Chapter 5

The sudden jerky movements brought Ziva out of her sound sleep. She was alert in an instant and looked around for an attacker. Then, she realized that the person who had disturbed her was Tim. His eyes were open and his arms were flailing wildly.

"McGee, what is wrong?"

Tim looked at her, his eyes bright with fever and awash with pain.

Ziva was alarmed. How long had she slept?

"Let me look at your shoulder, McGee. You must have some infection."

Tim sat up and tried to back away. He didn't say a word, but he obviously wasn't seeing her, Ziva realized. She had seen this before. His fever had dulled his mind and he may not trust her.

"McGee, you were shot, remember? I need to look at your injury. I need to see what has happened."

"No. No," Tim said.

"McGee, I will wrestle you to the ground if I have to, but you must let me help you. I will not stand by and watch you die."

Tim showed no sign of having heard her. Instead, he started to slide away. Ziva sighed. This was annoying and delay would serve no purpose. She stood and approached him, warily, as people in fevered states often acted irrationally. Suddenly, she grabbed Tim by the shoulder and pinned one arm to his side. She knelt on the other arm and in spite of his screams of protest, untied the bandage. As she had feared, the skin around Tim's wound was fiery red and looked dangerously infected. The bullet was the problem.

"McGee, I am going to have to remove the bullet. It will hurt, but it must be done. However, I cannot take it out with you moving around."

Tim still struggled against his human restraints. Ziva wracked her brain trying to think of what to do that would not require her to knock Tim out. Finally, she put her hand on his forehead and gently stroked his face.

"Timothy, please, you must calm down."

Amazingly, it seemed to work. Tim stopped thrashing and looked into her eyes. His own still uncomprehending, but no longer so wild. As she bent over his shoulder, his eyes followed her. It was strangely disconcerting.

"Timothy, I am going to have to cut into your shoulder in order to take out the bullet. Are you ready for that?"

Tim stared at her for a long moment and then nodded. Ziva relaxed her hold on his arms and he put one trembling hand up on her shoulder and gripped it tightly. She smiled and pulled out the knife she always carried. Luckily, it was sharp enough to do the job. Hopefully, it was also clean enough. She took a deep breath and Tim tightened his grip. Quickly, she brought the knife down and began to cut into the wound. Tim shrieked in agony and Ziva closed her ears to the sound. His body was a mass of tightened muscles as she probed for the bullet. When she found it and began to extract it, Tim's back arched. He screamed again and passed out. Quickly, Ziva removed the bullet and rebound the wound.

After she finished, she sighed with relief. Tim's pulse was still present, slow and a little shallow, but it was there. She resettled herself on the floor and pulled Tim over to her, laying his head in her lap again. They lay together for uncounted minutes, Tim unconscious and Ziva dozing.

"Hey, how am I doing?" The faint question brought Ziva out of her doze. She looked down at her companion and saw Tim's eyes open, still fever bright, but clear.

"I do not know. You are alive which is what I was hoping."

Tim started to sit up, but then winced and thought better of it. "What happened?"

"I... engaged in battlefield medicine."

Tim's eyes widened. "Really?" He looked at his shoulder. "Where is it?"

"What?"

"The bullet."

"Oh." Ziva swept the flashlight around the floor over the various bloodstains and found it. She pointed it out. "It's there."

Tim's eyes followed the beam. He nodded. "Am I going to pull through?"

"I am not sure," Ziva said without thinking. When she saw the fear on Tim's face, she realized that she should have temporized. "You survived surgery without anesthetic. You should survive laying on the floor for a while longer."

Tim tried to smile. "So, what are we going to talk about?"

"I am sorry?"

Tim swallowed. "What are we going to talk about? I can't just lay here in silence. All I'll be thinking about is whether or not I'm dying yet."

"I see. Then, I will ask you a question."

"Okay."

"Why did you not shoot the man who was going to kill me?"

Tim tried to look away and found himself unable to avoid her gaze. "I froze. Or rather, my mind froze. I-I saw him aiming at you and I remembered..." He closed his eyes. "I remembered a time when I failed."

"What was that time?" Ziva asked.

Tim opened his eyes. "Why do you want to know?"

"I wish to understand you."

"Why?"

"You do not make sense to me, McGee. I understand Tony. I understand Gibbs. I even understand Abby, at least in part. You, however, are confusing."

"Thanks... I guess."

"So, what happened?"

"It was my first real case under Gibbs. I investigated a murder reported by someone a lot like me. She was..."

"She?" Ziva interrupted, arching her eyebrow.

"Yes, she. Erin. She was good at computers. We seemed to have an instant connection. No one else believed that there had been a murder, but I insisted that we investigate. I was across the street on surveillance. Erin and I talked on the phone." Tim stopped.

"And?"

For a long time, Tim didn't answer. He just lay still, his eyes locked with Ziva's. She saw something in them that she had lost long ago. It was something that she didn't think he could ever lose and still stay who he was.

"The murderer broke into her apartment and killed her. I watched from the window as he attacked her. I ran across the street to stop him, but I was too late and the guy knocked me out. The only thing I could do for her was write a letter to her parents." Tim's eyes flicked away from Ziva and then back. He sighed. "When I saw that man aiming at you, all I could think of was not letting someone else die right in front of me. I only had a few seconds, and I knew that I wouldn't have the time to aim and shoot him before he got a round off. So I ran."

"I see." Ziva watched as a faint blush suffused Tim's face. "I envy you, McGee."

"Why? Because I got shot?" Tim shifted uncomfortably.

"No. I envy you your... I do not know the word for it, perhaps, innocence. You are not a killer. You were not raised to be a killer. I was. I lost my innocence a long time ago. I was taught to kill and in order to do that I had to kill a part of myself. It is a hard thing to lose." Again silence descended, both lost in their own thoughts.