of his addiction hadn't lessened his anger much. It had been set aside in the face of Tim's near-death experience, but once he had recovered...so had Tony's anger. He wasn't sure where it was coming from, but it was there and...it was simmering. However, he didn't think it would help much right now.

That's why he was so set on keeping his cool this time around. His anger last time had resulted in Tim nearly killing himself. Tony knew that it was more than that, but his anger was probably the catalyst.

He paused in front of the door for a few seconds, took a deep breath and stepped inside...

The room was empty, no sign that Tim had even been there. The anger that had been simmering surged to a rolling boil. Where was he?

"Can I help you?"

Tony spun around at the voice. "Where's McGee?"

"Who?"

"The man who was in this room," Tony said, deliberately. "Where did he go?"

"Oh, he was discharged..." The nurse consulted her chart. "About an hour ago."

"Where did he go?"

The nurse shrugged. "I assume that he left."

"No!" Another nurse joined them. "He had an appointment with Dr. Young."

"An appointment? I was supposed to pick him up."

"He's at the clinic...or at least, that's where I assume he is. You should check there."

Tony nodded. "Where's the clinic?"

Both nurses pointed him in the right direction and Tony stormed off, his anger fueled by his worry. Tim had lied to him again. Not even a week after admitting that he was an addict and he was lying. The nerve. After they'd all tried to help him and be there for him and again with the lies! Well, that was going to stop...right now!