Chapter 25: Stage Eleven

Tim became conscious of sun shining on his closed lids. It was irritating. He opened eyes and sat up...or he tried to sit up. There was an arm around him...and a furry head on his knees. He pushed experimentally against the arm and it withdrew.

"McGee?"

"Ziva?" For a moment, he couldn't think why in the world she was there.

Then, he remembered.

"How do you feel?"

Tim didn't look at her. It was easy enough. She was behind him. He sat up, moved his legs, disturbing Jethro who bounded off the bed and into the main room.

"McGee?"

Tim shrugged. Embarrassed. Stupid. Ashamed. ...Terrified.

"McGee, talk to me."

"I don't know," he said, staring steadfastly at the wall.

"Yes, you do."

Tim pulled himself to the edge of the bed and was about to stand when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It wasn't actually enough pressure to hold him down...but it was enough to make him pause.

"McGee, I told you before. We do not judge you. I am not judging you. Look at me."

Tim shook his head, pressing his lips together in an effort to hold back the emotion that was so terribly close to the surface.

The hand disappeared and he felt Ziva get off the bed. He remained, staring at the wall...until she appeared in front of him, kneeling down so that he had to look away or look at her. She reached out and took his hand. It was trembling.

"McGee...how are you feeling?"

Tim breathed heavily, although he kept his mouth closed, and closed his eyes, turning his head to the side so that he couldn't see her when they opened eventually. A hand on his cheek pulled his head back around.

"Tim, look at me."

He shook his head again. He heard a sigh of frustration and felt her stand. Short Ziva might be in comparison to him, but at the moment, she towered over him in every way.

"Please, Tim."

Finally, Tim sucked in a loud breath and let it out in a fresh batch of tears. He was so humiliated by how often he'd cried since trying to stop taking temazepam. He dropped his head, bringing his hands up over his eyes as the tears fell more-or-less silently down his cheeks.

Another sigh, this one less of frustration, more of resignation...perhaps discouragement?

"Oh, Tim."

"I'm sorry. I just can't seem to–"

"No. No, do not apologize for something that is not shameful. You are frightened; you are nervous; your usual ability to cope with those feelings is absent. Crying is better than other things you could do. Do not be ashamed of it."

"Are you kidding? I'm like a leaky faucet. A human hosepipe," Tim said, trying to smile. "It's embarrassing."

"Perhaps, but it is not shameful. No one who knows what you are doing would try to say that you did not have the right to cry."

"That's all I seem to be able to do. I couldn't even take one less pill by myself."

"Tim, you faced a setback. You are afraid. It is not wrong to ask for help."

"I can't do any of it alone."

"Yes, you can. You have done so much with your own strength. One thing was all you needed to help you back onto the right track."

"I don't know, Ziva. I don't know. I don't feel like I can."

"Try, Tim. It is another week before you need to step down again. Just try. That is something you can do. Now that you have stepped down once, you can continue as you have done in the past. It is no harder. It is not easy, but you can do it. You are strong enough to do it."

"I don't feel strong enough."

"Will you promise me that you will try?"

"What if I can't?"

"Promise me. Promise that you will try to continue as you have begun. Will you?"

"Okay," Tim said, with a deep breath. "Okay, Ziva. I don't know if..."

"Try, Tim."

"What if it's not enough to try?"

"What do you stand to lose if you try and fail? Will you not be in the same situation as if you do not try at all? You might as well keep trying."

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

Tim kept trying. Every night when he took his pills, he would look longingly at the bottle, wishing that he could go back...but he didn't. He got a new glass and designated it his drug glass. It took four days of stage ten before he began to feel the faint stirrings of hope, the thought that perhaps this time he'd be okay.

His attitude shift, as minor as it was, became immediately apparent to his friends. His work was better, his willingness simply to interact with them increased. He seemed less ashamed of himself and more immersed in his tasks. He did not suggest going out into the field again, but neither did he suggest that he should be fired and abandoned as worthless.

Physiologically, the reason for the change was that his body was readjusting to the gradual decline in the level of diazepam and was relearning the way to function efficiently without it. Psychologically, he was recovering from the heavy blow to his self confidence and was regaining his self esteem.

Regardless of the exact reason, the improvement came as a distinct relief for everyone stuck on the outside watching Tim's struggles. It was hard for them to see him fight against himself and to know that all they could do was watch. Oh, they could lend their support...and they did do that, but what it all boiled down to was that Tim had to fight this battle by himself. They knew he could win it, but he didn't always know that.

