Chapter 4

The first sound that Tim noticed, as awareness returned, was whispering.

He felt both lazy and reluctant to open his eyes, so he just lay still, savoring the moment of peace and relaxation. He took stock of what had happened, how he felt, how he came to be here, in his own bed, when the last recollection he had, was being at NCIS...

Nah, he wouldn't bother. For once, he didn't care. All he knew, was that he was considerably better than he had felt the past week... No, make that 'weeks'. Although, 'better' was relative. He still felt like he could sleep for weeks. It was just that he was free of those whacking headaches and, as long as he maintained this horizontal position, he was in no immediate danger of feeling too dizzy and nauseous.

He really hated to admit it (and he blushed at the thought) but he didn't mind at all not being on the case, right now. Tim was glad to be off this case and actually rest.

Yesterday was different. Guilt had still tugged at his conscience and he had so wanted to help, to do his job. He couldn't help it. But now? No, it wasn't worth it. He would be absolutely useless anyway, as he found it extremely hard to concentrate.

A small sigh left his lips and he felt himself drift away again.

The whispering stopped...

and resumed.

"He awake, Ducky?"

The ME stood up from the chair and leaned over the recumbent agent.

"Timothy?"

No response. Ducky frowned and lifted one eye-lid and then the other. Oh yes, the lad was pretty much out again. Next, he checked Tim's vitals. He felt too hot for Ducky's liking. So he was still running a low grade fever, but nevertheless, it needed checking. He'd already taken some blood and had sent it to the lab at Bethesda. When it came back, it showed nothing spectacular except that his Hgb was a bit on the low side.
More alarming were the high tension, and his heart and respiratory functions still left to be desired.

To Ducky, it was more a case of stress, combined with longterm exhaustion, and a minor viral infection. And he could bet on it that Timothy had skipped meals as he was wont to do when overloaded with work. Ziva had even mentioned Tim had spaced out once or twice and how she had been irritated by his incessant bouncing his leg. The young man could be so careless when it concerned his health.

Ducky put his equipment away again and walked out of the bedroom, followed by Gibbs who seemed to be sporting one big questionmark on his face, and closed the door behind him.

"Well, Duck?"

Ducky stepped behind the kitchen counter and prepared himself some tea, while Gibbs took the cups from the cupboard and poured coffee from the perculator in his mug.

The doctor was thoughtful as he replied.

"He's fine, Jethro. Sleeping like a baby, and he still needs it after the rough weeks he's been subjected to." Ducky admonished his friend.

Gibbs sighed and sank down in the desk chair, his gaze travelling over Tim's things that littered the desk, and finally coming to rest on the covered Remington that had been idle for too long. The kid should pick it up again. There was no question about it: McGee, aka Thom E. Gemcity, was a talented author.

He lifted his face and stared out of the window as he thought about the 'why' it was that McGee had abandoned writing. Tsjah, he hadn't really given the young agent much respite to spend some time on his hobbies. There were other things in life besides one's job.

Ducky looked at his friend.

"You really drove him to utter exhaustion. You do realize that, don't you, Jethro? Only...I'm in the dark as to the reason behind your behavior. I honestly don't get it where the lad deserved this."

Gibbs winced and turned away from the window to face his long-time friend.

Ducky's heart mellowed at the sight of his friend's inner turmoil. The guilt lay naked on the other man's face. This time, Gibbs would do nothing to hide it. Here he stood, guilty of taking advantage of a young agent's ridiculous debt to him.

"You're enjoying having a valet," Abby had told him as Tim – worn to the bone Tim – had left her lab to fetch him coffee. He had asked for some, and his agent had obliged – no questions, no dawdling, just doing what was required...getting his boss his much craved for coffee.

Now, those words, seemingly spoken in jest, came back to mind and they held an accusatory note. One that held too much truth for his own comfort as he was now staying at McGee's place, making sure the young man wouldn't dash to NCIS again in the state he was in. Ducky had given him house arrest and Gibbs would enforce this – make it a another of his rules, if that's what it took to keep his agents in bed when they were as sick as McGee was now.

A valet, indeed!

He snorted and took another sip of his coffee. He relished the aroma of fresh coffee, the feel of the hot liquid passing his esophagyus, continuing its way down to his stomach.

Ducky was right – and so was Abby: he did enjoy having Tim run to his beck and call, like his servant, even if, sometimes, he couldn't shake this picture of McGee acting more like a faithful dog. No, the huge, melancholy eyes weren't helping, either.
He knew Tim wouldn't dare to complain and would do anything to please his boss. So he'd taken McGee anywhere he went and at any time, be it day-time or night-time.

Everybody knew that McGee could never keep up with his way of living. It was painfully obvious, too, how the young man was withering away.
Lately, before things had started to run out of hand, Tim was often caught nodding or napping with sheer exhaustion and he, Gibbs, was responsible for this deplorable state.

