Chapter 15

When Ziva walked into McGee's section of the ward, she felt a little apprehensive. In what condition would she find him? After that last setback, nobody was too certain of which way it would turn out for him. Would he fully recover without any more complications? Would it be a long and hard recovery? He could still die.

She walked up to his bed and took a good look at him. She didn't know what to make of what she saw: Tim still looked awful, and if it weren't for the contracting and relaxing diaphragm and the noisy machines, he'd look more like one of Ducky's very inactive and silent 'patients'.

The head of his bed was elevated to an angle of about 30° so she could just sit back and keep a weather-eye for any little change his face might give away: be it pain, confusion, slowly coming to awareness,...anything that indicated his return to the living world and out of limbo in which he currently found himself.

Her gaze shifted from the still form in the bed to the beeping monitors and she couldn't help thinking of that Chris Rea song...

"I can hear your heartbeat..." she whispered, not daring to voice her feelings for her friend and co-worker too loudly...too obviously...

With a quick glance at the large window behind her to make sure nobody witnessed her show of affection, she stooped over him and planted a soft kiss on his fevered brow before seating herself at the head of his bed.

Not knowing what else to say, she listened to the sounds coming from the equipment, both monitoring and life supporting systems – mechanical voices giving some sign of how he was doing when his own remained silent...hopefully not for too long...hopefully not for...

She gulped at this sudden thought which held such a terminal quality. She shook her head. No, this couldn't happen. Not to McGee. How would she cope without him? How long before the others noticed how both had grown that close, been seeing each other, sleeping together, just one step short of moving in with the other.

They'd both been a little apprehensive of Gibbs' reaction once he'd find out, and they also knew it was only a matter of time before he put two and two together.

And even if he did? So what? It wasn't like he could do anything to stop them if they pursued their affair. In any case, they wouldn't be the first nor the last agents that got hitched with one another.

Ziva sighed and leaned over to brush at a stray lock of hair which lay over his closed eyes, and settled back in her chair, resuming listening to the sounds in the room.

There was the annoyingly rhythmic "click and whirrrrrr" and the up and down motion of the bellows which served as a mechanical substitute for his lungs, assisting them in their task of transporting the oxygen to keep his vital organs functioning.

Like the tides, his chest was rising and falling in synchronicity with the ventilator pressing and sucking air through that tube taped to his mouth.

Seeing this piece of equipment had her heart race within her chest and she looked forward to this moment when the mechanical ventilation would be discontinued and his lungs had fully taken over the automatic task they had been assigned to do since his birth; since his first cry and when he sucked in his first breath of air.

Then there were the beeps coming from the heart monitor, poor substitutes for the beats of his heart, mere echoes of the living organ in his chest and she'd rather feel that big heart of his beneath her hand...no...better yet...her ear as she'd rest her head on his chest, listening to the strong, steady beats. Those beeps that kept an incessant tattoo were cold and devoid of real, vibrant life.

She saw, rather than heard, the drips from the IV line inserted in the back of his hand. She tentatively reached out and ever so carefully touched the line where it penetrated the skin.

There had been a coming and going of nurses; sticking and poking him. It felt so unreal. Like the two of them had been caught in the middle of a time-lapse movie. Two unmoving people amidst bustling activity - as if the 'outside world' was going at double speed.

Ziva sighed and settled back in the chair and let her hand rest on his.

A little nap wouldn't harm, would it?

It felt like she'd barely let her eyes fall shut when she was jolted back to wakefulness as Dr. Cochrane and a nurse stepped closer. Ziva jerked her hand back. The movement brought a knowing smile on the doctor's face. Ah love...

She made to stand up, but Dr. Cochrane motioned she was not in the way and could just stay as she was. At least for the moment.

He took a quick reading of the graphics providing visual feedback of Tim's vital signs, particularly his breathing, and then turned his attention to his patient.

"He's as ready as he can get for spontaneous ventilation," he explained over his shoulder to Ziva what they were at. "We'll soon be able to take him off the mechanical ventilation."

Ziva looked on in fascination.

"Will you be doing this when he's...he is...still unconscious?"

"No. When a ventilator provides mechanical breaths, the patient would experience this as rather uncomfortable and distressing...well, a conscious patient, that is. That's why we have kept him under sedation, but he should be waking up soon."

He nodded towards the diagram from which he'd assessed the weaning parameters. "Despite the weakened alveoli, the sensors have shown Timothy has been able to initiate breaths during the cycle time the ventilator waits for a spontaneous respiration."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" Ziva asked tentatively.

He turned to her, arms crossed as he patiently explained.

"It is. Whenever Timothy would fail to initiate a breath during a preset time, the machine would deliver a mechanical one at the end of each breath cycle. Now, this mode also enables the weaning off the mechanical support and as Timothy takes more successive spontaneous breaths, the rate, which requires him to take additional breaths beyond the triggered breaths, will automatically be turned down."

Well, Ziva got the gist of what Dr. Cochrane said this machine could do and she trusted his expertise. Right now, this was the most positive development she could've hoped for and she looked forward to see her...friend...no longer dependent on that machine.

"Right. I'll get what we need. You can stay until we're be back to start the extubation. Then, you'll be asked to please leave. We'll be needing some room to work when we start the procedure."

Dr. Cochrane nodded and left.

Ziva relaxed back in her seat and closed her eyes but not for long as she heard soft footsteps nearing the bed, and the scraping of another chair.

