A/N: You guys are amazing! Thank you all so much!
"Agent Gibbs. I think you should come down here."
Glancing at Ducky and Tony, in turn as he closes his phone after a short, quiet 'Be right there.", Gibbs moves to leave. "I'll be back."
"Jethro, is everything alright?"
"Boss?" Tony seconds the question as worry begins to fill his gut.
"I'll let you know." Gibbs vows as he takes his leave – not even sparing a thought as to what the three of them will possibly talk out while he was gone. He's not even sure what he's being asked to come deal with; but his gut feeling is beginning to whirl– which means it's not good. Then again, it could be just about anything involving a fresh case, too. Never assume – the rule that fits this perfectly – somehow skirts the outer limits of his reach right now – as scenario after scenario dances through his mind in a never ending display of possibilities.
Suddenly, he's hitting a speed dial number on his phone, issuing a request that has to be made.
*****NCIS*****
Ducky snaps his phone shut and gets to his feet. "Come, Anthony. We are needed elsewhere."
"Wait. What's wrong? That was Gibbs right? And he just got called for something and now he's calling you so something's happened! Is it Timmy? Is it Ziva? Did they get hurt?" Abby's on her feet and wringing her hands in agitation. "I can't lose anyone in my family! I just can't!"
Realizing she's not only just jumped to the worst conclusion possible, but also allowing hersoef to go there because she has no facts to think otherwise with, Ducky's quick to intervene. "Abigail! Do calm yourself, won't you? No one is hurt enough for you to be worried. Now, while we are gone, why don't you sit and relax. Take this time to think on things for a while. The peace and quiet might do you some good. We shall return."
Tony stands by and watches with a frown. He's still having trouble figuring out where her head's at but one thing hasn't changed with her and that is how much she gets upset at the thought of one of them being hurt. She really does love them as her family – even if she can't figure out where her role fits in sometimes or how much over the top the 'mean ex-girlfriend cum older sister' she plays things. Hopefully, now, she'll do as Ducky's suggesting and think on what's been said to her tonight.
Heading out on the older man's heels, the Senior Field Agent realizes he just left Abby without saying a word to her and as her friend, that's not something he usually does. Then again, she'd seemed to already be internally stewing on things once Ducky had encouraged the idea, so he'd been unwilling to break into that. Turning his focus on the here and now he watches worriedly as the M.E. retrieves his medical bag from his Morgan before heading to Tony's car.
Still silent as they drive away, Tony waits for Ducky to fill him in. Somehow, he knows in his gut that they're needed at the Navy yard and so he's driving in that direction almost on autopilot. He also knows in his gut that it's Tim they're going to help with. Since he'd left the guy asleep on his couch almost three hours ago; this alarms him – now that it's hit him. Forcing himself to stay calm, he glances over at the unusually quiet passenger. "What's going on?"
"Jethro called and asked that you and I meet him in the employee gym at the office." Ducky replies with an almost eerie sense of calm.
Tony exhales deeply. "It's Tim. Right?'
*****NCIS*****
When Gibbs reaches the Navy Yard, the guards at the gate greet him as if they'd been expecting him. Obviously, it's nothing of National Security or they would have told him about it and the place would be on lock-down. With a tired sigh, he parks in the NCIS lot and heads inside to sign in. Luckily, the security guards on duty there know him just as well as Henry does on 1st shift and things go smoothly and without any time wasted. Remembering that the call came from Harold over in the Employee Gym – he heads there – feeling very confused if not irritated at the idea of not knowing what he's walking into.
"Harold." The Team Leader quietly greets the man leaning against the door, just inside.
"Agent Gibbs." The gym manager replies with the utmost respect for the man he thinks most highly of. "I know he's not on your team anymore – but I know he's still yours. That's why I called you and not Vance."
Unable to look away from the sight in front of him, Gibbs' eyes lock on his younger surrogate son beating the hell out of the punching bag over at the side of the boxing ring. "How long's he been at it?"
