Dr. Rachel Cranston regarded her patient sadly. This was Tim's third session with her and they'd yet to make any progress. McGee sat facing her, waiting for her next question expectantly, but clearly not allowing himself to get anything out of their conversation.

After the first two meetings and a long discussion with Doctor Mallard over the phone, Rachel had agreed that the agent was in no way fit to be in the field where he posed a serious danger to himself. McGee, for all his logic and thoughtfulness, refused to see it that way, and while he was never anything less than cordial, he also never let his guard down during these therapeutic sessions, no matter what she did to make him feel safe and comfortable. Despite this, he was no closer to opening up.

"Tim, you don't have to be so formal," she assured him for what felt like the hundredth time. "We're here for your benefit. Relax."

McGee leaned back in his seat. "Sorry, Dr. Cranston."

"It's ok," she smiled. "You just keep looking like you're about to bolt from your chair."

His ears tinged pink around the edges, which caused the doctor to smile a little more. Rachel had heard Kate describe her team eight years before she'd actually been able to meet them for their psychological evaluations. They'd all revealed to her how much they had changed since Kate's death…how much they had changed because of Kate's death. It hurt to hear, but it made Rachel happy to meet the people her sister had loved so much. Even during their brief meeting, when he had been the model of perfect mental health, Dr. Cranston could tell that McGee wasn't very forthcoming about his life or his innermost thoughts in the way that Tony DiNozzo was. In fact, even though Kate had mentioned how Gibbs and Tony were alike in so many ways, Tim was really much more like Jethro in that respect. But what had surprised Rachel most upon their first meeting was the fact that McGee hardly resembled the young man Kate had discussed all that time before. The kid of 2005 had been perpetually sheepish, eager to please, self-conscious, a little on the overweight side; all the makings of a rookie. The man she'd met in 2011 was self-assured, thin and fit, experienced but still eager to please. And whenever he'd blush or get fidgety, Rachel could see the remains of the long-gone newbie who'd looked up to her sister.

Still, all of this was more helpful than harmful in their patient-doctor relationship, because she had an idea of his life, of his personal development, and his work life. And while she never picked favorites among her patients, she was especially determined to help one of her sister's old friends.

"So, how has your father been this week?" she asked.

"Well his nurse called and said that it was a good couple days. You know. He has good days and bad days."

"That's good at least. Have you talked to your sister about any of this recently? If I recall, you mentioned that you talked to her about three weeks ago?"

"No, we haven't talked since then."

"…Are you alright with that?"

"Sarah needs her time to work through what's going on with our dad. I understand that."

"You didn't answer my question, though," Dr. Cranston pointed out gently.

This was the first time she'd called him out on avoiding her questions; Tim started as if he'd been caught committing a crime. Most patients burst into tears and spilled their guts five minutes into their first session, but some, namely the ones that were forced to see her, put up a wall that took time to break down. But these patients didn't frustrate her, because they were the ones that needed her the most. She was willing to wait and help McGee knock the walls down.

"Well…I mean, it hurts, I won't lie," Tim shrugged to hide how much it actually did pain him.

"Good, good. Thank you for telling me that," she encouraged. "Have you tried calling her?"

"I called and texted her last week, no response."

"What about your grandmother? Has she been involved in any of this?"

"Penny's out of the country right now. Sarah will talk to her, so she's been like a go-between, and the nurse has told me that Sarah calls to check up on dad every once in a while. But I'm not gonna ask Penny to get too involved right now."

"Why not? Don't you deserve some peace of mind?"

McGee opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again and swallowed. "Can we talk about something else, please?" he asked, the pleading clear in his voice.

"No problem," she soothed. It was only his third visit and she didn't want to scare him away. "How are things going at work?"

That was a whole other complicated matter. Well, complicated wasn't the word. In actuality it was pretty simple: Tim had to sit at his goddamn desk while the rest of the team went out and did real investigative work. That's not to say he wasn't doing real work…it just didn't feel that way.

The complicated part was the awkwardness that now settled over the bullpen. McGee had yet to really talk to Tony about what had happened, so the two only really spoke during work, and only about work-related things. Ziva, Tony and Gibbs had all gone through similar stages in their lives, so they knew to let Tim deal with things in his own time- he just wanted to work, so they let him. Still, they could feel his unhappiness about being chained to his desk, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. It weighed on all of them; for McGee, it was stress. For them, it was guilt. But Tim could feel their guilt and just wished they'd let it go. It was a vicious cycle.

