Chapter 5

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As Gibbs leans over him in his hospital bed, looking furious, Tim can only gulp and nod

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At the hospital, Tim's mind was more on the turn of events up until his arrival at the ER than the tests he was being subjected to. His clothes had been taken from him; a small patch of the pocket would be preserved for Abby's testing, but the clothes would otherwise be incinerated. They were almost new! I'm not made of money! Plus there was no guarantee that he would get his pebbles and shells back. Well, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, if they really were radioactive. The thought made him shiver.

Worse, he would have to do explaining to Gibbs. Gibbs had almost—not quite, but almost—held up the ambulance when it arrived. How did you tell your boss that you honestly didn't know that you were carrying around radioactive material?

"Agent McGee, do you feel any nausea?" one of the doctors asked. "Have you vomited since you found the pebbles and shells? Had any cuts that bled a lot or are still bleeding? Had fatigue, headaches, fever?"

"I have felt a bit nauseous all day," Tim admitted. "I haven't thrown up, though. And no to the rest."

"Good. Your red cell count may be low, though. We'll draw some blood and see where things stand."

"I don't feel bad, though," Tim said. "Can't I just go home? If someone brings me some clothes?"

The doctor shook his head. "Have to keep you here for observation. We'll know more tomorrow."

Gibbs and the others waited, impatiently, for news in the waiting room. "If his red cell count turns out to be low, they may want to give him a transfusion," Ducky was saying. "But there is still so much we don't know about Timothy's exposure. How long has he had those, where did he get them…"

"If I had to guess, it was in the river," Tony said. "The Potomac. On Rafting Day."

"Why didn't he mention it, if he'd picked those up?" Abby said. No one had an answer for that.

When they were allowed in to see him, Ziva tried to soften the blow she felt was likely to come. "McGee—Tim—understand that we just want to help you before there is—more trouble."

Gibbs cut her off. "Where'd you get those rocks that were in your pocket? And why were you carrying them?" When Tim wasn't forthcoming, he pressed. "I want answers, McGee!"

"Sir, I must protest!" said the doctor. "My patient—"

"McGee—" Gibbs' tone was unsympathetic.

"You'd better come clean, Probie," said Tony, with more sympathy. "What have you been hiding from us?"

Tim now felt more worried than he had when the alarms had gone off in Abby's lab. "The last time I told you something…you laughed at me."

"Are you 12?" Tony asked in exasperation. "Grow up! This isn't junior high school."

"That is not helpful, Tony," Ducky chided, and turned to Timothy. "Whatever is troubling you, lad, cannot be as bad as the danger inherent in radiation poisoning!"

Tim took a deep breath and told the story, finishing with, "I just thought…that there was a clue to the case that we might be overlooking."

"And you decided to investigate on your own, instead of coming to me with it?" Gibbs asked severely.

"Well…the last time I had a hunch, the last time I saw something…"

Gibbs leaned forward. "Understand this. You withhold information pertaining to an investigation, you're hampering the investigation. I should bring you up on charges for that."

Tim gulped and nodded. But deep down, he couldn't blame himself, entirely, for his actions. Not if it meant he was back to being a laughing stock.

Two days later, Tim was released from the hospital…a little weak, a little tired due to the low blood cell count, but not in too bad shape, all things considered. It could have ended so much worse for him, if he'd had a longer exposure to the pebbles and shells. He was to get rest at home for a couple of days before returning to work, and even then would be on desk duty for some weeks until his blood was back to normal. There was too much risk associated with an injury now to send him out to the field.

Ducky offered to have Tim stay with him, but Tim declined the kind offer. He still wasn't comfortable with being around his team, with the truth of his excursion known. So he returned to his apartment, which was still watched by an agent. His walks with Jethro twice a day were brief, and each time he came home exhausted. He had groceries delivered, but most of the time lacked energy to cook. In the evening he had dinner delivered. It was telling that no one on his team offered to bring him meals or to cook for him. They seemed to see the wall that he had thrown up before him (or maybe it had been that he'd yelled "Get out!" at them, that last day in the hospital, when Tony couldn't resist making a joke). The end result was that they were leaving him alone.

Great. So now I've become an unpleasant person to work with, Tim thought, and sighed. Well, I'll fix it…later. But I just wish I could be proven right.

When he did go back to work, the following Tuesday, the welcoming greetings for him were subdued. Ziva kindly brought him up to speed on the Kinsky case (although she spoke with measured words, as if afraid of upsetting him). Kinsky's work computer had crashed—literally, when someone had knocked it off its desk. It might not be salvageable. Abby, Ziva said, had not been able to trace the source of the radiation, but she was still working on it. Jock Hamsel and his workers had been questioned thoroughly, as had the outfitter, Charlie Stoppard. All seemed innocent…but who else would have been along that stretch of the river?