"Hi, Ziva." Tony whispered and nodded towards Tim. "How's he doing? Any change?"

"He should be waking up soon, I hope. Then, they'll get him off the ventilator."

"Wow, that's good news!" Tony bent over Tim and softly spoke, adding some levity to his words hiding his anxiety. "You hear that, Probie? Time for wakey-wakey, McSleeping Beauty! Don't expect me to kiss you, though."

There was no reaction. Not that Tony had expected any.

He sighed, and sat down.

"They let you in?"

"Yep! No problemo. Didn't you just say he's going to wake up? Must be that."

"Could be."

Silence.

Then.

"We could sing him a song. Or prod him a bit. He's a bit slow, isn't he?"

Tony was fidgeting at the prolonged lack of reaction. Ziva rolled her eyes and chose to not reply. Tony could be such a child sometimes.

"C'mon, Probie. Don't keep us waiting or I'll slap you."

Suddenly, Ziva sat up in her chair, intently looking at Tim.

Yes, there. She saw it again. His eyes had been moving for some time under the lids, she'd seen, but now, there was the slightest shifting under the blanket and his fingers twitched.

Tony had noticed the subtle changes, too.

Ziva took a hold of Tim's hand and leaned in towards him.

His eyes fluttered open. They could see his effort at focusing by all his blinking. A small groan escaped him as he tried to turn his head towards their voices.

Ziva could feel his fingers tighten in hers. His other hand clutched at the sheets.

As consciousness took a firmer grip on him, they noticed the confusion setting in and he started to whimper.

Where was he? Why was everything so fuzzy? Why were their voices muffled? What were those other noises? Faces. Whose? Oh yes. Of course. He wanted to laugh but felt more like crying as awareness began to gain more ground. He felt awful. A tube was coming out of his mouth. Now that explained why he was encountering some resistance in breathing. He wanted to get rid of that thing, but how could he do that? Tim began to roll his head from side to side and when his eyes met Ziva's, she could see the mounting panic in them.

Squeezing the call button with one hand, her other took a firmer hold of his hand and squeezed it in support.

"It is okay, McGee. The doctor will be here soon. Just try to relax. You will be okay, Tim. Shhhh..."

She stroked his hair.

He tried to say something. However, talking through a tube proved to be quite the impossible thing to do and the whimpering sounds leaving his lips made no sense at all.

"Sshhh... Stop trying, Tim. Just relax. Shhh..."

She would've loved to wrap him in her arms to soothe him. He looked so young. Vulnerable.

Tim was now becoming increasingly restless. Both Tony and Ziva observed how his BP kept rising and the beeping of the heart monitor told its own story.

Shortly, Dr. Cochrane with a therapist and a nurse in his wake strode into the room.

Ziva and Tony discreetly left to stand outside the room, staring through the window at the extubation procedure.

Ziva involuntarily held her breath as Tim was being prepared, the doctor speaking to him, no doubt explaining what they were about to do, thus succeeding in calming Tim who had started to fight the ventilator.

The head of his bed was raised a little higher so that the upper half of his body was about 70-80 degrees in relation to being horizontal.

The nurse removed the tube fixation and suctioned her patient. In the meantime, he was being hyperventilated with 100% O2.

A catheter was then inserted into the endotracheal tube.

Dr. Cochrane instructed Tim to breathe slowly and deeply before the cuff was deflated. Another deep breath, a cough, and the tube was efficiently removed, after which they rapidly placed an oxygen mask over his face through which he spontaneously took quick breaths.

Timothy McGee, now exhausted beyond measure from the stress after this latest treatment, felt himself drift off into blissful oblivion again.

- -.-. -. . .

The next day, Ziva didn't stay a second longer at NCIS than needed and, as soon as the clock on the wall displayed 6pm and the end of a workday, she packed her things and made her way to Bethesda and McGee.

At the nurses' station, she was informed she'd just missed Agent McGee being shifted to a regular room.

As she entered his room, she automatically gave a little smile at seeing him lying there, his face finally relaxed in normal sleep, instead of the medicinal induced unconsciousness he'd been in the prior to the weaning off the ventilation. She took in his pink cheeks and the sunken eyes, a sheen of perspiration covering his brow. Better, but not yet there.

She watched him as he slowly woke up from his nap and she was pleased to note his green eyes were clear...and smiling.

There was a tentative knock on the door which opened to reveal Tony.

"I'm just in time, I see." Tony offered his best McLean's grin.

"Hey Zee...Tony..." Tim's voice, though, was croaky, and he cleared his throat, wincing.

Ziva placed a chip of ice on his tongue which he gratefully let melt to soothe his still hurting throat.

"Thanks."

"How you doin' McIcelolly? Done shiverin' yer timbers?"

"I...It's not...that cool, Tony."

Tony nodded. Okay. Time to sober up. He'd have to give Probie a break. He, Anthony Big Dee Big En Little ozzo, had nearly lost his bro.

"Gee, Tim! You were blood-freezing cold out there!" Tony said sotto voce and just a little trembly.

"We nearly lost you." Ziva added in a tiny voice.

McGee didn't quite know what to reply to that.

After a while. "Ho...how...is Gggibbs?" Aw man. Now the stutter was back, too.

"He's doing okay, Tim. He's doing okay. I just don't think he'll join us in a snow ball fight. Not this year, anyways."

The three just decided to sit in companionable silence until Tim, relishing the comfort of friends, had become drowsy and felt himself pulled under again.