"My brakes were cut." Tim repeated Gibbs' statement in disbelief. He sat at his desk in the squad room; Gibbs stood before him. "Well, of course, that would explain a lot." He dared a look at Gibbs; found his face hard but otherwise unreadable. It must be from one of the things I did... "Sorry, boss," he said, his voice a whisper.
"Sorry for what?!" Gibbs said, irritated for the veering off the subject. "And whatever it is, don't apologize, McGee!"
"Yes, boss; I mean, no, boss," said Tim, now confused by his own syntax. Please, someone get me out of this…
"Your car's brakes were cut; so were Alvarez'—"
"Is he okay?!" The middle-aged man might be a Luddite when it came to computers, but Tim found him personally quite likeable.
"He's fine. He was able to pull off the road before he had an accident."
Unlike me...Now I can't even remember what they taught us about dangerous driving at FLETC...
"McGee! Why must you look terrified at everything I say? I'm not your enemy!"
For an answer, Tim burst into tears, and put his head down on his desk. He couldn't remember when the world had looked this bleak.
He was aware that Gibbs was saying something softly to Tony and Ziva—at least, he assumed it was to them—but he didn't try to listen in. I've made enough of a mess of things as it is without having them get mad at me for eavesdropping...I can't afford to alienate Ziva and Tony; next to Abby, they're the only friends I have left...
"Jethro, we have a crisis at Anacostia."
The Director's voice cut through Tim's sobs, and he was able to mostly shut them off and look up. He saw her glance in his direction, and saw Gibbs shake his head.
"Alvarez has had...some kind of a breakdown. He's seeing things, and having audio hallucinations as well. Supposedly he's on his third, different, Nell sighting of the day."
"We've already established that Peskarev knew several different people named 'Nell'..." said Gibbs, frowning.
"I know. But the ones that Alvarez sees can't be seen by anyone else. And he hears her speaking to him. He's in the base doctor's office, but since your team is already embroiled in this case, you'd better go see him, and take Ducky with you. If this is indeed Morgellon's syndrome..."
"Yeah," Gibbs' all-purpose, all-encompassing reply. He grabbed his swoop cap. "Let's roll, people...not you, McGee!"
"But, boss, I know Commander Alvarez pretty well," Tim said quietly. "He'll trust me. If, if he's having problems, I think I can understand them..."
"Forget it! It's bad enough that you have to be here after your accident. You're not going out into the field!"
Tim sank in his chair, his face the picture of misery. Gibbs swore quietly, wondering if he dared leave Tim alone in the squad room in this state. He couldn't drop him in the lab; Abby had real work to do. The only other choice...
The Director gave him a look, forming the words Oh, no with her lips. But Gibbs didn't break his stare. After a moment, the Director stifled a sigh, and said, "McGee, I need you upstairs." Oh, the things this job makes me do...
- - - - -
Tim felt the Director was a little less terrifying than Gibbs or Ducky, primarily because she hadn't scolded him. Yet. He'd only concluded that she would, at some point. Following her into her office, where he'd only ever come alone to be upbraided, he felt weak and his breaths came sharply, making his chest hurt more.
"Cynthia, please clear my schedule for the next hour or two," Jenny said. Without waiting for a response, she lead Tim to her inner office and closed the door. "Have a seat, Tim. Over by the table." She reached into her desk drawer, pulled something small out, and then pulled up a chair to the other side of the table.
He was stunned, then, by her question. "Do you play cards?" she asked, and started shuffling the deck in her hands before he answered.
"Uh, yes, ma'am. Sometimes..."
"Do you know Basra? No? Well, I'm going to teach it to you, then. It's also called Ashush or Assaba-al'-Komi. If ever I need to send you undercover to the Middle East, you're going to have to know it. It's pervasive there."
She grinned on seeing his surprised and rather pleased look, but her only response was to get out bottles of water and a plate of cookies. They settled down to the game. Tim watched his boss deal the cards, and felt some of his troubles starting to melt in the informal atmosphere.
Jenny, in turn, felt it was a relaxing way to spend a few hours...making the peculiar task of babysitting a flighty agent bearable.
- - - - -
"Commander," said Ducky, "we'd like to have you come to NCIS with us. We think you may be ill."
"Poppycock!" said Alvarez. "I've never felt better. Gibbs, what is all this about?"
"We think there's a possibility you've been infected with a disease, something attributable to Lieutenant Peskarev. McGee's ill, and you probably are, too. You both touched her without having gloves on."
"Now that's just ridiculous. Why, Nell, here can tell you..." he gestured in the direction of the smiling young woman in the gray pant suit; the young woman that only he could see.
"But, Commander, there's no one—"
Ducky broke in. "Of course, she's welcome to come with you. I'm sure we'll, er, have a fascinating discussion."
Alvarez smiled, pleased. "Hop in, Nell." He held the car door open for 'her'.
- - - - -
While Gibbs and his team and Alvarez got settled in a small conference room, Ducky paced. "I'd really rather not start this without Timothy."
Gibbs shrugged. "The Director said something about the ashush matching everything, and that it'd be probably 20 minutes before McGee could get down here. I have no idea..."
Ziva smiled knowingly. "They must be playing Assaba-al'-Komi, also called Basra. I didn't know that the Director knew that card game."
"Cards!"
