Chapter 36

Tony drove a little faster than he should. He couldn't even stand listening to the radio. He was infuriated about what had been done to Tim. It was only with great control that he managed to focus on the road at all. He wanted to vent some of his fury…on Leavitt, on Smith, on anyone who had so much as looked at Tim wrong…although on second thought, that last would have to include himself.

"Okay, calm down. This won't help matters. Focus…on the road…on getting back to NCIS, on…" Tony took a deep breath. "…figuring out why this happened. How is obvious…why is not. I'll get him…legally." Tony kept up the monologue, knowing that if he allowed himself to get worked up again, he'd be more likely to miss something…like a red light. All the while, though, despite having seen the transcript only briefly, Tony had the words that he had read running through his mind. Why would any person in his right mind do that kind of thing?

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"How are you feeling, McGee?" Ziva asked.

Tim shrugged. "Okay, I suppose. I mean, I…I've been wreaking havoc on my respiratory system lately…and pretty much everything else."

"No, I mean, in here," Ziva clarified, touching his head gently.

Tim flinched away as if she had hurt him. Ziva didn't back down, but she didn't push either. She just sat and looked at him, feeling her anger toward Leavitt bubble up and then disappear underneath a wave of pity for Tim. He was paying such a heavy price for a single mistake, a serious mistake, but a mistake nonetheless.

"Not…not so good," Tim finally said and he stared at the wall.

"Would you like to tell me about it?"

"No," Tim said softly. "I hate having to put it into words. It's hard enough just thinking about it…all the time." He swallowed and then spoke again, "And please, please don't tell me not to think about it. If I could stop, don't you think I would?"

"I would not tell you such a thing, McGee."

"I'm sorry," Tim said. "Talking doesn't help anyway."

"I have found that talking usually does help."

"When is it that you've talked about your problems?" Tim asked, a belligerent note coming into his voice. This time, however, Ziva recognized what he was doing, whether he realized or not, and she did not take offense.

"I did not say I was good at it, McGee, just that it helps. You are not so good at it yourself, you know."

"Like I said, it doesn't seem to do any good."

"Maybe you just need a sympathetic audience."

Tim grimaced. "I don't really perform well for a crowd, Ziva."

Ziva smiled and took his hand. "Then, why don't you skip the performance and just talk to a friend?" she asked kindly.

"Don't be nice to me, Ziva," Tim said, with unexpected sharpness.

"Why not?"

"Because…I…"

"Do not deserve it?" Ziva finished.

Tim didn't reply, but his eyes showed how he felt.

"McGee, we are all your friends. We would not be here if we did not care. It has nothing to do with being deserving or undeserving…although you are wrong if you consider yourself undeserving."

"Doesn't it?" Tim asked, dropping his eyes to Ziva's hand which was still holding his.

"Do you consider Tony and myself your friends?"

Tim nodded wordlessly.

"Why?"

Startled, Tim looked up and she saw the darkness in his eyes. "What do you mean, why?"

"We tease you without mercy. We have berated and degraded you. Tony plays practical jokes on you almost constantly. Why would you consider us your friends with such behavior as that?"

"That's not all. That's only a part of what you do," Tim protested. "Tony always has my back when it counts. You…You're nice to me even when you don't have to be."

"But we do not always act like good friends, do we?"

"No, but…"

"…but we are not perfect, correct?"

"Nobody is perfect," Tim said.

"Then, why are you the exception?"

"I'm not perfect, either, Ziva," Tim said, dropping his eyes again.

"Exactly. You do not have to be."

Tim didn't reply.

"Was I right, McGee?"

"About what?"

"When I said you were afraid…was I right?"

"In a way."

"In what way?" Ziva pressed.

Tim looked around at the hospital room, his eyes sweeping from floor to ceiling, everywhere but directly at Ziva. "Have you ever heard of Tad Williams?"

"Should I have?"

A small smile flashed across Tim's face so quickly Ziva almost missed it. "Not necessarily…unless you read a lot of science fiction."

"No."

"I didn't think so." Inexplicably, Tim's eyes filled with tears. "He wrote that 'we tell lies when we are afraid... afraid of what we don't know, afraid of what others will think, afraid of what will be found out about us. But every time we tell a lie, the thing that we fear grows stronger.' I've told so many lies, Ziva. That first time…I felt as though I was under a microscope, as if you all could see exactly what I had done. But you didn't. You didn't see any of it…and I couldn't tell you…I couldn't tell the truth, even though I knew I had to." Tim pulled his hand away and began rubbing his palms together tensely. All the uncertainty left his voice as he continued speaking. Instead, it became laced with self-loathing. "And people died! My embarrassment, my reputation was more important than saving lives."

