Chapter 2
Tim had sufficiently recuperated by the time they reached the house of the missing girl's family.
On the way, and in spite of his nausea, McGee had made good use of the 2 hours' drive to study the file. It summed up to 18 year old Lorraine gone missing: daughter of one Lt Daring, last seen at the Waverly Campus stepping onto the bus heading home for the weekend. Needless to say the girl never reached her destination.
It was a tearful Mrs Daring who let both agents in.
When they were settled with a cup of coffee – tea for McGee, since he knew the coffee would do no good to his upset stomach – Lt and Mrs Daring gave their version of the facts which corroborated with the reports the local LEO's had given NCIS.
Both Gibbs and McGee threw in extra questions to fill in some of the blanks. Every little detail, trivial though it might seem during the first stages, could well become important clues as the investigation progressed. The two expert agents would leave nothing to chance.
Halfway through the Darings' narrative, Tim became restless once more.
Taking notes seemed more and more an impossible task to accomplish as little bright spots invaded his notebook.
"C'mon, McGee – focus!"
He squeezed his hurting eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, then moved his hand to rub at his temple.
Lt Daring stopped briefly when he noticed the younger agent was not longer paying attention or scribbling and turned to him with some concern.
"Agent McGee? Are you feeling all right?" He asked with a questioning look at Gibbs who had half risen from his seat.
"I'm fine, Sir. J-just… I'll be fine, Sir. C-could you please tell me where the bathroom is?" He got up and swayed slightly as some tingling sensation manifested itself in his legs, and followed Ltd Daring out of the sitting room.
"In here, Agent McGee."
"Thanks."
"Is there anything else I can get you?"
"A glass of water… would be nice. Thanks."
Lt Daring left him and he turned on the tap, bent over the sink and splashed cool water over his face and neck. Much better… at least, for now. He straightened himself again and stared at his gaunt reflection. That was still a bit of a shock. He groaned as he towelled his face dry. After that, he just remained standing there, chin on his chest, resting his hands on the washstand and closing his eyes, trying hard to calm down.
He simply couldn't figure out what it was. Why was he feeling like this. Was it something he ate? Hardly. He'd barely eaten anything. He'd felt no need to eat. It had never occurred to him that taking nourishment was no excessive luxury but a bodily need. He'd also run out of granola bars and had forgotten to replenish the stock in his drawer. Coffee. Yeah gallons of the black stuff… he'd drunk plenty of that alright.
Tim looked up again and squinted. Damn, that lighting fixture was way too bright! It literally sent stabs of pain through his brain. He quickly switched it off and left the bathroom.
Before entering the living room, he took a quick breath and squared his shoulders.
Mrs Daring passed him a glass of water which he gratefully accepted. He sat down next to Gibbs who raised an enquiring eyebrow. Gibbs never was one to waste words if his face could do an equally good job to convey his thoughts, his will. McGee had become quite adept in translating those expressions in the 7 years he'd been on Gibbs' team.
"I'm good." He nodded. "More or less," he added to himself.
A glimpse at his notebook, which was now in Gibbs' hands, gave away that the interview had been continued in his absence. A relief, for he didn't know if his failing eyesight would be up to any more writing.
Gibbs finished his second cup of coffee and stood up from the comfortable couch with a meaningful glance towards McGee who slowly rose to his feet.
"May we bother you, Mrs Daring, to take a look at Lorraine's room?" Tim softly asked so as not to upset the distraught parents more than needed. Also, he found that sound irritated his senses.
Mrs Daring gave a shaky nod and a flighty smile.
"Sure…. First room on your right when you're upstairs."
Gibbs and McGee made their way up to the girl's bedroom.
As they both took in the room, they found surprisingly little girly stuff. Lorraine certainly didn't favor pink. That much was obvious. But then, Tim thought, neither did his sister Sarah. There were no stuffed animals. The room was mainly red with dark furniture, and black, white and red floor length curtains. Few posters adorned the walls. Her desk was a mess and when they opened the wardrobe, various articles tumbled out. Gibbs quickly closed the door and turned on his heels to scan the room.