"An hour? Two? Wasn't looking at the clock when he came in. Hasn't let up for a second the whole time he's been at it, though. Kids these days – they think they're invincible, even when they're not exactly kids anymore."
"Appreciate the call." Gibbs offers quietly as he turns his attention more completely on his youngest surrogate son.
"No problem. I know he'll always be one of yours." After a beat: "No matter where he goes."
Gibbs nods in silent appreciation for the sentiment and the respect that's being given with it as the older man walks away. At that point it hits him; he's alone with an obviously very angry son.
*****NCIS*****
Left alone with tons to think about, Abby is soon so befuddled with it all, that she can no longer think straight. Tiredly, she lays her head back, a deep sigh escaping from her lips as she wraps her arms around herself in hopes of feeling slightly comforted. It doesn't work though and soon enough, she's bundling up under the spare blanket Gibbs keeps on the back of the recliner and burrowing down on the couch. Maybe she can think about this more clearly when she's not so tired. Closing her eyes, her last conscious thought is to hope that whatever's going on with the men, they'll be back to tell her soon and that everything will be alright – for all of them.
*****NCIS*****
Ducky looks mildly surprised but quickly softens his expression as he answers Tony's concerned question. "Yes, I'm afraid it is."
"Well? What's going on? Is he hurt? What the hell's he doing there, anyway? I left him asleep on his couch!" By now, the Senior Field Agent is working on a full out anger that Tim would do anything that would warrant a visit from Ducky that has to include the man's medical bag. Tony's questions are accompanied by a heavier foot on the gas pedal, causing the M.E. to grab hold of the door handle with great haste.
"Anthony! Honestly! Kindly slow down! It is certainly nothing as serious as this kind of driving requires! In fact, it is nothing too serious at all; simply Jethro thinking ahead. Since he was called because the young lad has been attempting to beat the punching bag into submission for almost an hour now, he thought perhaps I would need to look Timothy over when he was finished – and that you would be needed in case the lad needs to talk since you are the one he has allowed in recently."
*****NCIS*****
Watching Tim continue to attempt to beat the bag to a pulp, Gibbs sighs with frustration. On the one hand, he's glad he thought to make that phone call on the way over here; but on the other hand, he wishes like hell, he hadn't had to. But now that he's here, he realizes it was the right call to make, even if it saddens him greatly that this isn't something he alone can fix – or even help fix at all.
Were this Tony in front of him doing this, it would be a different story. That realization in itself punches deep enough and painfully enough that it dawns on him. That is why Tim has never come to him with anything – because he has felt this difference for years now. What was it he'd said?
"… repeatedly treated like a second class citizen among those considered royal on the same team?"
"Your favorites - yeah, that's another battle…."
Mentally tossing the thoughts aside for the time being, Gibbs shakes his head in disbelief. He wants to put a stop to this method of Tim's getting out his frustration; needs to put a stop to it because Tim's not doing it in a way that's healthy for him. With that reminder of the problem at hand, Gibbs walks over to the bench nearest to Tim and picks up what Tim's left laying there, feeling the beginning of a wave of paternal anger well up within him. With determined steps, he stalks over to the bag and steps in front of it – trusting that Tim will be able to register his presence before he lands the next punch; sending the bag straight at the older man who's not really in the mood to get hit by that much dead weight. It's a chance he's willing to take though, so he stands his ground as he waits to see how this will play out.
*****NCIS*****
"Oh." Tony breathes a sigh of relief as he obliges the older man and eases his foot from the gas pedal enough that they're no longer feeling the effects of his attempt to defy gravity. "Sorry Ducky." He's still channeling Gibbs, however because his gut's still twisted up about this as it hits him; Gibbs wouldn't have called Ducky if it weren't more serious than Tim wearing himself out punching the bag for a long time. That just doesn't fit. "So, then what's the real problem? What did Gibbs actually say when he called?"