"McGee…" Ziva began, but Tim was on a roll now and he talked right over her.

"No!" Tim said loudly. "Don't tell me that you wouldn't have figured it out before. We don't know that! We can't! It's impossible to say whether or not you would have been able to track in on Smith if I had told you when things could have been done to stop him. How many days was it before we figured out that Chip was framing Tony? How many days before we tracked in on Sharif poisoning Gibbs? It sure wasn't a month! Twenty-eight days, Ziva! That's how long. Petty Officer Johnson told us exactly how much time we had…and we took it all because…because I wasn't man enough to do my job, because I wasn't honest enough to tell you that something was wrong, because I didn't trust you. I just kept everything to myself, hoping that it would go away even when I knew it couldn't and—"

Ziva suddenly put her hand very firmly over Tim's mouth. "Stop it, Tim. You are not the one really speaking those words."

Tim stopped talking, but he looked at Ziva, hatred swirling in his eyes. Ziva, however, understood at whom the hatred was directed, and it was not at her. She hesitated, not sure if she should ask but wanting to know.

"How many times did Dr. Leavitt have to say that to you before you believed him?"

Tim's eyes widened as he stared at her. Then, suddenly, he pulled her hand away from his mouth and began to lean over the opposite side of the bed. His stomach was empty, but that didn't stop the reflex. Ziva grabbed him before he fell to the floor and held him as he continued to dry heave. In her mind, she was thinking, I am going to kill him. Leavitt deserves to die…very, very slowly. Perhaps he should drown…

Tim's breaths came in short noisy gasps as he calmed down enough to stop. He wasn't crying.

"I…don't…want to…be…like this…anymore," he panted.

"If that is the case, then we will help you," Ziva promised.

Tim sagged limply in Ziva's grasp, shaking with exhaustion, spent both body and spirit.

"You do not have to blame yourself anymore, Tim…and you do not have to drown anymore," Ziva whispered.

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There was silence in the small office for about ten seconds following Ducky's narrative. Naomi was the one to break it. Gone was any trace of composure or reserve. She looked like a raging she-bear.

"You're telling me that this…this doctor was intentionally torturing my son…for what reason?"

"We don't know yet," Gibbs said. "I sent Tony back to DC and he's going to start figuring it out."

Naomi did not shout, but her voice was strangled as if it was taking every ounce of self-control for her to keep the conversation at a tolerable volume. "You are certain this was done on purpose?"

"Yes," Ducky said shortly. "There is no doubt in my mind that is the case."

Naomi took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She let it out slowly and then said, "I need a minute. If you will excuse me." And she turned around and left the office.

All eyes turned toward Sam. He smiled shakily. "When she says she needs a minute, she means it. I'll go out in a minute. She doesn't get this angry very often, but when she does, she doesn't want to be disturbed."

"Yeah, the last time was when those doctors…" Sarah began.

Sam interrupted her. "That's not important, Sarah. What happens now, Ducky?"

"Now, we try to undo what Dr. Leavitt did. It will take time, and I'll be honest, I do not know if we can. Dr. Leavitt had nearly exclusive access to him during the five weeks following his injury. It will be a hard road."

"But you'll try, right?" Sam asked, a strange note of pleading in his voice.

"Of course. We will not give up on Timothy, even if he has, at the moment, given up on himself."

Sam nodded in relief and then looked at his watch. "I think it's safe for me to go after her, now. Thank you, Ducky." Sam wheeled himself out, leaving Sarah alone with Abby, Gibbs and Ducky. She looked at them awkwardly. Gibbs smiled and looked at Ducky significantly and then left the office, pulling out his phone as he did so.

"Mom never gets this angry," Sarah said finally, mostly to fill the silence. "I can only remember a few times. It's usually when she's scared of something."

"Meaning what, Sarah?" Ducky asked.

"Well…it's like the time Tim and I snuck out of the house at three in the morning to make snow angels on the neighbor's lawns. We'd stolen caution tape and strung it around each of the snow angels." Sarah smiled at the memory. "I was only about six. It was the same year that Tim got accelerated in school and I think he just wanted to pretend that he was still a kid for awhile. Mom found our beds empty and freaked out. Tim got grounded for a month for that."

"Tim got grounded?" Abby asked, an evil smile on her face.

"Yeah, just the once," Sarah answered. "The last time Mom was this angry was when…" Sarah hesitated and looked toward the door. "Dad has problems with his circulation. That's pretty typical of paraplegics, of course. Once, he had an embolism and none of the doctors noticed. It nearly killed him, and Mom…well, after she knew that Dad was going to be okay, she walked out into the hallway and started screaming at the various doctors and nurses for their incompetence, telling them that if she had ever had any desire to be a lawyer it would be right then so that she could sue them all for malpractice."