"The Darings were positive there was nothing out of the ordinary in their daughter's room. Nothing at all to indicate she'd planned to leave, apart from the usual stuff she took with her to DC and all that had been found still at the dorm by the LEO's."
Gibbs sighed. He'd never get used to it. The past would always catch up with him. This could have been Kelly's room. He shook his head. Don't go there, Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
"McGee: if you're finished daydreaming, I'd suggest you take some pics of this room. Might help with the profile."
Tim blinked and readied his camera.
On the nightstand, there was a small frame with a picture of a smiling young man in naval uniform having his arms wrapped around Lorraine's shoulders.
"She sure has the hots for this guy," McGee observed, indicating the picture with his head.
He focussed the camera and snapped a shot. The flash brought on an unexpected reaction.
"Uhhh…" McGee grunted and stumbled backwards, right into Gibbs who swiftly stabilized him by grabbing a firm hold of his left arm which still held the camera.
"Steady, McGee!"
"S..s..sorry, b-bbosss…"
"What's wrong wi' ya?"
"Dunno… Am feeling a little odd…Heat…Head…Dunno…"
Tim grimaced in annoyance at his clumsiness, but then a sharp stab penetrated his brain. It hit him utterly by surprise and he took a faltering step away from Gibbs who'd let go of his elbow.
"B-bboss… Must go." He frantically pushed the camera in Gibbs' outstretched hands and lurched to the door, somehow made it downstairs and out the front door, to the other side of the sedan where he finally sank down in the shade.
His head was pounding. His breathing was erratic and his heart hammering. He leaned against the car and closed his eyes. He saw nothing but stars anyway. When he ran a trembling hand across his clammy face, he couldn't but wonder how many times he had done that already on this day?
When he'd settled down somewhat, he swallowed, got up and opened the car door to get inside.
He found his swoop cap and, leaning back in his seat, covered his eyes with it. It helped…some.
It was hard to believe he was suffering from a heat stroke. What else could it be? This had never happened to him before. What a whacking headache!
Aaarggghhh! This was driving him totally and utterly nuts. Thud-thud-thud…Relentless, unabaiting, pulsating, throbbing… All in his head. It felt like it was going to explode any second now.
He felt the nausea coming back and quickly made it out of the car, his swoop cap falling to the ground as he staggered to the bushes on the opposite side of the road where he promptly threw up. Mostly bile, for his stomach held nothing.
"McGee!"
He looked blearily up when he heard his name.
"McGee! Tim! Where are you? Answer me!"
McGee gulped and called out weakly. "Here, boss!"
He got upright and started to walk slowly back to the car, where Gibbs held the door open, ready to lend him a hand if needed.
After he got in, Gibbs gave him one more look while fastening Tim's seatbelt and after having closed the door, he walked around the car to get into the driver's seat for the ride back to DC which couldn't be fast enough.
Ducky was humming to himself when he entered the dark autopsy room after his lunch break.
One can well imagine his shock when, after having switched on the lights, he was greeted by the sight of the prostrate form of Timothy McGee on one of his tables.
McGee's arm shot up and came to rest over his face when the harsh light hit his eyes like pins and needles. He moved his legs till they dangled over the side of the table and sat up with a groan.
"My dear, dear boy! What brings you to my domain?"
"Gibbs told me to…to see you."
"Did he now?" Ducky asked absentmindedly as he went into his office to fetch his medical bag.
"Yeah, he did indeed, and in no uncertain terms." Tim thought morosely, examining the pristine autopsy floor.
"So I waited in here. It's cool, dark, quiet…" He sighed.
He looked up as Ducky suddenly emerged in his peripheral vision – quite close, in fact – and peered into his eyes. The medical examiner took in Tim's general state. Not good.
"What happened to you, Timothy?" The doctor asked while he deftly placed the cuff of the sphygmomanometer on Tim's left arm.
"I don't feel too good, Ducky."
