Chapter 21

When Ducky told them all of what had happened, of Tim's declarations, they were all cut to the quick by it, by the obvious pain Tim was feeling...the Catch-22 they were all facing. Tim couldn't believe they were real unless he could touch them. They couldn't touch him until he was better. His emotional and mental problems were likely to make it more difficult for his physical healing to progress at a good pace...and back and forth.

Another week...and another week. It had been more than a month since Tim's return and the only time he had been seen was at the very beginning. Ziva and Tony came after work one evening, determined to try and make the staff see reason and let them in. They had been with Tim on Lugniapo. They were already taking the drugs to treat their latent TB. Surely...surely Tim had recovered enough to see them.

"Is Dr. Roland here?" Tony asked.

"We must speak with him," Ziva added.

The nurse smiled and nodded. "He's in his office and has a few minutes right now. Come this way."

Tony glanced at Ziva in surprise. They had expected more resistance.

"Uh...okay."

They followed the nurse and were conducted right in to see Dr. Roland.

"Obviously, the only way you can see a doctor right when you want to is if you're not sick," Tony commented.

"We like to keep people on their toes."

"I'll take up ballet if it would help."

The nurse opened the door to the office and then looked Tony up and down. "You might look pretty good in a body suit. Let me know."

Ziva grinned at Tony's grimace.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Ah, hello, Tony. Ziva. Have a seat," Dr. Roland said. "I'm guessing that you're here to see Timothy."

"We need to see him. He needs to see us. It's wrong that this is the way things are," Tony said.

"We are taking drugs already. He must be getting better. We are not in danger. He will not be in danger from us...and there is so much good that could be found in letting him see us."

"You know that it's not the staff who are insisting on the isolation. It's Timothy himself."

"That is irrelevant," Ziva said. "McGee is not in a state of mind to make the best decision."

"What is it that you're expecting me to say?" Dr. Roland asked.

"We're expecting that you'll see how right we are and let us in to see him!"

"Not both of you, specifically, not you, Tony."

"Why not me?"

"You had the pneumonic plague. You already have weaker lungs and as such are much more susceptible to a case of TB. You're lucky you only have to deal with a latent form."

"Well...if both of us can't go..." Tony began, feeling a deep pang. "...can't Ziva go? This isn't just for us. This is for...for Tim. He needs it. He really does. To be honest...he probably needs to talk to Ziva more than he needs to talk to me."

"Why is that?"

"Because Ziva was a prisoner. She knows how it feels. She can help him that way. I can't."

Ziva was quiet, but she touched Tony's wrist and smiled.

"Please?" Tony asked. "Please, let us try to do something. I'll wait outside, but let Ziva go in. Maybe she can get him to believe."

"Do you think you can?" Dr. Roland asked Ziva.

"I do not know. ...but if I do not try, I will fail. It is worth a shot, yes?"

"Yes, it is. Timothy has improved quite a bit physically over the past couple of weeks. He is not ready to be out of isolation and you will still need to wear a mask, but I will let you go inside.

Ziva nodded and went to get ready.

"Ziva?"

"Get him to open the blinds. I'll be there," Tony said.

"I will do my best, Tony."

Tony grinned. "Don't forget: you're tougher than he is. You can beat him."

Ziva laughed. "I will not forget."

Tony nodded and then headed for the observation area. Ziva went to the door which would admit her to Tim's room. It took only seconds to put on the mask...but longer to get the courage to open the door. Having been kept from Tim for so long, she was afraid of what she might see.

"You can go inside now."

Just this once, Ziva gave in to her fear and looked at the nurse. "How is he? What does he...look like now?"

The nurse smiled kindly. "He is still ill, and you'll know it just by looking at him, but his breathing has improved quite a bit. He gets nauseous from the pills he has to take and so we still have him on an IV. He doesn't look happy. He doesn't look well...but he doesn't look he's dying anymore." With a gentle hand on Ziva's back, the nurse guided her forward. "He couldn't look worse than he did when he arrived. He looks much better."

Ziva nodded, embarrassed by her anxiety and opened the door. Tim was lying on the bed, apparently asleep. His skin still looked yellow, but at the same time, it was very pale. He was painfully thin and his breathing was still audible. ...but he was breathing, not coughing or wheezing. That was definitely better.