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

The day before he was due to step down again, Tim's anxiety began to increase once again. He had not forgotten his body's reaction to stepping down too early. He wasn't quite as nervous as he had been before, but he was still more distracted, more worried...less confident.

They could see that he was headed toward a bad place, a place he'd been frequenting too often of late...and that was the last thing they wanted for him.

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

"McGee, time to go!" Abby announced.

Tim looked up from his computer and stared at her with confusion.

"Time? Why?"

"Because, Timmy, the day is over. That is why," she explained patiently. "We are going out."

Tim looked back at his monitor. "I don't really want to go anywhere, Abbs. Thanks though."

"Funny, I don't remember phrasing it as a request." She walked around his desk, flicked off his monitor, pulled on his arm, smiling winningly the whole time. "This is the time to let your hair down, to paint the town, to..."

"Abby, I don't want to do any of that," Tim said, trying to pull himself away from Abby's grasp. "Really, I appreciate it, but I don't want it."

Abby stopped playing and stared at him seriously. "Tim, if you don't let us distract you, it will only get worse. Come out with us tonight. Who knows? Maybe you'll even have a little fun for once."

Tim looked at her, at his now-dark monitor, and back at her. "I don't..."

"...want to have fun? Don't deserve to have fun? Tim, have you had even one day when you weren't either working or thinking about the fact that you've screwed up so royally that you're lucky people even look at you?"

Tim's head dropped for a moment and Abby was afraid that she might have gone too far.

"Yeah."

Abby furrowed her brow. "Yeah, what?"

"Yeah, I've had one day when I wasn't either working or thinking about the fact that I've screwed up so royally that I'm lucky people even look at me." His recitation of her exact words made her start to smile. What made her smile widen was Tim lifting his head and looking at her with the smallest suggestion of a twinkle in his eye. "I think it was two weeks ago. Sunday."

Abby laughed and slugged him.

"Well, you need to have one more. Please, Tim? Are you going to make me beg?"

"I'm tempted."

"To go?"

Tim sighed. "I really don't want to, Abbs. I just don't like the idea of...going out...not anymore."

"What will you do if you go home?" Before he could answer, she did for him. "You'll sit around, think about tomorrow night and work yourself into a state of anxiety which means you won't be able to sleep tonight and, more importantly, you'll worry Jethro!"

Tim couldn't help but laugh at that. "I see. You're more worried about the dog than about me. Figures."

Abby smiled but then sobered. "I mean it, Tim. You need a distraction and we care about you. Please, come out with us."

Tim hesitated for a moment and then nodded. "Okay."

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

It wasn't much, mainly for Tim's benefit, but it was dinner out with people, rather than hiding at home or working at NCIS...or in therapy. Tim was uncomfortable being around so many strangers. That was understandable, perhaps, but they wished he would relax. Of course, telling someone they need to relax rarely helps. Instead, they just kept the conversation going and after about an hour, Tim did begin to relax on his own; he stopped looking around, watching for people staring at him. He engaged more in the events around him, even cracked a few jokes.

By the end of the evening, they could almost pretend that there was nothing wrong with Tim, that everything was back to normal. ...almost. There was still a hesitancy about him, something that held him back from being himself. ...but really, who was Tim?

That was the problem. They wanted to believe that Tim was still the same man they'd known before, but was he?

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

Deep breath.

Let out slowly.

Tim stared at the counter. The pills were there, enough for stage eleven. He had tried with all his might to keep himself from being worried about it. That didn't stop his heart rate from increasing the closer the time came to taking this next step.

"Nothing happened after stage ten, Jethro. This should be a piece of cake, right?"

On Tim's command, Jethro was standing outside the kitchen area, looking anxious. Tim had never allowed him to come in while he was taking his pills. He was still terrified of dropping one. He whined, causing Tim to look over his shoulder.

"Right?"

Jethro sat on his haunches and panted at him.

"Okay. Nothing to it. One at a time, just like always."

One pill. A swallow. One pill. Another swallow. ...and so on until six. Then, he paused, pushing down his fear.

"Last one, Jethro."

He picked it up, set it on his tongue, took one more swallow and then, trembling slightly, he washed out the glass and set it, along with his bottle of pills, up on the shelf in the cupboard. Letting out a long shaky breath, he walked out of the kitchen and sat next to Jethro, petting him gently and letting him nuzzle his face. He sat for a long while and then hugged Jethro tightly.

"Thank you, Jethro. Thank you."

Stage eleven.