"Mmm…I couldn't fail to come to that same observation, young man." Ducky declared while taking off the cuff. "Your blood pressure is a little elevated. I already noticed your sensitivity to light."
Tim groaned in response and chose to lie down again on the cold table. It didn't go unnoticed by Ducky.
"How long have you been suffering from that headache, Timothy?"
"It came to a full blast when we were interviewing the Darings, the missing girl's parents. Was feeling a little sick already. Hot, squeamish, dizzy… you know. I'm knackered and I can't concentrate. But the debilitating pain in my head…that happened when I started taking pictures. The flash…hit me…wham!" And he demonstrated that last bit by raising his fist and bringing it just short of his pulsating temple.
"So you would safely say your pain is severe. Good, good. Did you suffer from tunnel vision?"
"No-no-no, not good!" Tim thought.
"Yeah. Noticed that little detail when I could no longer read my own notes."
Ducky nodded.
"Say Ducky, can't you just give me something against this infernal pain?" Tim pleaded.
"Oh, yes, yes, of course my dear boy. You just try to take a rest while I get you something."
Ducky returned shortly with a glass of water and a pill.
"Here, Timothy: take this. It will effectively relieve the pain. Meanwhile we can continue our examination."
Tim was asked a myriad of questions to which he only needed to answer by a simple 'yes' or 'no', until Ducky was quite dismayed to hear Tim had nearly starved himself and worn himself to complete exhaustion during that last case.
Yes, it was common knowledge that Jethro drove the boy hard. Much harder that the rest of the team. The motive behind this was anybody's guess.
"Oh, Timothy! You really should take better care of yourself!"
"Uh?" Green eyes looked questioningly into the doctor's.
"I take it you never suffered from migraine before?"
"What?" Disbelief. "No way: that's for girls…women… I mean, men don't have migraines!" He laughed and winced.
"Wrong, young man. And you would do well to remember this, for it may not be the last time, either, if you don't have a care in the future."
Tim stared at the ceiling at Ducky's stern tone.
At that moment, Gibbs chose to enter the autopsy room to check on his agent.
"Well, Duck? Verdict?"
"I've checked his vital signs and after questioning Timothy, I have come to the following diagnosis: a rather severe form of migraine. Plain and simple! And I advise you to treat your people better than you do." Ducky said crossly, wagging his index finger at Gibbs.
"Hey! I just came down to give him a ride to Silver Spring. I'm giving him the rest of the day off. I've got Ziva and Tony working on all the material we have."
"Rest of the day? Are you serious? Have you perhaps not noticed the hour, Jethro? Rest of the day..."
"I…"
"No, Jethro. You will take Timothy home, alright. But not just yet. For now, he will rest here until he feels he can stand upright without toppling over or soiling my clean floor. Only then - no sooner - will you take him with you. And see to it that he's fed for God's sake! I will give you some Maxalt for him to take before he goes to bed – and tomorrow morning – if needs be."
Tim, embarrassed beyond measure at witnessing the dressing-down Ducky was giving his boss, tried to sit up again. He didn't get very far.
"You, young man, will remain in this horizontal position until I give you leave to get off that table."
"But…" Tim sheepishly started.
"Don't you 'but' me, Timothy. Don't budge and that's final."
Ducky stepped away to return with a blanket for Tim to lie on. It was an improvement to the naked, steel autopsy table. An ice-pack, wrapped in a towel, was then placed on Tim's brow. Tim wondered idly when Ducky would put a thermometer in his mouth and tuck him in - like his mom used to do when he had the measles.
Satisfied, the doctor turned to Jethro: "In my office." Gibbs meekly followed. You just didn't argue with an angry Ducky.
The lights went out as soon as both men entered the medical examiner's sanctum sanctorum and Tim welcomed the darkness. Moreover, he was pleased to notice the drugs were taking effect: the intense pain was now waning to a dull one. The cold-pack was kind of numbing. His nausea had lessened, too.
Well, since he was left all alone now, there was nothing else left to do but try to relax, release all thought, sleep…