"Things are ok," McGee said. "They'd be a lot better if I could work in the field, though."

He said it without a hint of anger, and Rachel sighed. "I know, but until you really talk to me about all the things that are bothering you, I can't properly assess your mental state."

"Dr. Cranston, I'm not suicidal. I swear."

"I know you're not but that doesn't mean everything's ok. You told Doctor Mallard that you'd do whatever it takes to do your job, to catch criminals."

"Yes, that's part of the job description."

"But at the risk of your own life?"

"If it's between me and some witness or victim, then yes."

"That in and of itself isn't very worrisome, but the fact that you go out of your way to put yourself in danger is. I've been told that you admitted to Tony that you don't really care about your own safety. You said the same thing to me last week."

"…Yes."

"Do you see how that is concerning? Normal healthy behavior involves giving some degree of care for your personal safety."

Something flashed behind his eyes, and for a moment Rachel thought she saw his walls come down a moment before he threw them back up. Still, he sighed and ran a hand over his eyes before he said, "I can't seem to make myself care too much."

This was good. Upsetting, of course, but an actual comment on his feelings.

"Why not?" she asked, but he was already retreating back behind his defenses.

"I don't know," he admitted.

"And if something were to happen to you, how do you think your loved ones would react?"

"Well I can't imagine Sarah or my father would care," he said dryly. Dr. Cranston grimaced. She wasn't sure that was untrue, given what she'd been told about the McGee family.

"I think they would care very much," she disagreed nevertheless. "But what would happen to your team?"

"They'd be upset, but they'd move on. It's the job I picked. We are in danger sometimes. Things happen."

"That's true," Rachel said gently.

An awkward silence settled over the room. Neither one had really mentioned Kate since Tim had started seeing Dr. Cranston, and this was certainly not the best way for this talk to start.

"I'm sorry," Tim said, feeling even worse.

"No, no, I'm sorry," she assured him. "I didn't mean to make this about my sister. But let's do that. Think about how much it hurt you all to lose Kate. You're telling me your team wouldn't suffer as much if they lost you?"

Tim thought back to his discussion with DiNozzo and recalled how agitated Tony had been when he'd brought this up.

"I know, it's not that," McGee said, his voice cracking at the end.

"Then what?"

"I don't know," he reiterated, though this time there was a hint of desperation.

They talked for a few more minutes, but they didn't get much further by the time the session was over. Still, any progress was good progress in Tim's case, and Dr. Cranston was satisfied.

"I will see you Friday," she smiled, and he nodded and bid her goodnight before putting on his coat and stepping into the night. It was warm, but a drizzle had started to fall over the area. She watched him go before turning to her secretary.

"Don't make any new appointments for any Wednesday or Friday in the next few weeks," she requested. "I think I'll be seeing Agent McGee for a while."

…

The next morning, Tim entered the bullpen and placed a hot tea on Ziva's desk and a coffee on Tony's. His hair was dripping wet- the drizzle from the previous night had turned into a full blown rain that showed no sign of stopping.

"Thank you, McGee," Ziva said with a smile. It wasn't unusual for one of them to pick up breakfast or drinks for everyone, but since coming back from his mandatory "vacation," almost a full week during which time Ducky continually checked up on his exhaustion levels, Tim hadn't really left his desk for more than five minutes at a time. In fact, he'd been so focused on making up the lost days that he'd show up early and stay as late as he could before Gibbs would send him home for the night. Getting coffee for everyone didn't seem like a whole lot, but it was the first time Ziva had seen him come in at his normal time; getting coffee meant Tim was thinking about something other than work.

"No problem," he returned her smile and settled down to his desk, quickly booting up his computer and getting to work.

Tony came in a few minutes later and saw the coffee on his desk.

"Hey, thanks Ziva," DiNozzo said, putting his bag and raincoat down.

"Oh, McGee got the coffee," the ex-Mossad agent said, glancing up to gauge the senior agent's reaction.

"Thanks, Tim," Tony said in surprise. Tim had been professional and not a bit unkind to his friend, but had avoided all non-work conversation.