"McGee? ...Tim?" she asked softly.

Tim's eyes fluttered open and then closed...and then opened wide as he stared at her.

"Hello, Tim."

He began to breathe more quickly as he stared at her and he shook his head and swallowed.

"Tim?"

"No. No, you can't be here. You're not here. You're not here." He closed his eyes and shook his head again. He began to cough because he was breathing so heavily.

Ziva hurried over and grabbed the oxygen mask hanging by the bed. She held it over his face.

"Breathe slowly, Tim. It is all right. Just breathe."

"No. Go away. No," he said gasping into the mask.

"Shhh...just breathe, Tim. Just breathe. I am really here. You are safe."

Tim was still coughing.

"Please, breathe, Tim. Even if you do not want to believe that I am here. Even if you cannot believe that I am here. Breathe and calm down."

Gradually, Tim stopped freaking out and stopped coughing. It was a long time, but finally, Tim took a slow steady breath again.

"I am here, Tim. I am really here. It is not in your mind. You are here. You are in Bethesda, not in prison. You are ill, not a prisoner. You have friends and family. You are not alone. Please, Tim. Believe me. Please."

"I can't, Ziva," Tim said through the mask.

"Why not?"

"Because I couldn't...couldn't stand it if I was wrong."

"You are not wrong!"

"If I am...it would kill me."

"...but you are not. Why can you not believe that? You yourself left the prison!"

"What if I didn't?"

"You did."

"But what if I didn't? What if I only imagined it? ...just like I only imagined you guys being there? What if I never actually left? What if I'm still there?"

Ziva sighed. Tim's eyes were still tightly closed, so determined was he to preserve what little he believed he had.

"Tim, open your eyes."

"No."

"Open your eyes, Tim."

"No."

"McGee, if you do not open your eyes, I will pry them open with toothpicks!"

As she had hoped, Tim laughed. He coughed, and the laughter didn't last long, but he couldn't help it. Neither could she. His laughter was so sad and so poignant simply because it had been so long since she had heard it before.

Then, finally, Tim tentatively opened his eyes and looked at her.

"You're here."

"Yes, Tim. I am here. I told you I was here. I would not lie to you...not ever."

"It has to be a dream."

"Why?"

"Because I can't leave."

"Tim..." Ziva paused, wondering what she could possibly say that would get Tim to open his mind to the possibility of freedom being his, even when it wasn't yet possible for him to be out and about. If he couldn't accept freedom now, he would never be able to accept it. He would always be afraid it wasn't real. "...do you remember when we were coming back from Somalia?"

"Yes."

"You slept most of the way."

Tim smiled. "I was tired."

"Yes, but before you went to sleep, you spoke to me. I was sitting away from you, away from all of you. I did not want to be close. I could not fathom that my life could change so quickly from the expectation of dying alone and in pain to being free. It did not seem possible."

She smiled at Tim's expression. He was listening almost as if it was a story he'd never heard before.

"You did not say much. You said that you were glad I was alive...as you had before. I asked you if I really was alive."

Tim nodded.

"Then, you did not do what I expected. Instead of saying yes, you held out your hand." She looked at him and nodded when Tim did as he had, lifting his hand, palm up and extending it toward her. "Do you remember what you said to me?"

Tim looked at her, his hand shaking slightly.

"Tim, do you remember?"

Tim looked at his hand and then whispered, "Can you feel my hand?"

Ziva reached out and cradled his hand in her own. "I can feel your hand, Tim."

Tim sniffed, his eyes filling with tears. "Then, you're alive...because I am, too. That won't change."

"I believed you," Ziva said. "I believed you because I knew you were right. You and Tony and Gibbs had saved me and you were still there. It had not changed. All the way from Somalia to NCIS, I could feel your hand, even though you sat away from me and slept. I remembered feeling your hand and I knew I was alive." Gently, turned his hand over and let it rest in her palm. "Can you feel my hand, Tim?"

Tim nodded. "Yes."

"That is because you are alive and I am alive. I am here, in Bethesda. So are you. As soon as you are better, you will be able to leave here. The fact that you are here does not mean you are a prisoner."