Now it's Ducky who sighs aloud now that he realizes there's little hope of the younger man calming down about this until he has more information about it. "It seems that Timothy, while choosing this method of venting his obviously boiling-over emotions, forgot one very important safe-guard."
******NCIS*******
Pulled up short by the completely unexpected appearance of the silver haired man, Tim freezes, his breathing heavy and uneven, harsh and almost worrisome, while his hand that had been prepared to land the punch, falls heavily to his side now. With the most impressive 'deer in the headlights' expression that Gibbs has ever seen, Tim's mouth drops open in surprise just long enough that it's noticeable.
Shocked into silence, Tim closes his eyes against the feeling that the rug's just been pulled out from under him again Looking away with more than just physical discomfort, the younger man forces his manners to the forefront just enough to answer the man back, albeit quietly and with a trace of reluctance in his tone that he's not able to hide. "Gibbs."
He has no idea why the man's here or what to say to him. He hasn't seen him or spoken to him since he dropped that bombshell off in the form of those typewritten pages at the man's house - was it just this morning? Wow, it's been a really long day!
"Hey." Gibbs quietly greets him without any hint of anger or censure. He lets go of the bag and turns so that he's closer to Tim as they speak. Deciding to just let things happen however they may, Gibbs doesn't react to Tim's obvious discomfort; but merely reaches out and lifts one of the obviously worn out man's hands to scrutinize the damage. Oh, yeah. Definitely glad he made that call earlier. He knows he doesn't have long before they won't be alone here any longer so he's quick to ask what he really wants to know, even while mentally wishing the others would get here soon.
"There a reason you didn't put the gloves on, Tim?"
******NCIS*******
Tony's grateful that the boss doesn't live far from the yard because they're already pulling up to the main gate; which is fine with him. He's anxious now to take his little brother to task for being less than smart about this- this being the answer he's come up as to why Gibbs would have been called for this. He can't think of any other reason someone throwing punches at the bag would need medical help. "Crap!" Tony mutters as he parks the car next to Gibbs' in the lot.
*****NCIS*****
The parental tone unexpectedly soothes Tim's struggling inner self; giving him the sense of security he needs to look the man in the eye – even if it's just for a brief second. It's not enough, however, to help Tim come up with an answer to the question because – at the moment, he has none.
With everything so twisted and uncertain between Tim and himself, Gibbs is reluctant to administer the younger man the head slap he's earned. But that doesn't mean his hand isn't literally twitching from the urge do to deliver him one. He's still waiting for Tim's answer and it comes as a surprise when he doesn't get it.
What he does get is the sight of Tim looking his hands over as a frown takes up residence on his face. Suddenly, the younger man is backing up so he can sit down on the nearest bench. It's obvious that he's beginning to feel the exhaustion he's worked himself into, Disbelief is strewn across his face as well, as if he hadn't fully realized the damage he was doing to himself as he allowed himself the physically aggressive outlet without any safety measures; until now.
With his tone still calm and parental, Gibbs tries to get Tim to open up even though he's not sure the younger man is ready or willing to let him in. "Wanna tell me what brought this on?"
Immediately, Tim is minutely shaking his head, not willing to insult the man any more than he's willing to open up to him. Too much of what's going here is sitting under this man's responsibility and Tim's not ready for that conversation – even if he has already said as much on paper. After all, reading it is one thing, but hearing it straight from the horse's mouth is completely different.
***NCIS****
Finally reaching the gym and getting within sight distance of the other two members of his family, Tony instantly finds something to grin about, much to Ducky's dismay.
"I fail to see what there is to find humor about in this situation, Anthony." The reproach in the older man's tone is unmistakable.
"You don't see the boss' twitching hand, Ducky?" Tony chuckles, albeit much quieter than usual. "I'm guessing the only reason Tim's not getting a head slap for this is because Gibbs isn't sure he'll take too kindly to it right about now."
