Part II: A Matter of Trust
Chapter 10
He felt like he was stuck in molasses. He was trying to move, but he couldn't. He was trying to speak, but his mouth was full of his tongue. He was trying to escape, but he was too weak.
Every so often, he would feel something that would keep him from panicking. There was some kind of sound nearby but he couldn't really hear it.
Over and over, he would struggle and fail and then fall into oblivion, only to have the same thing happen again with each return to... whatever it was.
Then, after an unknown amount of time, he actually heard something.
Himself.
He could hear himself and he was whimpering.
"It's all right. You're all right. Relax. Rest."
The voice was soothing and familiar, and he let it lead him back to the oblivion.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
The molasses was so thick. It was even keeping his eyes closed and he really wanted to open them. He struggled, but it was so hard. He began to panic that he would never get out. He tried harder and harder, desperate to escape whatever had him restrained.
He heard the sounds he was making as he tried to escape.
But the restraints were so tight. The molasses was so heavy.
He felt danger and he panicked even more.
"Timothy! Please, calm down."
No. Even that familiar and soothing voice wasn't enough. He needed to escape. He had to get away before it was too late! He kept trying to move but he couldn't. He could only hear himself making noises that should be words but weren't.
"Is there anything you can do for him?"
Another voice, one that wasn't at all familiar.
"It's possible that he's trying to wake up. If he won't calm enough to sleep, then, perhaps it's better to guide him to full consciousness if we can."
"How?"
"Just do your best. Talk to him. Keep him calm if you can, but give him that connection."
"Very well."
He heard all the talking but he still felt trapped and he couldn't seem to express it. But he really tried. It was just so hard.
"Timothy, I'm right here. You're perfectly safe. If you wish to awaken, you may do so and not be afraid."
Then, he felt himself lifted and held gently.
"I'll stay with you until you are feeling better, Timothy."
Then, he was almost being rocked back and forth. In spite of his panic, he liked the feeling.
"I don't know if you're dreaming or if you're awake and can hear my voice, Timothy, but I'm here. You're not alone."
He didn't know how long that comforting flow of words continued, but at some point, he stopped panicking. He still wanted to open his eyes, though. He tried and failed.
He tried again and failed.
All the while, he could hear that comforting voice talking to him, telling him that things were good and fine. He wasn't sure he fully believed it but he liked it.
Finally, he was getting tired, but he really wanted to open his eyes. So he gave it one more try. Then, he'd have to give up again.
"Timothy!"
He saw something for a moment and then his eyes closed once again. Things were blurry and definitely unclear, but he had seen something. He just didn't know what it was.
He felt a hand take hold of his.
"Timothy, if you can hear me and understand, squeeze my hand twice."
Could he really do that? Just opening his eyes had taken a Herculean effort. Could he move his hand?
Well, nothing to do but try it.
He thought about squeezing, but he wasn't sure he had managed it. His hand did move, however.
"Wonderful, Timothy. That's excellent. He's definitely awake."
"Very good."
There was a painful flash of light in his eyes and he tried to back away.
"Pupils are reacting to light. Deliberate movement. He's definitely coming out of it. I won't state categorically that he'll fully awaken from the coma, but this is very encouraging."
"I agree. Timothy, this is wonderful news. You are doing an excellent job."
He tried to open his eyes again, but he was feeling so tired now. It was enough that he had apparently done something well. He let himself relax.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
He woke up again and didn't feel the same panic. There was someone with him still although not holding him this time, just someone holding his hand. He struggled to open his eyes.
And they opened!
Only halfway but they opened!
There was a word he needed to say. Something very important. He tried to think about it, tried to work through the molasses that was still there even if it wasn't quite as thick or deep as it had been.
What was the word he needed?
He closed his eyes again and thought about it more.
"Shoooooeee," he mumbled finally. That was the word.
"Timothy? What was that?"
"Shoooooeeeee," he said again.
He tried to open his eyes again to find the person who had spoken.
"Shooooeeeee." A third time.
"Timothy, it's all right."
"Shhhhooooeee."
"Timothy, we're already here. You don't need to get them to look in your shoe and call us. Do you know who I am?"
He struggled to open his eyes yet again and managed it once again.
There was a face right in his line of sight. A face he knew. How did he know it? He did, though. He knew it. He had to think of why.
"Hello, Timothy."
"Duuuuuu-ckyyyyyy."
"Yes, lad. Very good. Very good."
He was glad, but that wasn't who should be there. He had to think why he felt that way. Someone else should be there. Who?
"Whre?" he managed to get out.
"You're in a hospital, Timothy. You have been for days."
"Nooooooo. Whre."
"Where what?"
"Whre...Duuuckkyyy?"
He really wanted to ask where the person was who was supposed to be there, but that many words seemed impossible to get out. He was stuck trying to say words without being able to say words.
Who was it that he thought should be here? He fought through the molasses that seemed to coat everything and make it all sticky and hard to deal with.
Finally, the name was there.
"Whre...Tony..."
There was a long pause.
"He's not here right now, Timothy."
"Whre..."
"We'll... we'll bring him here as soon as we possibly can. For now, just rest. You're doing better and that will continue if you give yourself time."
