Chapter 25
"We have a message!" Xandra's voice was triumphant.
"From?"
"You know."
"Really?"
"Yes. He's...stuck in a hospital in Billings."
"He's okay?" Amin asked, excited.
"Yeah. He will be, he says, as soon as we come and get him."
Lawrence grinned in spite of his own injuries. "I guess we have enough fuel to stop by Billings."
Thompson was already packing.
The team was going to be whole again. That was what made dealing with the job they did bearable. They had to watch moments go by, had to work beneath the radar. They couldn't do it alone...
...they needed each other.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Tim noticed a definite difference when he woke up. First of all, it was light outside instead of that dull blackness. The light wasn't sharp by any means. He figured that meant it was either cloudy or before dawn. The second thing he noticed was that he had no trouble remembering everything that had come before. No need to be reminded. The third thing was that he wasn't wearing a shirt. The reason for that was patently obvious because, even with all the differences, there was something that remained the same: the pain. His back hurt. Actually, his whole body hurt from head to toe, but if he were asked to say how he felt, he would have pointed out his back as the area most deserving of attention.
His ruminations were interrupted by a long-suffering sigh. He shifted position a little and saw one of his least favorite people in the world.
"Agent McGee," Alexis said in exasperation, "why is it that you insist on being so difficult? You weren't supposed to wake up for another few hours."
Tim rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry to make things hard for you."
"Well, I have to investigate your injuries and I don't have time to put you out again."
"Got somewhere to be?"
"Yes. We're leaving. I'm just going to give you a once-over before we go. So roll onto your stomach and try not to wiggle. It's really annoying."
Tim followed her instructions. "This is why you're not a real doctor, isn't it. In the CIA you don't have to care about your patients."
"Well, I was told that I lack a good bedside manner," Alexis said.
"That's charitable of them." He shivered as he felt the drape lifted from his back, exposing his skin to the open air.
"I'm not going to bother rebandaging all these. It would take too long, especially with you awake," she said, probing his various wounds. Tim tensed. She was not gentle at all, just thorough. "I'd recommend that you get someone to look at them within the next day. Infection is much too common to want to risk overlooking it. Probably your ME. You could go to a hospital, but seeing as you weren't admitted before, you won't have a chart and shrapnel wounds tend to attract attention. Attention which I'm sure you'd rather avoid." She probed some more and Tim involuntarily shifted. "Stop moving!" she snapped.
"Then, stop touching my back," Tim retorted through gritted teeth.
Alexis ignored him and continued her examination. It took five of the longest minutes Tim had ever experienced. He pressed his face into the pillow and tried to smother the moans...without smothering himself. Finally, she stopped the torture and replaced the drape.
"I'm leaving some prescription pain medication for you. I recommend that you not take it if you have to be quick on your feet, figuratively or literally. However, it will dull the pain. Be careful when you shower. In fact, it might be better to avoid letting the water hit your back directly. You want to keep the bandages dry and your wounds are still fairly fragile...and besides, the tenderness will only increase with the water pressure. We've left you some clothes, loose on top. Your head wounds are minor and the skinned knees are bad, but not bad enough to need stitches. Just keep an eye out for infection. Topical antibiotics should be sufficient. Any questions?"
Tim didn't look at her as he shook his head.
"Good."
He heard her walk out, but he wasn't left alone for long.
"This is where we say good-bye, Agent McGee," Carew said as he walked into the room.
"Wait!" Tim rolled over, gasped at the pain of the injudicious movement and forced himself to sit up and look at the Director of the CIA. The drape fell from his back to the bed.
"Yes?" Carew's eyes were wide with polite inquiry.
"What do you want from me?"
"Want? What makes you think I want anything?"
Maybe it was the physical pain, maybe it was the torment in his head, but Tim's patience snapped.
"Don't treat me like an idiot!" he said, taking quick trembling breaths to make the throbbing pain go away. "I promised you anything to get your help. You did your part. What do you want from me?"
Carew said nothing. He just stared at Tim with a bland smile.
"You wouldn't tell me before because you said that you wanted to make sure we lived through everything. Well, we have. You even kept me from being taken after the explosion. Tell me what you want," Tim begged. "Tell me what I have to do."
Carew looked at him for another long moment and then his smile widened. "For now? I want nothing. I want you to go back to NCIS...if you can manage to remain there. Don't mistake this for altruism. I told you before that the world needs people like you...if only to be at the beck and call of people like me."
Tim stared at him in disbelief and Carew chuckled at his expression.
