Chapter 26: Stage Sixteen
Tim didn't mention his next stage to anyone and they didn't ask. Instead, he just went about his work, quietly, meticulously...but without fire. How to rekindle the blaze of curiosity, interest, joie de vivre, they just didn't know. Was it even possible?
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"We need to try again, Leon," Gibbs said without any preamble.
"Try what?" Vance asked, looking up from his desk with genuine confusion. Talking with Gibbs was always a crap shoot. He could be talking about pretty much anything in the beginning and it took a few seconds to sort out what particular decision he was trying to make for the Director.
"Putting McGee back in the field."
"What stage is he on now?"
"Started fourteen just a couple of days ago."
"I didn't notice any adverse reaction to that."
"I didn't either. That's why we need to get him back out there."
"He hasn't said anything to me about it."
"He's afraid to. We need to push him a little."
"Pushing doesn't seem to work for Agent McGee at the moment, have you forgotten?"
Gibbs sighed and sat down. Vance blinked a little in surprise. This must be serious.
"Leon, you know as well as I do that we're going to have to push eventually. McGee's going to have to be able to handle more pressure than we've given him to this point. If not, he'll be no good as a field agent...and he might even be a danger."
Vance knew Gibbs was right. He also knew that Gibbs didn't like it any more than he did. Whatever their professional disagreements, neither of them wanted Tim fired from the agency or demoted to a desk agent or even put in Intel or Cybercrimes. Those weren't really demotions, but they both knew that Tim would see them that way...and he would know the reason for shunting him sideways (or downwards if he went to Cybercrimes).
"When?"
"Today."
"You don't want to give him any notice?"
"No. That will only give him chance to freak out. He needs to get back to work. Sooner rather than later. Waiting will only make things worse."
"I appreciate your point of view, Agent Gibbs, but do you remember what happened the last time Agent McGee tried to push himself too fast?"
"I remember, but I also remember what dragging his feet did."
Vance took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It gave him time to think, to weigh the options, to make the choice Gibbs had now placed before him. Contrary to what Gibbs and some of the others in the agency might think, Vance did care about his individual agents. It was just that his position required him to focus on the broader issues. He couldn't deny that Tim was an asset in no matter what capacity, but he knew what Tim wanted for himself. He also knew that putting Tim in the field without knowing how he'd handle it was a risky proposition at best. ...and yet...
Morrow gave me a chance, he thought to himself. Not many would have in the same circumstances.
"I'd like to talk to him, Agent Gibbs. Is Agent McGee in yet?"
"He wasn't when I came in."
"Send him up as soon as possible."
"Will do."
Vance watched him go and hoped that his decision was the right one. The problem with being in charge was that, in the words of President Truman, the buck stopped with him. In theory, he could go to the SecNav or higher...but not for something like this. For dealing with a single agent, one whose actions would more than likely have resulted in termination under most directors, it required that whatever decision he made and whatever consequences came from it...it would all be his responsibility. Gibbs could (and probably would) blame him if it went wrong...but there was no one Vance himself could blame.
...except perhaps Fate who seemed to be doing her best to make things difficult.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Tim stepped out onto his front steps and for a moment was surprised by what he saw. The view was exactly the same as it had been every day since he'd first moved into the apartment years ago...but it seemed different somehow. He wasn't sure what it was. Things just seemed...clearer, more beautiful. The air seemed so clean. The sun was bright enough that it almost hurt his eyes.
He stared for a long while on the steps before coming to himself and realizing that he needed to get to work. He made a mental note to bring it up to Dr. Young. He wasn't sure if it was something he should worry about or not. If this was a feature of withdrawal, it certainly didn't seem like a bad thing...
...but then, Tim had learned through horrible experience that what he thought was good generally wasn't.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"Morning, McGee," Tony said, barely looking up from his monitor. He yawned and his eyes started to close.
"Morning." Tim walked by...but then stopped. "Tony?"
"What?"
"Have you noticed anything...different about today?"
Tony looked up at him, seeming half asleep. "Different? How?"
"I don't know...just different. Maybe, richer?"
"I'm a whole lot poorer than I was...not richer...and I'm tired. Don't ask me questions like that after a long night of poker...especially when I lost." His eyes drooped again and he dropped his head to his desk.
"Okay." Tim walked to his desk, wondering what was different. Maybe it really was just him and there was something wrong. The depressingly-familiar signs of rising anxiety began to manifest themselves as Tim sat down. His stomach began twisting in discomfiting knots. Normally, he would have said that this was something positive, but what if it wasn't? He'd been so bad at making decisions in the last...fourteen years.
"McGee!"
Tim jumped and swallowed nervously as he looked up at Gibbs...just in time to see him throw a crumpled piece of paper at Tony's head.
"Y-Yeah, Boss?"
"Vance wants to see you."
"N-Now?"
"Yes."