He wanted to push for more information. Even through his molasses-coated brain, he could tell that there was hedging going on.
He wanted to do that, but he couldn't. It was just too hard.
"Just relax. Rest."
He wanted to say that he couldn't do that, that there was too much he had to understand, but... he couldn't.
He fell asleep.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
He opened his eyes. He woke up, thought about it and they opened. That was an improvement over his confused memories from before. What he saw was still a bit blurry, but he could see. He looked around. The room was dim and quiet.
He seemed to remember that he was in a hospital, and he felt really terrible so he could believe that was the case.
He took a deep breath and that seemed to signal pain to make itself known across his body. He tried to force himself to take stock of the sources of the pain before he asked for someone to make it go away. His head really hurt and his shoulder, but otherwise, he just felt like one massive bruise.
"Timothy, you're awake again."
He managed to turn his head toward the voice. There was someone there, someone he knew. He was sure of that this time.
"Ducky," he whispered. "...hurts..."
"Oh, dear. Of course. Let me call for someone to come."
"...okay..."
He clenched his fists and closed his eyes tightly. It seemed an eternity that he was feeling the pain. Then, he felt a hand gently open one of his fists. He grabbed the hand and held it tightly, wishing that could make the pain go away.
"I'm right here, Timothy. I won't leave you alone."
After another eternity (or maybe a minute), there was someone else in the room saying something, but he wasn't listening. Things did seem to be happening around him. Maybe they were good. Maybe not. Who knew.
"There, Agent McGee. That should take effect shortly."
Shortly it might have been, but it definitely seemed too long before, finally, the pain began to ebb and the mental fog began to increase. Still, he really wanted some information because he was definitely lacking it at the moment.
"What... happened to... to me?" he asked.
"We're not sure."
He forced his eyes open and blinked a few times, trying to focus on this new person. But his eyes insisted on closing again.
"What... happened?" he asked again.
"Timothy, from all we can tell, you fell from a fire escape," Ducky said, distracting him from the new person.
"How?" He got his eyes to open and stay open this time.
Ducky's eyes looked away from his and to... someone else. He tried to follow Ducky's gaze, but moving his head was really hard. He squeezed Ducky's hand again, getting his attention.
"What happened?" he asked yet again. "...need to know."
"We don't know for sure," Ducky said. "But we know you were found in an alley dumpster that had only just enough garbage to keep you from being killed. You had a serious head injury and your collarbone is broken although healing. You had internal bleeding and plenty of contusions."
"All injuries that can be explained by a nearly-fatal fall."
That was the other voice.
"Did I... fall or... was I pushed?"
"We don't know, Timothy. We were hoping that you would know what had happened."
He let his head fall back and his eyes close yet again. He tried to think about what had led to this situation, but there was a gaping hole there. What had he been doing before all that must have happened?
He was so tired again. He wanted to sleep.
But then, something pushed into his consciousness. Tony should be here. He had been there before. He couldn't muster the energy to open his eyes again but he could still ask.
"Where's... Tony?" he asked. "He was... there before... I... remember... he was there."
"Do you remember what he was doing, Agent McGee?"
"I..."
"What had you found?"
That was a demanding voice and not one that he liked hearing. He couldn't remember who that was, but he knew he didn't like it. He didn't get a chance to try to answer (or not). The other voice that he didn't know intervened.
"Excuse me, but this is not the time for an interrogation, Captain. This man is only just coming out of a coma. He's barely coherent right now. The last thing he needs is for you to storm into his room and demand answers of him."
"One of my men was killed, Doctor."
"And this man was almost killed, Captain. I don't know who let you in here, but I am going to have to ask that you leave. Now. In this hospital, I outrank you. Even if you were an admiral, I would outrank you in this room. Leave and I will make sure that, in the future, you're not admitted to this room."
There were quiet footsteps but no words. Then, much louder footsteps, followed by a loud sound that startled him and he tried to open his eyes again.
Ducky was there, soothing him.
"It's all right, Timothy. You have done nothing wrong, and you're in no danger."
"Who?"
"It doesn't matter right now. What matters is that you relax and rest. I'm sure you're tired."
He was. Achingly so. Everything was really foggy, too. It wasn't as bad as the molasses but it was bad enough.
He nodded.
"All right then. I think..."
Those same quiet footsteps and there was a gentle hand on his uninjured shoulder.
"Tim, I need you to think about one question. Just one."
"Jethro, I think that you..."
"Bosss..."
"Just one question, Tim."
One last time, he managed to get his eyes open, but he was fading fast. There was Gibbs, staring at him. Like everyone else, he was kind of blurry, but there was no mistaking his boss.
And there was no refusing a question, even if he wasn't sure he could answer anything with even a modicum of coherency as the fog thickened ever more.
"Wha–?"
"Do you know where Tony is?"
He heard the words, but he was losing a battle with lucidity along with his consciousness.
"He's... Joel... the piano man. Always. Never say... our... names...Said... so..."
"Tony?"
"Joel... don't... break our... cover... Bosssssss..."
"We won't. Sleep, Timothy."
"Okay..."
He let his eyes close one last time and the rest of the world faded away.