Ducky noticed the two agents coming and wondered why they were walking in his direction…someone seemed to be quite in a bad shape, and there was no doubt for that someone to be Timothy. He guessed Anthony had found him somewhere, eventually.

— Hey Duck ! Tony exclaimed, automatic doors opening in front of him. I brought you an injured man for medical exams !

Tim rolled his eyes and slowly tried to get rid of Tony's grip, but he could still feel that empty stomach of his ordering him to not move. He also had acid burning his throat every time he wanted to speak, and that was definitely not helping.

— I am not 'injured', Ducky, Tim complained, I just threw up, okay ? Now I know it's not the most beautiful thing to talk about, but that's not a good reason enough to be brought here either.

— Oh come on, McGee, I know you love to be in my arms…

— Oh dear…

Tim briefly smiled at the thought of Ducky and him saying the words at the same time, but he had to admit that he was already bored at the idea of Tony cheering up and coming back in the bullpen, using another stupid name supposed to define him before telling everyone how funny it was to know that he had thrown up…
Ducky seemed to have read his mind and simply invited him to sit down.

— Alright, Anthony, now do you mind letting me alone for a little while with Timothy, or would you like to stay and replace Mr Palmer, in case our dear friend's stomach would want to eject anything new ?

— I think I'm good, I'll leave you both to it, Tony forced a smiled and immediately left the work area, briefly waving a hand and mumbling a « bye », finally heading to the elevator.

Tim softly chuckled and tried to hide how uncomfortable he still felt, that sitting position not being the best to endure nausea… He really hated to feel sick. If you were in coma, it was easy, you could simply stay unconscious until you'd simply wake up, but being at work while being as sick as a dog was definitely not the best way to deal with the day.

— Thank you Ducky, he nodded, you basically saved my life.

— Well, I know Anthony can sometimes be a little insistent with fun, why it is good to find new ideas to keep him away.

— A little ?

— Well, the ME smiled, I am a bit old, so maybe I am a bit wrong, too. So, Timothy, he continued, what was wrong with your lunch ? It seems like your body obviously didn't really enjoy the digestion.

— Uh, I don't know, actually. But I'm sure it's nothing, It'll pass eventually.

— I am sure it will. Anything expired ? he continued.

— Don't think so.

— Anything not properly cooked, then ? Maybe if the meat was not quite…

— No, Ducky, I haven't even taken meat today. I don't know, maybe I'm fighting something, I already felt a bit nauseous this morning, I guess I just wasn't ready for food…

The ME approached Tim a bit closer and deeply looked into his eyes, checking his skin color…obviously he wasn't supposed to have pink cheeks at that very moment, but still, that face seemed way too pale for a simple indigestion.
Tim could see it coming, and hell no, he didn't want to talk. He was way too tired for that and he didn't want to talk.

— Timothy…Ducky started asking, are you still taking all your medicines ? I mean, regularly.

Tim felt his skin turn a bit warmer, like a child suspecting punishment, but he tried not to show anything. After all, he was a grown-up man, right ? He didn't have to justify to anyone his current behavior.

— Timothy ? the voice called him again. Have the new painkillers I advised you to take been giving you side effects ?

Tim took a deep breath and tried not to throw up again, momentarily lost in his thoughts, so the ME gently wrapped a hand around his, but the agent immediately took it away from the surprising grip.

— I don't know yet, Ducky, Tim tried to hide his reaction by continuing the dialogue. Actually, I don't take them very regularly, no. I mean, I still take my other medicines, of course, but you know, I don't think I need to stuff myself with these things so often.

— Alright, alright…and is that you who doesn't need them or is it you body, Timothy ? Ducky asked, gazing into his eyes. Listen, I do agree on the fact that outrageous quantities of pills are not always good and certainly not for the best, but Timothy, in this case, your body needs to heal…and it needs support for that.

— Oh, please, Ducky, it's been weeks, now, I didn't break every single part of my anatomy, I can perfectly handle…

— But the problem is, Timothy, Ducky suddenly interrupted him, that you are playing with fire ! Of course, your body can 'survive', as you say, but by letting it heal without lowering the pain, you are delaying the whole process. You could have so much more energy by now, but by fighting the pain only by yourself, you are making additional efforts you shouldn't have to deal with.