Ducky loses the battle to keep a serious frame of mind just long enough, that a tiny grin escapes and lights his face for just a bit at Tony's ability to find such minute details in such a short span of time. They've been standing here for less than a minute, yet the Senior Field Agent has managed to find the one sliver of humor barely visible in the bigger picture that holds very little to smile about.
"Yes, well I for one, am relieved that Jethro is restraining from following through with that particular urge in this instance. I believe it would not be helpful at this time, even if Timothy has earned it." Ducky remarks as he begins to head in Tim's direction.
Following on the M.E.'s heels, Tony's shocked questions fill the air between them. "Wait, did I hear you right? Did you just admit you'd give him one right now if it were up to you, Ducky?"
*****NCIS*****
Hearing voices as they begin to sound closer to them from across the room, Gibbs lets go of Tim's hand carefully so he doesn't hurt them worse and steps back, his eyes remaining locked on those of his former agent. "Ducky's gonna take a look at ya. Let him fix you up."
The unspoken, 'please' is nearly audible and Tim silently nods as he glances, not across the room at the newcomers, but up at Gibbs' for his concern. He knows the only reason Ducky and Tony have come is because the Team Leader called them. It's a given that the only reason he would have done that is because he cares. The least Tim can do, no matter how embarrassed he is; is acknowledge that. "Thank you."
With a brief nod, Gibbs accepts Tim's gratitude before stepping out of the way for Ducky's arrival. "Thanks for comin', Duck."
"I'm glad you called, Jethro. Hello Timothy." The older man replies without hesitation.
"Hi, Ducky." Tim acknowledges the M.E. as he glances at him with a shade of embarrassment in his expression. Turning his eyes to the other new arrival, he greets his friend quietly. "Tony."
Even as he looks at Tim's hands, Tony acknowledges Tim's greeting with a hand clasped to his shoulder while he holds himself silent so that Ducky can do the talking until things have been figured out with Tim's injuries.
"I understand you may have injured your hands. May I see them please?" The M.E. requests even as he reaches for the requested appendages.
Without a fight or even an argument, Tim holds his hands out for inspection. He can't help wincing as his injuries are scrutinized; the M.E. gently turning them over and prodding them to better see the damage done. The resulting stinging and burning brought on by this initial step of first aid finally brings home to him just how badly he messed up, his hands now feeling like he scraped concrete with them. They hurt!
Ducky is the first to break the sudden silence that's fallen between the four of them. "Timothy, I am truly sorry to see how this entire sordid mess is continuing to wreak havoc on your life."
Tim smiles softly, the look in his eyes one of regret mixed with forgiveness as he looks the M.E. straight in the eye. "Ducky. It's not as bad as all that. I guess, I just never allowed myself to get it all out before. Not like this anyway."
"Think you can say that again, McFightclub." Tony throws in there with a smirk.
All of them chuckle at that most fitting jibe, Tim loudest of all. "Thanks, Tony." The moment of levity is soon gone, however, as the pain from his hands reminds him once more that he's probably going to be feeling the effects of this stunt for at least a week now.
Seeing the look on the young man's face and the exhaustion that's written all over him as well, Ducky does what he can to get things moving from this point. "I do believe that a simple antibiotic ointment followed with a layer of gauze wrapping and then a supportive ace bandage for the night should suffice as soon as we've cleaned them properly. The first step is for you to take yourself to the locker room and get showered, Timothy. The pain should be minimal enough that you should be able to manage for yourself and it will aide us in cleaning the wounds."
"Thank you, Ducky." Tim gets to his feet and heads to the locker room, his awkward and slow steps inadvertently letting them see just how worn out he really is.
"Guess forcing him to dredge up the Mexico crap wasn't such a hot idea, after all." Tony suggests with chastisement undoubtedly aimed at himself.