"I'm not backing out, Agent McGee. I don't back out of deals. I will collect, but for now, I choose not to. Some day...some day, I'll expect you to live up to the deal you made, to repay me for my aid. However, today is not that day. Alexis and I will be returning to the CIA, momentarily. You are free to remain here for as long as you would like. I'll even leave you cab fare. I would prefer you not tell your friends about this safe house. It's hard finding good places in the Metro area."
Carew turned to leave and Tim's shock was such that Carew was almost out the door before his brain started working again.
"That's it?" He gave an incredulous laugh.
Carew turned back. "Agent McGee, my part is done. I will collect on the debt you owe me, but not today. I prefer to keep hold of a few debts. You never know when one will come in handy. As I told you a year ago, I don't care what you do now. That is up to you, but I expect you to do your best to keep the government from taking control of you...because I can tell you without any fear of reprisal that that is their current plan. If you don't manage to escape that fate, then, I guess it will mean that I must wait a little longer for your repayment. Otherwise, know that I'll ask...eventually."
Then, he was gone. Tim sat there, his arms trembling with the effort of keeping himself in a sitting position. He heard the sounds as Carew and Alexis cleaned up. It didn't take them long and he knew that, once he ventured out of the bedroom, the house would be empty. The only fingerprints would be the ones he'd leave...and even those would only last until a cleaning crew came. He didn't move as he waited for the sounds to cease. The only sound in the bedroom was his own breathing, quick and shallow.
Beck and call. It's not over yet. It will never be over. Never.
The front door opened and closed and Tim let the silence last for a full minute before he collapsed, face down, onto the bed, letting the tears fall, letting the sobs fill the empty silence as he realized that he had too many things to worry about...and no one to tell. He was in this alone.
All alone.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"Debesh, we have a pickup!"
Debesh Patwary stood and walked to the dispatcher without hesitation.
"Where?"
"Congress Heights. Here's the address. Step on it!"
Debesh nodded and left. He'd heard the phrase often enough to know what it meant, although it still seemed strange to him. He didn't dare use it himself for fear of making an embarrassing or offensive error when speaking to the fluent English speakers all around him. His English was getting better all the time, but it was still full of errors of varying levels of incomprehensibility. As he drove to the indicated address, he went over the map of DC he kept in his head. When he had been given this job, he had taken it very seriously and had poured over the streets, neighborhoods and wards that made up the Metro area. Whenever he got tired of driving all day and all night, he reminded himself that he was making money. Not a lot, it was true, but enough. Also, the longer he stayed, the closer he was to getting a green card.
He pulled up in front of the nondescript house a few minutes later and was about to get out when the front door opened. It must be his fare. He remained where he was and watched the slow approach of the man. When he got into the cab, Debesh broke his own rule of letting the fare decide whether or not to make conversation.
"Shaheb, are you all right?"
The man nodded, but he didn't look all right. His face was as drawn and pale as anyone he'd ever seen before.
"Are you certain? Do you need to go to a hospital?"
The man smiled and shook his head. "I'm fine. Just take me to Silver Spring, please."
"Yes, shaheb. The address, please?" He made a mental note and began to drive, allowing the silence to descend.
It actually didn't last very long.
"Where are you from?"
The voice was almost too soft for him to understand the words. This man did not enunciate very well.
"I am sorry, shaheb. I did not understand you."
"Sorry." His voice was louder and clearer. "Where are you from?"
"Tangali in Bangladesh."
"How long have you been here?"
"About a year."
"What's that you called me?"
"Shaheb."
"What does it mean?"
Here Debesh hesitated. "I think it means...sir, but I am not certain. It is a respectful form of address."
"Sir would probably work."
"I am Debesh."
"Tim."
"That is a short name."
"I thought yours would be longer, too."
Debesh looked in the rearview mirror and caught the flash of humor in the pained eyes.
"If I gave you my full Bengali name, it would be longer, but here I have found two names works better than six."
The laugh was so full of sadness that Debesh was sure Tim would be crying when he looked at him again. He wasn't.
"May I ask, shaheb, what happened?"
"What do you mean?"
"Your face is..." He faltered over the words. "...bruised and...and cut up."
"Oh. Nothing really."
"Were you in Arlington?"
There was no question that the eyes were surprised. Even though the rest of his face was nearly expressionless, Tim's eyes were alive with emotion.
"Why do you ask?"
"I mean no rudeness, but you are hurt and you are...more than that...uh...I do not know the word for it. Byatha?"
"Sorry...I don't know very much Bengali."
"Not surprising, shaheb," Debesh said, but understood that Tim wasn't going to answer him...which seemed to mean that he had been there...in some capacity.
The silence reigned for a few more minutes.
"Was it bad?" Debesh asked. "I saw the news."
"Did they get everyone? I haven't seen any of the updates today."