"No problem," McGee sent the older man a small grin before turning back to work. Before DiNozzo could use the opportunity to talk to Tim some more, the junior agent's phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Good morning Timothy,"

"'Morning, Ducky. What's up?"

"Could you come down here for a second? I'd like to talk to you."

"Sure, I'll be right down."

When McGee entered autopsy, Palmer was already out, helping Abby in her lab. (Everyone had the good grace not to tell the forensic tech what was going on with Tim's non-field duty status. Now that things seemed to be under control, there was even less reason to tell her, at least until McGee had things back to normal.)

"Hello," Ducky greeted. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. Is this about my field status?" the agent asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid not. I wanted to check up on how you're doing. Have you been sleeping alight?"

"Yeah, I've been feeling better."

"You look better," the doctor said, shining a light in Tim's eyes and feeling around his throat for swelling. "Be careful with this weather. You're still at risk for illness and this rain won't help."

Tim watched the older man's face as he continued his exam.

"Thanks, Ducky."

He looked up at the young man, and, seeing the look in his eyes, knew that he was being thanked for more than this quick check-up.

"You're quite welcome, my boy," he said fondly. "I'm sorry that I had to put you in such a situation."

"I understand. It's your job."

"Yes, well something tells me your time with Doctor Cranston isn't helping very much. You need to let yourself be vulnerable before anything can get better…" seeing that McGee was about to protest, he continued. "…and you should acknowledge the fact that you're in pain and not handling things very well at all."

Tim frowned. "Ducky…"

"I know, and I won't intervene any further. But I do think you should sort things out with Tony. He was acting in your best interest when he told us about your conversation from the other night."

McGee nodded. "Alright. If you say so…"

"I do. Let me know if you need anything else."

Tim thanked him again and left. Once he was alone in the elevator, he closed his eyes, thinking about how he would simultaneously thank Tony and apologize to him. At least he had all that time at his desk to plan it out.

But his cell rang the moment he exited the elevator. Stepping back behind the stairs for some privacy, McGee answered the phone with a weary, "Hello?"

"Mr. McGee?"

The young agent froze at the voice of his father's nurse. It wasn't so much that she was calling, but that she had a forced calm in her tone, one she had perfected after years as a hospice nurse.

"Yes?"

"It's…I'm afraid your father has taken a turn for the worse. I think you should come over as soon as possible."

"I'll be right there," he said, hanging up and racing to the bullpen. Tony and Ziva looked up in confusion but he didn't stop to explain. But as he headed towards the elevators, Tony followed.

"McGee?"

"Hey, Tony, I have to go. I'm sorry. My dad…he's not doing too great-"

The senior agent nodded in understanding. "Go. Do- do you need us to come?"

"No, that's okay, thanks. Can you tell Gibbs for me?"

"Yeah, sure."

McGee nodded and rushed back towards the elevator; he pressed the button several times until the doors slid open.

….

It took twenty minutes to get to his father's house, all the time McGee prayed that he wouldn't be too late.

He wasn't. His father was in bed, pale and cold, but still hanging on. The nurse let Tim in and took him to the bedroom.

"Hey Dad," he said quietly. "I'm here."

"Tim," the admiral's eyes opened as he said his son's name. This was the most they'd spoken in two weeks.

"Do you want me to call Sarah?" McGee asked and when his father nodded, he whipped out his cell and called his sister.

She didn't answer.

He stepped away from the bed, muttering to himself. He knew her schedule; Sarah didn't have class at that moment and she was always glued to her phone. She was ignoring him.

Suddenly, in the heat of this stressful situation, Tim felt very much fed up with her attitude. She could mistreat him all she wanted, and his father could too, but the man was dying and he wanted to speak with his daughter one more time before he did.

He hit the redial icon on his screen. It went straight to voicemail this time- she'd blatantly declined the call.

Fine. He'd play along. He hit redial again. She declined. He did it three more times, determined to annoy her into answering. It worked, if only just.

"What, Tim?"

"Don't you dare hang up, Sarah," he hissed as he stepped into the hallway and out of earshot from their father.

"What's wrong?" she asked fearfully, hearing the tone of his voice.