Before either Gibbs or Ducky can correct his thought process, the young man is trying to catch up to his friend, just in case he's needed. It's obvious he feels very badly for having opened what has to be a very painful door for his little brother. The older two men watching the younger pair head to the locker room, can't help but hope this can be talked out before it becomes worse for them.
*****NCIS******
Once inside the locker room, Tim is quick to sit on one of the benches, too tired to move any further. "Thanks for coming, Tony. Hope this isn't ruining whatever plans you have going since it is a weekend we're not working."
"Nowhere else more important, McStubborn. Besides, it's gonna be fun holdin' it over your head for the forseeable future
Tim can only look at his friend with confusion since he has no idea what he's talking about. He doesn't even have the energy to ask.
Bemused, Tony readily answers the question he sees in those tired green eyes, a Chesire Cat grin lighting his own eyes with merriment. "Just how close you came to getting the mother of all head slaps out there. Who knows, maybe Gibbs will do you like he did me – wait til you least expect it."
"Crap." Tim mutters. "Wait. If he didn't then how would you know…."
"The twitching hand." Tony replies knowingly, his face still split with the grin he hasn't lost yet. "Says it every time."
"Oh." Tim's only slightly less confused but he lets it drop for now since he's too tired to think beyond one thought at a time. The headache that's been building since about half-way through the time he was beating the bag up – makes him thoroughly glad Gibbs restrained himself on the head-slap. Not wanting to mention it, he keeps his silence as he very slowly gets to his feet and and attempts to take off his shirt. Tim can't hold in the hiss of pain that lances through him with the movement brings to his hands, especially since the pain in his head is compounding it now.
"Here, Probie. Let me help." Tony proceeds to silently help his friend lose his shirt. "Probably need help with the belt, too. Can't believe you didn't at least change into more comfortable work out clothes." He unbuckles Tim's pants before stepping back with a frown. "Pretty sure you can manage the rest."
Tim huffs an embarrassed laugh but barely manages to hide the wince of pain that brings from behind his eyeballs. "Yeah. Thanks though."
"You're welcome. I'm gonna go start the shower for ya. That way you can handle the rest from there. I'll just wait just outside the door so you can holler if you need help. Although, I'm pretty sure you can handle it."
Tim laughs softly as he deliberately holds off from unzipping his pants. "Relax, Tony. I get it. Your bedside manners don't stretch this far. It's okay. You're right. I can handle it."
"Okay. Good." Tony breathes out on a sigh of relief as the water runs hot enough that he is ready to head out. Without anything further said, he turns on his heels and heads out of the locker room, his steps large and quick.
*****NCIS*****
At the sight of Tony coming to stand guard outside the locker room, Gibbs and Ducky share a bemused grin. Gibbs knows that his usefulness at this point, is done. Tim is still uncomfortable around him and now is not the time to address the issue – any issue with him. Turning to head out, he tosses one last thing over his shoulder to the M.E. "I'll be at my desk."
"Understood, Jethro." Ducky offers as he remains ever watchful of the developing situation. Realistically, his presence is only still needed here in order to discuss proper care of his wounds with Timothy. Despite the casualness of Tony's stance, however, the M.E. can't shake the feeling that all is definitely not settled with Timothy about this
*****NCIS*****
Still chuckling Tim unzips his pants and lets them fall to the floor. Tony's right. He should have changed into some sweats and a sweat shirt instead of working out in regular clothes. Oh, well- next time, right? Carefully stepping out of his jeans, he heads into to the shower and proceeds to drop his boxers, stopping long enough to bend over and pick them up, shake the water from them and toss them across the locker room to the bench where his bag is sitting. The effects of that much moving around plays hell with the pain in his head and without realizing it, his hands reach out to steady him when the wave of dizziness assaults him. Biting his lip to keep from crying out with the pain, he forces himself to keep moving, stepping under the water. The pain that assaults him as the water hits his hands, has him catching his breath until the worst of it passes. Once his breathing has regulated again, his thoughts force him to think back over the discussion from earlier. Suddenly, he has to know something. "Tony!"