Debesh smiled at the evasion. "They found many people and arrested them. If that is all of them, I do not know." He looked at the street coming up and began to slow. "Here we are, yes?"
"Wow. Good memory."
"I know."
"Why did you come here, Debesh?" Tim asked.
"I wanted to study here, but I could not afford to both live here and study here. So I chose to come and live first. Then, I will be able to study."
"Aren't there scholarships?"
"Perhaps. I did not receive any."
Tim nodded at the logic of that. "Thanks for the ride." He leaned forward to see what the fare was and then handed Debesh the money Carew had left him.
"Shaheb, this is too much...even with a tip!" He tried to give some of it back and was surprised at the look on Tim's face.
"No. I don't want any of it back. You use it to get a little closer to studying." He walked away toward the apartment building. Debesh watched him for a few seconds, perplexed by his unexpected generosity...and revulsion. The money amounted to nearly a hundred dollars. He waited to leave until Tim was inside. Then, dispatch called him for another pickup and he put the matter of out of his mind...until the end of the day. He wondered just who Tim was.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Tim wondered the same thing as he stepped inside his apartment. He hadn't been there for more than two weeks and it felt like two years. He looked around at his life...
Two weeks ago, he wouldn't have thought it possible that he felt like such an invader in his own home. With careful steps, he walked to his bedroom, dropped the bag on the floor with a thump and nearly fell onto his bed. He roused himself just enough to take one of the pills Alexis had left him. That was all.
Sleep was easier than having to think about who he was.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Ziva, Tony and Gibbs were staring in shock at the television screen. Arlington...the site of a thwarted terrorist attack? Footage from the first bomb blast was being shown as the newscasters gave one recap among many that had occurred over the last three days. They all saw Tim. It wasn't so clear that people who weren't looking for him would have noticed, but they had noticed, had seen the shot of people streaming from the condo...and then the small group who had come out last...and Tim and another man being caught in the explosion, thrown to the ground where they both lay unmoving as the camera swung dizzingly around. Whoever had been holding it was obviously running away.
"McGee," Ziva whispered. "What was he doing there?"
"He said he had something else he needed to do."
Gibbs was silent, staring at the unmistakable form of Tim lying limply on the ground. The footage was being replayed as the newscaster was explaining that this blast was minor, about the same magnitude as the ten others. Then, the story moved on.
"Who was with him?" Ziva asked.
"Carew, most likely," Tony said, bitterly. Carew was the easy one to hate. There was nothing mixed up with disliking him.
"Probably," Gibbs whispered. He still felt much too tired. His body was definitely not as young as it used to be and the length of time it was taking for him to recover told him that. He felt listless most of the time.
"Were those people the same ones...the ones who–?" Tony didn't finish. He didn't need to. He looked at Ziva and Gibbs. When they had been found together the day before, the nurses had acceded to the inevitable and simply moved Gibbs and Ziva to a shared room. That way they wouldn't be traipsing around reinjuring themselves.
"Why else would McGee be involved?"
"Why are we just sitting here?" Tony asked.
"Because of the three of us, you are the only one able to stand," Ziva retorted. "...and even you cannot do so for very long. Admit it, Tony. We are all useless."
"You think the others know?"
"Yes," Gibbs said. "Our reaction is why they didn't tell us."
"I hate being useless," Tony muttered and stared at the floor.
"We're not useless," Gibbs said. "If we recover...it will be that much easier for McGee when he comes back."
"If he comes back..."
"He will come back," Ziva said, with unexpected force. "He did not die in that recording. The blast was not strong and he was far enough away that there is no reason to think that he is dead."
Tony looked up again. "Then, why is he still gone? Why isn't he here? Why hasn't anyone told us? ...if there was good news, they would have. If he's not injured, then that means he's staying away on purpose. Why? Because of us?"
"Maybe we don't know everything, Tony," Gibbs said softly. "I don't think we ever have. Maybe we won't get the chance."
"I can't just sit here," Tony said, pushing himself to his feet. "I need to be doing something."
Ziva looked envious, but Gibbs just nodded and closed his eyes. Tony hated seeing that weakness, that lassitude that wasn't going away. He hated Ziva saying so matter-of-factly that she couldn't stand up. These were the two people who weren't supposed to accept being confined to a bed. He couldn't deal with it and withdrew as quickly as he could. As he walked out of the hospital, he tried to think of someplace else he could go tomorrow.
NCIS. There was nowhere else. Sure, he didn't have a team to work with and he wasn't up to much...but at least he'd be there...and for the first time, he thought he might have a glimpse into Tim's desire to stay there. NCIS did feel safe.
...but where was he?