"We'll not wait, then," Ducky said. "Commander, I'd like to do some blood tests on you, but I'm reasonably sure that you have Morgellon's syndrome. It's a condition with various manifestations, including hallucinations..."
"How does that impact me?" Alvarez asked, and looked at 'Nell', puzzled.
Tim trotted in, looking...happy, for once. "Sorry I'm late, boss."
"You training to be a...Iranian coffeehouse card sharp, Probie?" The idea seemed far-fetched to Tony, but given the concentration of Nells in this case, nothing should be surprising.
"No! Maybe. What's this about, boss?" Only a stern look from Ducky withered Tim's smile. He took a seat across from Alvarez.
Ducky explained the need for blood tests, though for the time being held back what he feared he might discover in the tests. "Both of you may have contracted a form of Morgellon's syndrome—"
Tim twisted his eyebrows. "But that's a form of mental illness,' he protested, not pleased, for once, at the smattering of random knowledge he'd picked up. He scratched his wrist, then, noticing what he was doing, stopped.
"Perhaps. Some say it's a genuine, physical ailment."
"But most don't!"
"McGee!" Gibbs snapped. "You're not the doctor here!"
"Sorry," Tim mumbled.
"Timothy, it is most likely a form of psychosis. It can include disorganized thinking, lack of insight into one's condition, hallucinations, loss of train of thought. Paranoia – that's written all over your face, Timothy."
"And the sensation of crawly things under the skin?" Alvarez asked quietly.
"Yes, that, too," said Ducky.
"It feels to me more like tiny wires or cables," said Tim. "Itching me constantly. Though sometimes, I swear they're moving around." He closed his eyes.
Ducky met Gibbs' eyes. Gibbs shook his head. No need to give them the full, grim story until the blood tests were in.
Gibbs' phone rang. "What?!...Okay, I'll be right up. Don't let them wander." To the others he said, "Two women named 'Nell' are in the squad room. Schultz' team is entertaining them." He left, with Ziva and Tony in tow.
Ducky quickly did the blood tests, and gave Tim and Alvarez each a lollipop for their patience. "No cherry ones?" Tim frowned at the lime one he'd been given.
"All out." Ducky eyed Alvarez. "Commander, I'm not sure you're fit for duty right now."
Alvarez nodded, grimly. "I'd been somewhat aware that not everything is right. I can temporarily turn things over to my second-in-command. My daughter's been wanting me to take a weekend in Pennsylvania with her and her family—"
"I'd advise against that, until we know where we stand. I'd prefer that neither of you leave Washington for the time being."
"That bad, eh?" Alvarez sighed. "How long do you think Dawn Peskarev was sick, until she died?"
"About four months; maybe five. Symptoms of her irrationality started to emerge in June."
"Ah." Alvarez glanced at Tim, thinking this was all a shame for one so young. "McGee, I'm going to call for a staff car to come pick me up. Walk out with me?"
"Sure, Commander."
"Don't forget Ms., er, Nell," said Ducky, looking pointedly at the vacant chair beside Alvarez.
"Now where did she go?" Alvarez wondered. "Guess she went up with Gibbs." He shrugged; sure he'd see her again soon.
Tim and Alvarez skirted the squad room. Gibbs, Tony and Ziva were busy there talking to two young, attractive women, who looked friendly and open.
They waited out beyond the NCIS gate in the hot, 6th-month-of-summer air, chatting. Soon the staff car arrived. "Tim, I hate to ask this of you; you're standing here with broken ribs and you must have a lot on your mind, but can I grab you for just half an hour to install the software you suggested that I get?" Alvarez gave him a half-smile.
"Why not? I don't think they need me in there. I should call Gibbs, though, and let him know I haven't run away..." He got into the car with the commander.
"Wait! Slow down, Ensign," Alvarez said to the driver a minute later.. "Couple of women, there, with a flat tire, it looks like..."
The car stopped, barely a block from NCIS. Alvarez and Tim got out and went up to the three gray-haired women. "Something we can help with, ladies?"
"Why, you certainly can, dear," one said sweetly. "Could you take a look at this, and see if we have the jack in the right position?"
Tim and Alvarez leaned in. "It looks like you've got it in the notch correctly," said Tim.
"Well, that's wonderful," the lady said. "But it doesn't really matter, because we're going to be taking your car. Hands up."
A glance over their shoulders showed that the other two women had pistols leveled at them. When they glanced forward again, the first woman had one out, too.
"And here I thought Mondays were bad," Tim grumbled.
The Ensign got out of the car with a cry. One of the woman cooly shot him down.
"Who the hell are you?!" Alvarez demanded.
"You can call us—"
"'Nell', I'll bet," said Tim, then to Alvarez, "Doesn't it figure?"
One of the Nells relieved Tim of his gun, and both of them of their cell phones. The men were then handcuffed, and shoved into the back seat of the staff car.
"Where are you taking us?"
"What is this; some bad movie where we tell you all the answers? We don't have to tell you anything."
"Well, good, 'cause we're not interested. Are we, Enrique?"
"I couldn't care less."
"Oh, stop that," one of the Nells said. "You're as annoying as the young women we sent inside NCIS to distract your team. I'll tell you this much: With Peskarev unfortunately dead too soon, you two are at least the next generation of the experiment. You've been infected, haven't you? I can see it on your faces. How very nice for our branch of science; we'll learn a lot from you...in your remaining days..." She smiled unpleasantly as the car drove off.