Tony's arrival back in the locker room to help his friend in need, is just as quick as his perusal of the situation. Deeming it non –emergency, he fires off an angry response to the summons.
*****NCIS*****
No sooner has that thought crossed Ducky's mind, than Timothy is yelling for his friend, the alert M.E. hurrying in their direction as well. His steps falter when he hears the lively exchange between the two agents..
"Damn, McGee! I told you I'd come for an emergency! Whatever this is – doesn't even come close!"
"Sorry. I just wanted to ask you …"
At that point, it's all Ducky can do to stay where he is, letting the doorway support him as his heart attempts to calm itself, his ears becoming an inadvertent audience to what's going on inside the space on the other side of the wall.
*****NCIS*****
Tim's remorse is clear. He didn't mean to startle the older man or let him think he was in a crisis in the shower. But something's bugging him about the discussion out at the bench. Something – about Ducky.
"Okay. Shoot." Tony calms down as he takes up a seat on a bench that's next to the shower stall but doesn't require him to look in that direction to carry on a conversation with his friend.
"Why does Ducky sound like he's blaming himself for this?"
"Because Ducky is blaming himself for this. – at least part of it. I don't know. Tim. I haven't exactly talked to him about any of it that has his hand in it."
"Oh." Tim replies quietly. After a minute he has another question. "But you think he is blaming himself?"
"Sounded that way to me." The older man agrees with the assessment Tim's already considering.
"Yeah. Me too." Tim breathes out on a sigh of regret as he winces again at the effects that scrubbing his hair clean is having on his hands. He's not skimping on the shower though, since this resulting pain he's now forced to endure from his hands is merely a temporary consequence of his own stupid tonight. He's not too sure about the headache, though. But, he'll deal with that when he gets done taking care of his hands.
"Do you?" Tony suddenly asks.
"Do I what?" Tim returns as his mind fails to comprehend the full question.
"Blame Ducky for any of what got you pissed enough to do this?"
"Oh. No. None of this has anything to do with him." Tim's response is without hesitation and sincere.
"Oh? So then you've talked things out with him? You know – with the hot tub and the dog attack? You sure laid it out there in those pages." Tony reminds him with no trace of humor.
Another sigh from Tim as he closes his eyes in frustration. The damned letter. That's right, that stuff was in there, wasn't it? Wait, does Ducky know about it? Has he read it or something? "Tony. Did you say anything to him about that?" He asks as he soaps up his body, deliberately ignoring the pain in his hands as he does so.
"Nope. Not my place." Tony replies firmly as his eyes remain fascinated at just how ugly the dark grey slate floor tile is in here and why the heck no one's ever replaced it with something nicer or at least a hell of a lot less ugly.
Tim accepts what his friend is saying at face value. As he rinses his hair out, he contemplates the deeper level that resides within that response. Tony's obviously wizened up in the last year and has obviously come to realize that a person's right to privacy is very crucial – especially in terms of trust between friends – and surrogate family members. "Thank you."
"No sweat, man. I shoulda realized that years ago." Tony throws back almost haphazardly as he stretches his back and neck before settling back down to wait Tim out – staring this time at the equally ugly wall color on the opposite wall. Man! Is there no decent color scheme in this entire building?
"You realize it now. That counts for something." Tim replies as he rinses off one last time before reaching out to turn the water off. Reaching out, he gropes for the towel he hung over the far end of the shower entryway and pulls it down to blot his face dry before squeezing the excess water from his hair and then wrapping it around his waist.
As Tim steps out of the shower, the towel firmly wrapped around him, he walks over to the bench next to the one closest to Tony and sits down as the older man answers his observation.
"Yeah? I guess I can agree with you on that one."
"So, if you didn't tell him…" Tim gets back to his main concern as he picks up the extra towel he keeps in the 'go bag' he still totes around with him; roughly drying his hair with it as he waits for Tony to answer his unfinished question.