Tim stared at their hands. For a long time that was all he did. Ziva didn't rush. You couldn't rush a psyche so damaged as Tim's had been. ...or not damaged so much as changed to survive. She knew how it felt. It was all about survival. It was necessary to shift one's expectations away from anything that had to do with the real world. Everything had to be aligned with the reality of a prison. There was no freedom. There was no hope. There was no sympathy. All that remained was existence, something fought for because, even if there was no real hope, a despairing hope remained buried deeply beneath the resignation. That hope meant that one strove to survive even when surviving meant more misery. Tim had faced all that just as she had. No, their experiences hadn't been the same, but she understood what had caused this change.

"I want to believe you," Tim said finally.

"I know you do."

"I can't."

"You can, but you must try. Now, you are not trying. You are pretending that there is no chance for more...even when you know that there is."

Tim wouldn't look at her.

"They planned it all. ...not the TB, I guess, but once I survived, they planned on putting me in prison. It wasn't even a mistake."

"How do you know?"

"They told me as much. They asked me for information on the people who might be rebelling with the promise that I'd be freed if I told them what they wanted to know."

Ziva watched Tim carefully. He was not trying to pull his hand away. The weight on her own hand was increasing, but she could tolerate that. She didn't want to break this tenuous connection. It had come about intentionally, but it could all too easily be destroyed.

"And you did not."

"I couldn't. I didn't know anything. ...if I had, I...I might have done. ...but I couldn't lie."

"You could have, Tim, and you chose not to."

"There's nothing amazing about that."

"Yes, there is. It is admirable. You were suffering and you chose not to end your suffering but to instead maintain your integrity. I...I do not know that I could have done the same."

"You tried to save us in Somalia."

"Only because it would have meant that my suffering would end. I did not have a hope of rescue. I asked him to kill me because it would have meant that I would die and be free, not because it was noble."

"It saved us."

"No. Your plan saved us."

"Tony's plan. Not mine."

"It does not matter whose plan it was. It matters that it succeeded. You saved me. You brought me home. We have tried to do that, too, but you will not accept that we have succeeded. You insist on making us fail."

Again, silence.

"Tim, can you stand?"

"Don't know. Haven't tried in a while."

Slowly, Ziva closed her fingers around Tim's much larger hand. He didn't pull away. Ziva stood and pulled Tim to do the same. He followed her silent direction, first sitting up and then dangling his skinny legs over the edge of the bed. He stood and wobbled. Quickly, Ziva put her arm around his waist, but she didn't let go of his hand. She kept that connection.

"Dizzy," he said.

"You should stand up more often."

"Why? Where is there to go?"

"To see what you have refused to see."

"What?"

Ziva urged Tim to walk. His steps were fumbling and Ziva was bearing more of his weight than she had expected...not that there was an excessive amount to bear. Tim was still very skinny. As she walked to the window separating Tim from the outside world, she felt his resistance.

"No."

"Yes, Tim. You must see what you are refusing to see. You must see that it is there, that it was not a dream, that you are not in a dream now. You must see that it is all real. You must accept that we succeeded. I will not accept failure, not when I have succeeded. It is a beautiful day. You must see it. I had to keep you from looking outside once before. Now, you must see what you can."

Tim shook his head and again tried to step back. Ziva kept her grip on his hand, but she released his waist and reached out for the blinds.

"Don't make me see it."

"You have to see it, Tim. It is really there and soon...soon you will be out there in it again."

Tim shook his head one more time, but Ziva pulled up the blinds, bathing Tim in sunlight. It wasn't direct, but it was genuine natural light coming into his room. He stood there, staring at it. The view wasn't spectacular. In fact, most of what he could see was a parking lot. That didn't matter. At this point, it could have been a dung heap out the window, complete with smell, and Tim wouldn't have been able to look away. Ziva saw it in his eyes. His brain had been starved of this sight and was now devouring all it could see. ...but at the same time, she couldn't help but notice the fear in his eyes as well. The dread that this would all disappear, that it wasn't real, that he had imagined it and as soon as he stopped thinking, it would be gone...and he would be back in his own personal circle of Hell.

"If you wish to hide it again, Tim, you will have to do it yourself. I will not help you delude yourself any longer."

Tim's free hand made a small spasmodic motion toward the pull...but no more than that. He couldn't hide the world from himself, not voluntarily, even if he feared it wasn't real. He couldn't do it.