"Really," Ducky said, quite impressed.

Sarah smiled and looked at the door again. "Yeah. People usually think Mom is the nice one because she's so quiet most of the time…and Dad…well, now that he's in a wheelchair, it tends to put people off at first, even though he's a lot more laid back than Mom is."

"Now? How long has he been paralyzed?"

"Did Tim never tell you?"

"No, he never mentioned it, not to me anyway," Ducky said. He looked at Abby who shook her head.

"Oh," Sarah said in surprise. "I hope this isn't supposed to be another one of those secrets. It's been about twelve years now. I remember Dad was really depressed in the beginning, well we all were, but Dad most of all. He used to run every day and he always had so much energy." She hesitated and then looked at Ducky. "I'm not sure if I should tell you all this…I don't know what's supposed to be kept private."

"Well, if you think it might be wrong, then you may err on the side of caution," Ducky said, although he was very interested in this new glimpse into Tim's life.

"Well…" Sarah hesitated again and then let it out in a rush. "Tim actually walked in on Dad when he was writing a suicide note. He had everything ready even. Tim wasn't supposed to be there. Mom had gone to work, about an hour before school was over, and Tim and I were supposed to be in school. Dad still wasn't well enough to go back to work himself. This was at the end of Tim's senior year. He was getting ready to go to MIT, but he was worried about leaving us. I don't know why Tim went home. He's never said, but he did and I guess he and Dad just stared at each other. Neither one of them moved because they were both still there when I got home. I never really found out what happened. Mom probably knows because Dad went to the hospital for a few days, but Tim never said anything to me or to Mom. He wouldn't talk to Dad for a while after that…not until it was nearly graduation. I'm not sure if it was because he was mad or because he was scared…like Mom."

"Why graduation?"

Now that she had started, Sarah didn't seem to be able to stop. She seemed so relieved to be talking about something other than Tim's suicide or rather to someone other than her suicidal brother that she just kept talking.

"Well, we went and visited Dad in the hospital and he was still really depressed. I didn't really get it at the time; I was only eight. Tim came with us, but he still wouldn't talk to Dad. Mom kept trying to get them to talk to each other, but it didn't work. Finally, we were about to leave and Tim started out the door. Then, he stopped and turned back. I still remember it. Tim was staring at Dad as if Dad had betrayed him personally."

"Dad?" Tim said quietly. Naomi and Sarah stopped in surprise. Tim's voice even drew Sam out of his brooding.

"What, Tim?"

Tim looked at Sam with a challenge in his eyes. He looked much older than his sixteen years. "Graduation is in two weeks. I'm valedictorian. I'm giving a speech. I need to know something."

"What's that?"

Tim was silent for a long time and everyone thought he was going to lapse back into the silence that had so defined him for the last few days

"I need to know if, when I give my speech, I'm going to be able say that everything I've done I owe to my father sitting on the front row…or if I'm going to have to say that I owe it all to my dad…" Here Tim stopped, his eyes filling with tears. He didn't look away from Sam. "…whom I wish was still here. Which is it going to be, Dad?"

Sam's eyes also filled with tears. Tim never looked away. This was not a rhetorical question. He wanted an answer and he wanted it right then.

Sam looked at his son…and at his wife and daughter standing frozen behind him. Something loosened in his mind, something clicked.

"You'll never have to say that you wish I was there. I wouldn't miss your graduation."

Naomi sighed, but Tim wasn't done. "You almost did."

"I know."

Tim started speaking more quickly, trying to stave off the tears hovering in his eyes. "What about when I finish college? What about my first job? What about when I get married? What about when Sarah graduates, gets married? Will you be there then? I need to know."

Sam looked at Tim for a long moment. Then, he answered, "God willing, I will be, Tim."

Tim's expression suddenly changed. Now, it was pleading and he looked much younger than he was. "Promise?"

"You have my word."

"Now, it's like Dad's returning the favor or something," Sarah finished. She looked down and then back at Ducky. "How long will Tim be like this, Dr. Mallard?"

"I wish I could just tell you, Sarah. It doesn't work like that."

She sighed. "I know. I just wish it would."

Abby, still being uncharacteristically quiet, moved over by Sarah and gave her a hug.

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"I'm not ready to calm down yet, Sam," Naomi spat out as she paced back and forth in the hallway.

"Okay, I can wait." Sam slowed down and put the brakes on. Then, he watched as his wife walked agitatedly from one side of the hall to the other.

"How can you be so calm? We were just told that Tim…that a man betrayed everything that he was taught, the oaths he took, in order to…torture our son! How can you just sit there so calmly and take it?"