"I have no idea. Not really my place to speculate. But, I will say that he's smart enough to have figured it out for himself. Maybe you should just talk to him about it and find out."
Tim shakes his head, again regretting the motion when pain lances through his head even more sharply than before. "Already talked to him. Way back when it first fell apart. Told him then that we were okay. And I meant it."
"Did it occur to you, McStubborn that he sees a pattern here? I know I do." Tony finally glances over at his friend, a frown firmly in place at what this conversation is bringing to light.
Tim freezes in his motions; the towel dropping to his lap as his eyes travel quickly over to Tony's. "Pattern?"
Tony sighs. "Look, Tim. Think about it for a sec, alright? You shove everything so far under that nobody even notices its there – until you can't handle the weight alone anymore – and 'bang!" It's the fourth of July in December only the explosion goes on indefinitely – and all kinds of changes start the domino rally that hasn't quit over a year later! Why the hell else would you be here beating your hands to a pulp if you weren't still – as Ducky said – dealing with the fallout of this? For the record, I'm really sorry if my pushing you to get what happened in Mexico off your chest, had anything to do with what happened here tonight. And don't try to deny it. I know it did."
"So, you're saying this is all my fault." Tim latches on to what he's concerned about and ignores Tony's point about Mexico – for the time being.
Tony's up off the bench like a rocket, his feet taking him over to his friend quicker than Tim even sees him move as the Senior Field Agent delivers the mother of all head slap that he's been itching to give for the past half hour now.
"Ow!" Tim reacts loudly as the countless tendrils of pain now triple in size and strength before ricocheting through his head while it's bouncing from the effect of the slap. He knows Tony didn't mean to hurt him and it's not his fault that this headache's been building since the middle of his ten rounds with the punching bag. It's a migraine in the making and he doesn't have long before it gets worse; much worse. Damn it, he hasn't had one in over a year and now that he's got one coming on, he's not prepared. His meds – are at home.
Unaware that Tim's in real pain, Tony tosses him an explanation. "Yeah. Well, ya had it comin', McGee. I mean seriously! No gloves for starters! And this blamin' yourself when we all treated you like crap and gave you no room to complain? Seriously?"
Tim closes his eyes as the pain continues to increase. Quietly, he answers his friend as to end the discussion he's quickly loosing the ability to keep up with. "You're right."
Sufficiently, mollified, Tony heads to the door of the locker room, too keyed up to notice anything's wrong. "See you out here when you're ready to go, McSlowpoke." Without waiting for a reply, the impatient man keeps going, almost running in to Ducky on his way out. "Hey, Ducky. He'll be out in a minute."
Not wanting to alert the observant Agents that he's heard their conversation and is heartbroken by it, Ducky quickly relays what he needs Tim to hear, knowing full well that between the two of them, they are quite capable of handling things from here without his supervision that will most likely only make things worse for the youngest , since it's obvious he is still struggling with all of this underneath it all. "Timothy. Now that your wounds have been cleaned, keep them dry and wrapped for at least 24 hours. You might find them stiff and in need of some extra exercise to get them to function properly after this – but you should have no further difficulties with your hands thereafter."
"Okay. Ducky. Thank you." Tim calls out as he slowly gets dressed. It still hurts like hell but at least now he's only having to struggle into a pair of sweat pants and a button up shirt that he doesn't have to pull over his head. He's not even going to worry about buttoning it. It's not long before he's done, slipping his feet into his slip on 'off duty' shoes and heading to the door.
"I've given Tony the supplies to bandage your hands for tonight. I shall leave the two of you capable young men to it. Do not hesitate to call me if you should need me for anything, Timothy."
"I won't. Thank you again, Ducky." Tim offers as he reaches the doorway, his gaze deliberately not going to the older man's eyes. He knows the M.E. will figure out something's wrong and he doesn't want to be the focus of anyone's worry anymore. He just needs to get home and take his meds and he'll be fine.