"Okay." Tim stood up quickly, trying to ignore his own anxiety.
"Something wrong, McGee?" Gibbs asked.
"No..." Tim looked at the bank of windows, taking in the bright light from the sun. "No...Boss. I hope not." He mounted the steps before Gibbs could ask him for details and ran toward Vance's office.
Gibbs walked over to Tony and, at the last second, decided to forego the headslap and instead grabbed a small tuft of hair and lifted Tony's head up off his arms.
"Did I give you the impression that you weren't on duty, DiNozzo?"
Tony grabbed at his hair. "No, Boss. Ow!"
Ziva arrived just in time to laugh at him.
"Where's McGee?" she asked.
"Up talking with Vance."
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"Come in, Agent McGee. Have a seat."
Tim came in tentatively and sat down. As he looked at the desk, he was again amazed at how clearly everything was reported to his brain.
"Agent McGee?"
Tim looked up, eyes wide.
"Yes, sir?"
"Something wrong?"
"No."
Vance nodded. "Do you know why I've asked you in here?"
Tim shook his head mutely.
"I'm not going to fire you or lecture you, McGee; so calm down."
Tim nodded.
"Are you sure there's nothing wrong?"
"I don't think so, sir."
"What do you think might be wrong?"
"Why did you want me here, sir?"
"I'm reinstating you as a field agent."
Tim blinked once. And then again. "What?"
"I'm putting you back in the field, Agent McGee."
"Why?"
Vance suppressed a smile. "You don't want to?"
"I...I...don't know if I'm ready...sir. I just...it seems...rash."
"Rash?" Vance repeated and then grinned. "I'm sorry, but only Ducky can get away with using the word rash convincingly."
Tim couldn't keep himself from smiling as well.
"You're right...but why now?"
"Because you're ready."
"I don't feel ready."
"Why not?"
"I'm...still taking drugs, sir. I'm still getting off benzodiazepines. I'm not...trustworthy."
"I trust you, McGee."
Tim's head dropped as tears pricked his eyelids. He didn't want that to be seen by the Director.
"Are you sure you should?"
"Yes. Is there something that I should know that would bring that into question?"
"Things seem different," Tim said quietly.
"What things?" Vance asked, keeping his tone light.
"Just...everything really."
"Different in a good way or a bad way?" he asked, patiently.
"I don't know." Tim looked up. "I feel like it's good...but I'm not a good judge of what's good and bad."
"What is it, then?"
Tim hesitated. Vance wasn't usually (okay, ever) his first stop in sharing confidences...but still...he had given him a chance. "Over the last few days...things have been...I don't know how to explain it. Just clearer. I feel like the sun is brighter, like things are cleaner. I feel like I can see better now than I can ever remember seeing before. It's like...like I had a veil over my eyes and it's gone now."
Vance looked at him for a long moment.
"You're following your tapering schedule?"
"Yes."
"You should be getting close to the end now."
"Yes."
"That make you nervous?"
"Yes."
Vance smiled. "Well, Agent McGee, I'm no expert on withdrawal, but that sounds to me like a positive result of diminishing the amount of drugs in your system."
"You sure?"
"No. The sign on my door says Director, not Doctor...but I don't think you should worry about it."
"Can I worry about it a little bit?"
"If it makes you feel better. You're going out with your team the next case that comes in."
Tim swallowed.
"Isn't this something you want, Agent McGee?"
"Yes...yes, sir."
"You don't sound sure."
"It is what I want, sir. I just don't want to...do it wrong."
"You'll never do it right if you don't try at all."
"Yeah."
"So, get down there and do your job, Agent McGee."
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Tim came down from the office and sat at his desk. He wasn't sure how he felt about going out into the field.
"McGee?"
Tim moved his eyes upward, only reluctantly, and met Ziva's gaze.
"Yeah?"
"What did Vance want?"
"Oh...nothing much." He tried to be nonchalant as he looked at Gibbs who was on the phone. "Boss, he wants me on active duty next case that comes up."
Even Tony's eyes brightened from their former droopy state.
"But that's great, Probie!"
"Yes, McGee. That is wonderful news."
"Yeah."
"What's wrong?"
"What if I'm not ready?" Tim asked. "What if this is the wrong time for me to be doing this? What if I screw up? What if I'm not really qualified for all this? What if–?" He didn't get a chance to continue the litany of self-doubt.
Thwack!
Gibbs had finished his call and come up close enough to deliver his own special brand of encouragement.
"Gear up. We've got a body washed up in Alexandria, dressed in full Navy uniform."
"So, I guess he falls under our purview, eh, Boss?" Tony asked, yawning.
Tim said nothing but began gathering his stuff. He checked his bag, making sure he wasn't forgetting anything...and then, he checked it again, just to be doubly sure.
"McGee."
Tim looked up and found Gibbs looking at him.