"Dad wants to talk to you," he said, reentering the bedroom and going over to the man in the bed. McGee held the phone up to his father's ear before saying, "she's on, Dad."

The admiral took as deep a breath as he could manage and began to explain to her what was going on.

Tim watched his father talk out of the corner of his eye. His dad was too weak to hold the phone himself, so this was the most privacy he could give the two of them. And damn if it didn't hurt to hear them speak this way.

Though the phone wasn't on speaker, McGee could hear his sister crying. His father soothed her, and told her how much he loved her. And while Tim felt the tears come to his eyes and the lump form in his throat, he didn't cry. Even while seeing his father in this condition, even with these circumstances, he'd been raised to be strong and stoic in front of his father. He couldn't cry.

They talked for a long while and Tim listened patiently. When his father felt too tired to continue, the two said their teary goodbyes and Tim stepped back into the hall.

"Sarah?"

"I'll be on the next flight out, ok? We'll talk then."

He let her go after that, knowing she needed time to be alone and grieve. Once his phone was back in his pocket, McGee was back at his father's side.

"Hey, Dad, stay with me," he almost whispered. The nurse came in and took the sick man's vitals before making herself scarce again.

"Tim."

"Do you need something? Do you want me to get the nurse?"

"No, no, just...Take care of your sister, alright? I know she takes after me, but she loves you. Take care of your mother and grandmother too."

"I will, I promise."

"And Tim."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"…You're welcome, Dad."

"And I'm sorry."

McGee paused. "What?"

"I'm sorry. I know I wasn't…the best father…I'm sorry. You were- are a good son. And I love you."

He couldn't help it, but several tears spilled over and ran down his cheeks. Dammit, this couldn't happen. He couldn't break down in front of his father in their last moments together. Once again, he pushed those feelings down and swallowed.

"I love you too, Dad."

They sat there, letting the quiet heal what it could in the precious few minutes they had left. And when his father's breathing slowed and his chest stopped rising and falling, Tim took a deep breath to steady himself. And the emotions didn't come.

…..

He stayed at his father's house for a few more hours, helping the nurse when possible. The Admiral had made end-of-life arrangements with his young caretaker, which made things less difficult and painful for Tim. When everything was said and done, the NCIS agent took another deep breath, but still the expected flood of emotions did not come. Or at least, he didn't allow himself to acknowledge said emotions. Good. He couldn't deal with that right now.

"Are you…can I do anything else for you?" the nurse asked, watching him carefully. She knew that the two men were estranged, but she also realized based on his level of involvement that Tim cared very much about his father. She was just expecting more of a reaction from him was all. Still, she'd seen similar calm, shocked reactions from the relatives of her patients before.

"No, no I'm fine," he said, even managing a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Thanks for everything. Call me if I need to do anything else, ok?"

He shook hands with her and left the house, hopping in his car and speeding away.

While he should have been grieving, his mind jumped into a state of ultra-efficiency, instead running a list of things that had to be done. It was a method of distraction, of course, but it did need to be done.

...Sarah was on her way, but he'd need to call his grandmother. And his mother, he supposed, should be notified. Funeral arrangements had been outlined but he needed to call the place his father selected and set a day and time…and someone the Navy would probably need to be notified of funeral details, so that they could send men to do the flag ceremony and the rifle salute...

Despite the storm, McGee continued to press on the gas, not caring how fast he was going. It was nice to drive this fast. With hardly anyone on the road he had very little to stop him. In fact, he stared out into the rain and went even faster, his eyes narrowing and his lips pressing into a thin line. This wasn't aggressive at all, really, but it was the most aggressive he'd felt in a while. He hadn't been allowed to have firing practice in weeks, he'd hardly left his desk- he had energy to burn and this was definitely helping. In fact, it felt great. He didn't care that he could get pulled over. He'd pay any fines, what did that matter? He didn't even care that he could get into an accident. So what? Who cared? In fact-

His manic thoughts were interrupted when the car jerked through a deep puddle and the steering wheel jerked with it. The car slammed into something, though he couldn't see what it was for the rain, and suddenly he was spinning. Or rather, the car was spinning before it rammed into something else and came to a complete, bone-jarring stop. McGee's last thoughts were about how predictable the whole thing was before unconsciousness took hold.