It was fine for as long as he was still wearing the mitella for his dislocated shoulder. But now? No, there really was no need and he could easily call Tony or Ziva for emergencies. So why was it, that he kept McGee close at hand during investigations or virtually press-ganged him into working late while the others had long left for home?
Was it really simply because he could get away with it? Because he knew that this man was so inate conscientious about everything he did that questioning his boss's motives would never even enter his mind?

Ducky, seeing how the younger man was lost in thought, had sauntered to the well stocked bookshelves that served as a wall dividing the room into two.

Checking the titles, he found them somewhat lacking in variety: computers, mathematics, philosophy, more computers... Did the boy never relax with a good read?

"All very interesting and entertaining for a computer geek like young Timothy, maybe, but..." Ducky checked in surprise. Oh dear, what was he just thinking?

"Well, well, well! What do we have here...'Digital Fortress' by Dan Brown. Mmm..." Ducky took the book and read the backcover.

Trust young Timothy to read a novel about...encryption. How fascinating. Nevertheless, why not give it a try. He settled with the book in the armchair by the window.

-

It was getting dark outside and the streetlights went on. The two men had finished dinner and were in the act of washing the dishes – no point leaving it all for Tim to do - when they were startled from their companionable chatter by the sound of moans which grew in strength to a full-blown scream which ended abruptly. At the same time a thud was heard from the adjacent bedroom.

They rushed from behind the kitchen counter and burst through the bedroom door, letting the light from the livingroom illuminate the scene. Their eyes went first to the bed, and, finding it empty, to the left side where Tim was slowly picking himself up from the floor, a look of confusion on his pale face.

They ran to him and helped him sit down on the bed. Ducky sat beside him, while Gibbs kneeled in front of his man and cupped Tim's face in his hands, closely watching him for signs of distress.

"I...I..kept falling...fell out of my bed. Is all. Nightmare... you know, afraid..." He mumbled, his body still shaking.

"I know, Tim. Heights. You don't like heights."

Tim closed his eyes and carefully shook his head in response.

"How are you feeling, lad?" Ducky asked, as Tim lay back down, pulling the blankets over him and resting his left arm over his forehead.

"Not too bad. Headache's gone. Just tired... Oh, and trying to catch my breath back." He took a couple of deep breaths.

"Look, Timothy. I think you should try and eat something. If you feel up to it, of course. No use forcing it into you if you'll only bring it up again."

Tim opened one eye and then the other, humor finding its way back to them, and he grinned. Actually grinned!

Both Ducky and Gibbs smiled with relief.

Gibbs got up and made for the kitchen to get the ingredients for a light meal.

Ducky rose to his feet, too, and watched his patient run both hands over his face before pushing himself to a sitting position, bare legs over the side of his bed, waiting, no doubt, till the initial wave of dizziness passed before venturing up on his feet.

Eventually, Tim stood next to his bed, still leaning his legs against it till he found his balance, and started to walk towards the door a little unsteadily.

"Woa-how..." He muttered and threw out his arm to the doorjamb. Ducky quickly steadied him, supporting him by his elbow. "Bit wobbly, Duck..."

"Give it time, Timothy, just take it easy. "

McGee smiled and gently extracted his arm from Ducky's grip as he padded slowly towards the kitchen and sat down on a stool in the small space.

The two older men just remained standing, looking down on him as he accepted the offered yoghurt mixed with fruit and took a spoonful of the stuff.

Feeling the eyes of his boss and the ME fixed on him, he gazed up, his face one big question, wondering if he had all of a sudden grown a pair of antennas like some insect.

"What?"

Gibbs stared at him for another 30 seconds, until Tim grew increasingly uncomfortable, and then walked to the door where he turned on his heels to face his agent again.

"McGee?"

Tim swallowed and cleared his throat, for the first time feeling slightly embarrassed as it registered that both men had brought him home, put him to bed and nursed him.

"I'm good, boss."

Gibbs looked beyond Tim, where Ducky stood waiting, and then back at Tim, who rolled his eyes, knowing full well what silent message was passed between the two.

"Really." He insisted with as much aplomb as he could muster.

But Gibbs still stood there like rooted, hand on the doorknob, fixing Tim with that 'if you dare lie to me' look.

"I promise I will eat, sleep, and stay here until Ducky thinks me well enough to go back to work."

"That means: no playing on that computer of yours, neither. Got that?"

"Jeez," McGee thought irritably, "you'd think he's my dad!"

"No, sir... I mean, boss." Tim grumbled.

At last convinced that his agent would use the brains he was born with and do as he promised, Gibbs walked out the door, knowing Tim would be in good hands.