"Yeah, Boss?"
"You'll be fine. Let's go."
Tim flushed and nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder before following the others to the elevator.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"Photos, McGee. Tony, talk to our witness. Ziva, bag and tag."
Tim gulped and nodded. It didn't matter that he felt completely able to do the work. He didn't trust his own feelings anymore. He began taking photos and noticed something sickeningly familiar on the wrist.
"B-Boss," he whispered.
"What, McGee?"
"This guy used drugs."
"What?"
"This guy used drugs."
"McGee..."
Tim heard the censure, and he swallowed.
"Honest, Boss! That's a track mark on his wrist. I...I should know, right?" He glanced fearfully at Gibbs, afraid of giving that reminder.
Gibbs didn't say anything but knelt down and looked at the exposed wrist.
"How did you even notice this, McGee? You can barely see it."
"It's obvious, Boss. It's right there."
Gibbs looked at him for a few seconds.
"Good eye, McGee. Go on."
"Y-Yes, Boss." Tim lifted the camera and continued taking photos, feeling both relieved and nervous.
When they got back to Headquarters, Tim was squinting in the sunlight and searching for his sunglasses. He didn't mention his worries to them...mainly because he'd already tried with Tony and didn't want to try again.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"Abby?"
"Yeah?" Abby was intent on her screen.
"Can I talk to you for a minute?"
Abby turned around. "You can always talk to me, Tim. What is it?"
"I...Something's changed."
"In what part of your life?" she asked, with a smile.
"I feel like I can see better than I could before. I feel like...like everything is...clearer. I can see, hear...feel...it's all...better."
"That's great, Tim! So, what's wrong?"
"I'm afraid that...that something is wrong."
"Why?" Abby asked, scrunching up her face in confusion.
"This all started because of something I thought was a good thing. What if this is the same?"
She mouthed oh in realization. "No, Tim. You're doing everything right. That means that this is a good thing. How could seeing better be bad?"
"How could sleeping better be bad?"
"It's different, Tim. Ask Dr. Young. I'll bet she'll tell you the same thing. Don't worry! You're getting your life back. That's a good thing."
"You sure?"
"I'm positive, Tim. You should be, too. Stop thinking that you're doing everything wrong."
Tim tried to smile. That was so much easier said than done.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"How are things going, Tim?" Dr. Young asked. It was their private session.
"Can you tell me if I'm...going right?"
"I can try," she said with a smile. "Can you be more specific?"
Tim explained to her his new experience, his return to field status, his better sight, and he felt that only she could really tell him that he was doing things right...because she was the expert and she had never pretended things were better than they were, not once. When he finished, he sat back and waited. She looked at him intently for a moment.
"Do you think this is bad, Tim?"
"No...but I thought starting on drugs wasn't bad either."
"So, because you made one mistake, that brings your judgment into question with everything you choose?"
"Doesn't it?"
"Absolutely not. Tim, you are experiencing one of the best things about getting off drugs. Your body is beginning to work as it should. Your senses are functioning as people who don't use drugs function."
"But it seems...a lot better than I ever had before."
"That's because your mind adjusts to the input it receives and functions as if that is normal. You are not seeing things better, only as they should be seen: through eyes unblinded by drugs."
"But I'm still taking drugs."
"You're on stage fourteen, heading toward fifteen. You are now taking four milligrams of diazepam, correct?"
"Yeah."
"You were taking more than three times as much when you started. This is great progress, Tim. Don't belittle the progress you've made. Don't question yourself because of past mistakes. Focus on what you're doing now. Judge your actions now, not your actions in the past. You can't forget what you did, but you can move on." She leaned forward and with a gentleness Tim had never seen from her before, she placed her hand on his arm. "Forgiving yourself for your past decisions is just as important, if not more important, than getting the forgiveness of your friends...and your family."
"I still haven't told them."
"I know, and you should, Tim."
"I'm almost off...couldn't it be..."
"Do you think your family would like finding out about this on accident?"
Tim shook his head.
"Think about it, Tim...and don't worry. I am much encouraged by what you've told me. Allow yourself to be encouraged as well."
"I'll...try."
"Good."
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Tim's progress continued. He passed stage fifteen with only a brief flicker of anxiety. His anxiety was now about something other than his withdrawal. He continued to go out with the team, although he still didn't have that same spark they had identified with him in the past. He headed stalwartly toward the next stage and the night he began stage sixteen, he looked down at Jethro who was slobbering encouragingly beside him, and he knew what had to be done. He had known it for a long time but had feared it. Even now, he was terrified of the idea... but...
"I need to, don't I, Jethro," he said softly.
Jethro whuffled at him.
"You're right."
He walked to his phone and dialed.
"Hello, McGee residence."
"Hi, Mom. It's Tim. I...have something to tell you...and Dad."
"What is it, Tim?"
"I'm a drug addict."