"Now, there is one more thing you must see." She replaced her arm around his waist. There was a slight resistance to being drawn away from the sight. In fact, Tim kept looking back, even as his stumbling steps dragged him over to the observation window.

Then, he noticed where he was being taken and, for the first time, he tried to pull his hand away from hers. Ziva tightened her grip.

"No, Tim. You will not hide from us anymore. You will not give in to this fear because it is baseless." She again released his waist and pushed the speaker. "Tony, wake up."

Then, she waited for a just a few seconds before lifting the blinds which had been Tim's means of isolating himself from what he couldn't accept as real. There was Tony standing on the other side of the observation window, grinning like a fool.

"Hey, McGee! Long time, no see!"

Tim stared at him in terror and longing at the same time. He tried to pull away from Ziva, but he wasn't strong enough to do it.

"No," he whispered.

"Yes, Tim. Yes. This is reality. You must accept it. It is real."

"I can't touch him."

"No, but that is only because he is weak," Ziva said grinning impudently at Tony, even if he couldn't see it. "The doctor said that his lungs were too weak to risk coming in here."

"Yeah, stupid doctor. What does he know?" Tony grumbled on the other side of the glass. Still, he stood and walked over to it. "Hey, Probie, I'm really sorry that I can't get in there. It sucks. It really does. I was ready to invade anyway, but your nurse is scary. I think she'd hurt me."

Tim gave a frightened smile.

"He is really there, Tim," Ziva said. "Even though you cannot touch him, he is still there, and you are getting better. Soon you will be able to be with us all...but you must believe until then."

"I can't."

"Sure, you can, McGee! After everything you've done, everything you've gone through...just waiting a bit longer shouldn't be a problem! ...and do you know how much faster the time will pass if you just let us talk to you? I could show you movies! Ducky could tell you stories! ...and based on what I've see of your dad, I'll bet he could talk a lot, too. Sarah's been doing her homework in here and I think she'd be more than willing to read you stuff...all that classical crap."

Tim looked away from Tony, and Ziva could feel him trembling. She saw the first tears dripping from his eyes onto the floor.

"Gibbs could come and stare at you without speaking. It would be just like work again!"

"It is all real, Tim," Ziva said. "It is real. I am here. Tony is there. We are all safe here in Bethesda. None of us are on Lugniapo. None of us are in that prison. You are simply being treated for your illness."

Tim didn't look up. He kept his head down, the tears kept dripping down. Tony kept talking in his usual way. Ziva would interject with earnest pleas that he believe them. After more than an hour, Tim was nearly collapsing in Ziva's arms. Instead of moving him back to his bed, she got a wheelchair which had been left in the corner and lowered Tim into it, still holding his hand, still trying to force him to see reality. They kept at it. A nurse came in and checked Tim's vitals. She gave Ziva a warning look but she didn't ask them to stop. Tony had looked away once, but Tim was there to see him gesture to whomever he could see. Ziva raised her eyebrows, and he mouthed parents at her.

After another thirty minutes of continual encouragement, Ziva moved around in front of Tim and crouched down, lifting their clasped hands.

"Tim, can you feel my hand?" she asked as she had before.

He nodded.

"Look at me. Look at Tony. We are real. We are really here."

Tim lifted his head fractionally and then looked down again. Ziva nodded to Tony who gestured silently.

"Tim, we are real."

"I know," he whispered. "But I can't..."

"Look up, see what you are missing."

Tim lifted his head again. Sam and Naomi were there beside Tony. Naomi had her hand on the window.

"Please, Tim, don't push us away," she said.

"They are really there, Tim," Ziva said. "Believe."

Tim looked at her, at Tony...at his parents. His eyes were filled with tears, tears which continually slipped down his cheeks and dripped onto his and Ziva's clasped hands.

"I know, Tim," Ziva said. "You fear to hope because of all the times you knew that hope was pointless. You fear to accept reality because it might be false. You are afraid of being back in the prison. You don't want to build up any possibility of reality because it might not be. I know all that. I felt it. ...but my hand is real. I am really here. Reality has been shown to you. We are real. We are here. You are here. You are free. Believe."

Tim stared at their hands.

"Can you feel my hand, Tim?"

"I can."

"Can you believe that this is real?"

That was the question.