Furthermore, the Hamsel Rafting crew and Stoppard could not be found to have any connection to Kinsky. No Navy in any of their backgrounds; no recent trips to the Norfolk area. It was beginning to look like the Kinsky case would go unsolved.

Ducky, with no evidence to support foul play, had finally signed off on the death certificate with the cause listed as undetermined. This was a blow to him to not be able to solve the mystery. Still, Kinky would occupy a drawer for a few more weeks, in the hope—however dim—that something new might come to light.

The team got a new case the day that Tim returned to work, and so Gibbs, with Tony and Ziva, headed out. Tim was quietly left behind, without any assignment other than to take it easy. He wondered about that until, in the late morning, he heard someone call his name.

"Nikki! Oh, hi." Nikki Jardine wasn't his favorite person, but he was glad for any friendly contact.

"I'm kind of surprised to see you here, Tim. I heard you were back. I thought you might be taking a lot more time off," she said, stopping at his desk,

"I'm okay. I feel good," he said, puzzled. "You don't need to wear the face mask around me; I'm not giving off radiation."

"Oh, I know that. The mask is because of the perfumes some of the newer employees are wearing. That, and the possible contamination in the air-conditioning."

"Contamination? Is that something new?"

"Well, it hasn't been proven, yet, I guess, but I believe in caution. Where's your team?"

"On assignment, in Maryland. I'm stuck on desk duty," Tim grimaced. "Just as well; they're treating me like an invalid."

She gave him a wise-up look. "More likely, they don't want to have you take leave when they can get work out of you."

"What do you mean? I was out for four work days…"

"You were hurt on the job. You could take weeks and weeks off, with pay."

"But—I was really on my own time, and doing unsanctioned work…"

"That's not how the labor relations board would see it. You were doing work. And you got injured. I assume Vance has told Gibbs and your team to be very careful around you so you don't demand a couple months off and a chance to recuperate in Hawaii. Because, you could. And they do need your expertise."

He looked at her with some awe. "How do you know so much?"

"I make it my duty to keep informed of the health regs. You never know what they might try to hide from us."

Okay. Even the somewhat paranoid have their uses. "Nikki," he said on a thought, just as she was about to go, "what do you think of when you think of colored lights and gems and…stuff?"

"Fabulous jewelry," she said with a dreamy expression. "Rich surroundings. Wealth. And pretty words like glimmer, glitter, glisten, and iridescence. Why? Not radiation, yuck. That's a very ugly word. Get well soon, Tim."

When Nikki had gone, Tim had to admit that there might be some truth in her statements. Not that Tony and Ziva, or even Abby, Ducky or Jimmy would try to hide an administrative benefit from him, but people like Vance (and sometimes, Gibbs) thought of the agency's needs first and employees' needs second. The others may have just felt that Tim was fragile. Or maybe I should find something better to do than prowl around in their heads.

He remembered, before the radiation incident, thinking that Kinsky must have gone on Twitter or Facebook under a different name. Tim looked through the case file to date, but there was no sign that anyone on the team had looked into that. Well, I can do that, then. Why not? He had nothing pressing, and it seemed a shame to let Kinsky's death go unsolved.

And so he started searching, spending hours plugging in any keyword he would think of relating to Kinsky or his hobbies. All led to dead ends, coming up with accounts matching people who sounded nothing at all like a young, introverted sailor.

And then…iridescent, Nikki had said. Worth a shot. After several tries, he found an account for KIrideSends on both services. Beating back the desire to hack, Tim simply pulled up the profile on each, His real name was not there, but all of the information provided matched what they knew of Kinsky. It was as if he'd felt that if he hadn't revealed his name, no one could find him. A foolish assumption.

What Tim read made his eyes grow large. There were a number of posts by other people, on Kinsky's Facebook wall and linked to him via Twitter, that spoke of some scientific experiment mentioning light…something that had all participants excited. And…Kinsky was a regular test subject in something. So that was where the payoffs were coming from. Did that mean that Kinksy had been murdered when something went wrong?

With clues from the posts, Tim was able to fix on an address in Norfolk. Google maps showed it to be a warehouse area of the city.

I'll have something to show Gibbs when they get back, Tim thought triumphantly. Then, but why wait for them? If I can solve this case myself, I'll regain their respect.

He printed out a leave slip, filled it out and signed it, and left in on Gibbs' desk with a note. Not feeling well. Going home. Maybe this would be the last of the lies he'd have to tell.