Tim sighed and looked away from the old man, knowing that he was technically right…but still, he could do whatever he wanted, right, there was no need of feeling nothing but quite drowsy night and day... He was tired of everyone's opinion, he could perfectly heal the way he had decided.

— Look at me, Timothy, Ducky nicely ordered, I know you might think that way, but I suspect that it is not the real reason for that.

— It's been weeks, Tim sighed, still looking pale and exhausted.

— Timothy, there is a reason why we have doctors in this world, he smiled. You cannot accept a treatment after such trauma and then decide to not take half of it, and so on… Your body can be your worst enemy if you do not treat it well, and if you decide to play with it like you do with your painkillers, then it'll make you endure the hard result of your actions.

— Great, Tim swallowed some new tepid saliva, hoping he wouldn't throw up again.

— This is probably not what you want to hear, according to the way you seem to have been treating yourself recently, young lad, but you do need to take care of yourself. Whatever the excuses you can find for not being regular with your treatment, believe me, they are not the good ones.

Tim ended listening to the ME's speech and prepared himself to stand up from his seat, at least 'psychologically', feeling a tear trying to escape. He didn't want to keep hearing that conversation, not now. And more than anything, he wanted to get back to work, well protected behind his computer's screen, far away from Gibbs' curiosity and Tony's jokes about him vomiting if he didn't show up very soon…

— Hmm, Ducky, Tim said after clearing his throat, do you think you could give me something like a glass of water before I come back upstairs again ? They probably are waiting for me, and Gibbs might want to ask me some questions about my recent researches.

— Well, Ducky started to move in his desk's direction, with an empty stomach like yours, I'd better recommend first some mandatory…

— Ducky, Tim instantly retorted and suddenly moved his head way much faster than he should have done, I really need to go…

The ME turned back and noticed the man feeling dizzy, the young agent now reflexively pushing a palm against his forehead.
He took a few steps forward and decided to slowly help him standing up, seriously worried. Tim welcomed the old arm with great, silent sympathy, knowing he was feeling too weak to clearly want to go back to work, but still relieved that he'd finally be able to leave that place where he was obviously creating bad attention around him. He was strong enough, he could perfectly do it…couldn't he ?
Anyway, he had no choice. It was completely out of the question to risk looking like a poor patient in need of sleep when he could simply take that elevator and keep looking for the bad guy with the others.
He swallowed again deep saliva and hoped for the best, feeling acid ready to insanely rejoin his throat.

— For God Sake, Timothy, Ducky managed to help him a bit more standing up, tightening his grip around his waist, what are you trying to prove, you really need to rest !

— I am gonna be alright, I promise, now I just need to get back to work if I don't want Gibbs to kill me. Now can I ask you for a glass of water, please, he pronounced again, trying holding back another acid rise, his throat getting dryer than ever.

— Oh, believe me, my boy, you need way more than a simple glass of water, Ducky's voice seemed a bit madder than before, and you really need to follow your treatment the way you've…

The ME tightened his grip even more as he noticed the agent's cheeks ready to inflate, and started helping him bending down when the automatic doors suddenly opened. Jethro watched the very strange duet and immediately kicked the small trash near the entrance as he heard Ducky pronounce his name, Tim finally falling on his knees just in time to throw up everything he had left inside what was opened in front of him. The young agent was still conscious but too shaky to really notice anything, his body now completely empty from any food, weaker than ever. The old ME put two gentle palms on top of Tim's shoulder, Gibbs ready to help lifting McGee on one of the silver tables, although his voice was seriouser than ever.
Ducky didn't know if Tim would hear a single word of what he'd be saying, but he said it anyway, looking at Gibbs.

— What is wrong with him, Jethro ? he asked, a palm on the sick agent's forehead.

— What do you mean, Duck ?

— I want you to tell me why. Why is Timothy so eager to prove you he is alright ?