"Well, I can't exactly stand calmly, now can I?" Sam said.

"Sam! This is not the time for jokes!"

"Naomi, if I don't…then, we'll have three people falling apart in the family and I don't think Sarah can manage us all at once."

"I'm not falling apart! I'm…incensed! I want to tear that man limb from limb!"

Sam took the brakes off and wheeled forward. As Naomi paced in front of him, he put his brakes on again and grabbed her arm. When she turned to try and get him to let go, he grabbed her other arm. "Naomi, I am furious. I don't think I've ever felt so much hatred for another person as I do right now, but none of that will help Tim. Now, at least, we know that something happened. We can help him. It wasn't just him. He didn't think of this on his own. Yes, he ultimately made the decision, but he was manipulated into a state of mind that allowed for it. Maybe it doesn't help, but it makes me feel better."

"Sam…I just don't know if I deal with this twice," Naomi said, finally relaxing enough to stop fighting his grip.

"I'm sorry you've had to deal with it at all," Sam said and he reached out to stroke her cheek, gently wiping away a tear or two that had managed to fall.

Naomi bent over and hugged Sam tightly. "I just want our family to be happy."

"We'll get there. I promise," Sam said, hoping that he wasn't lying.

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"Please, Jethro, tell me this is your idea of a sick joke," Jenny said, her voice full of revulsion.

"I wish I could. I've read the transcripts and listened to some of the tapes myself. There's no way this was an accident…if it was, Dr. Leavitt should be sued for malpractice."

"What are you going to do, then?"

"Tony should be getting there soon. He's going to find out why the good doctor decided to torture McGee and then he's going to educate him on the fallacy of such an action."

"Above board, please."

"It would be easier to just kill him. Everyone wants to at the moment, even his family."

"Jethro…"

"Above board, of course. He needs us here, though, Jen."

"Of course. I was going to ask for Abby back, but…we can do without her for a couple of days. Do what you need to. McGee shouldn't be alone at a time like this. I hope you can help him."

"Thanks, Jen."

"I'll help Tony when he gets here. I don't like my agents being attacked…especially in such a situation."

In spite of the anger still coursing through him, Gibbs smiled. "If you change your mind…"

"You'll be the first to know," Jenny said, her voice revealing a thin thread of humor.

"Good." Gibbs hung up and then walked toward Tim's room.

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"Cynthia, could you come into my office for a moment?" Jenny asked.

"I'll be right in, Director."

Cynthia opened the door, pen and paper in hand, ready to take notes on whatever needed doing. Jenny smiled appreciatively. Sometimes, she thought that Cynthia probably knew more about NCIS than she did…which was one of the things that made her such a good assistant.

"What is it?" she asked as she sat down.

"I need you to pull the records we have on file of every agent who has gone to Dr. Brian Leavitt…and I mean, every agent. I want to know how many, how long, when, what problems there were, everything we have."

Cynthia stopped in the middle of writing down the request. She looked up. "What happened now, Director? You already had me pull him from the list of recommended psychiatrists and I sent in your letter to the APA. Is there something more?"

"Yes. While you're at it, I want a warrant to see all of Leavitt's files. If the judge balks, forward him to me. I have some information he may be interested in hearing."

Cynthia wrote down the next request.

"Also, make sure that the warrant, when it comes through, gets communicated to Agent DiNozzo. He should be here soon and I'll be assisting him."

"Yes, ma'am. Will that be all?"

"Yes, for now."

Cynthia nodded and stood to leave. When she got to the door, however, she stopped and looked back.

"Director?"

"Yes, Cynthia?"

"What happened?"

Jenny leaned back in her chair. "Did you look at the transcriptions of McGee's sessions when they finally came through?"

"No. I figured Agent McGee had suffered enough scrutiny. He didn't need my prying eyes."

"I didn't look at them either. I wish I had."

"Why?"

"It looks as though Dr. Leavitt was not actually trying to help Agent McGee. He was trying to break him down. For what reason, I don't know, but we are going to find out."

For an instant, the revulsion everyone else felt on hearing such news showed on Cynthia's face. Then, she schooled her expression and was cool and collected again. "I'll get right on it, Director. The data we already have will be on your desk within the hour. There shouldn't be any problems," she said, a steely note in her voice.

"Thank you, Cynthia."

The door didn't slam after Cynthia's departure, but it nearly did. Jenny stood up and looked out her window. No, there wouldn't be any problems. Cynthia had a driven look in her eye that said she wouldn't take no for an answer. It was amazing how quickly everyone was rallying behind Tim. She wondered if he had any idea how much everyone cared.