It's not a martyr thing – it's a point of being self-sufficient without bringing the others down any further. They've already dropped their lives to come running for him tonight and he hadn't even known he'd needed them. It's not a lack of gratitude either – quite the opposite really. He doesn't want to take from them – any more than he has to – it doesn't feel right. They deserve better. Wow, this pain sure has him thinking awfully hard. Is that why it's beginning to really pound on him?
Watching Ducky nod, clasp his upper arm in silent support and turn to head out, Tim's eyes travel to the bench where Tony's waiting with the supplies to wrap his hands. Making his way over, he plops down rather unceremoniously and begins to open the packaging. "I can do this, Tony, if you're ready to leave."
"Tryin' to get rid of me?" Tony jibes with a grin, despite the unmistakable forced sliver of humor in his tone.
"No. I just don't want to take up any more of your time. It's your weekend off. You don't get that many of them." Tim reasons out quietly, no trace of humor in sight.
"Are we gonna talk about it?" Tony's tone is quiet now. He hopes Tim realizes what he's referring to.
Tim knows exactly what the older man is talking about. "Not tonight. But, it's not your fault. It's mine. And don't slap me again. I'm too tired to take it."
Tony sighs as he picks up the antibiotic ointment with one hand and reaches for one of Tim's hands with the other. "Give me your hands. If I let you do it, you'll probably wind up wrapping your whole damned arm!"
*****NCIS*****
"Jethro, I've left the boys dressing Timothy's hands. They will probably be leaving shortly. I thought they could use the time to talk without our presence."
"Duck?" Gibbs gets to his feet as his friend approaches his desk with the update on the situation.
"It's nothing, my friend. I simply overheard the answer to my own question."
"So, you two do need to talk again." Gibbs surmises from the look on Ducky's face as well as his less than pleased tone of voice.
"Perhaps. However, I stand by my decision not to press the issue." The older man insists. "You and I both know, Jethro, that Timothy when pushed, will only retreat; much as you yourself often do."
"Yeah. I hear ya, Duck." Gibbs breathes out on a pained sigh. "You came in with Tony. Need a lift?"
"Thank you, but I believe I shall spend some time, now that I am here, tidying up my humble quarters below."
With a tiny huff of laughter, Gibbs pats the older man sympathetically on the shoulder and sits back down at his desk. "Okay, Duck. I'll be here."
Silently nodding in understanding, the M.E. heads to the back elevator, leaving a pensive Team Leader alone in the squad room.
****NCIS*****
Hands now completely coated with antibiotic ointment and wrapped in both gauze and ace bandages, Tim already feels the difference. The pain is soothed enough now that it no longer sits front and center on his mind. That place belongs to the ever increasing shard of agony pounding away inside his head. The bright lights in the gym are definitely not helping and he can't help but squint in an attempt to lessen their affect. Still, he needs to let Tony get back to his weekend and he needs to get home to take his meds. Everything will be fine after that.
"Awfully quiet, Tim." Tony casually remarks, his eyes on what his hands are doing as he packs up the first aid kit.
"Just tired. Thank you for everything, Tony. You can go on home now. I'll be right behind you." Tim offers as he watches the older man work.
"Yeah?" Tony double checks as he gets to his feet, stowing the first aid kit in Tim's bag before straightening back up to look the younger man over. His big brother mode is telling him that Tim is really just asking for some space to think – alone. Completely understanding that need, Tony's not going to fight him on it now that they've taken care of the immediate crisis.
"Honest. I'll be fine. Thanks to you guys." Tim replies with complete seriousness because he will be fine – as soon as he gets home and takes his meds.
"Alright then. Call me if you need anything." Tony orders as he heads out.
"I will." Tim calls to his retreating back.
Tony throws up his hand in a wave and disappears out of the gym, down the hall and around the corner. Once he's gone, Tim sighs in relief. He unzips his 'go bag', moves the first aid kit back to the bench and turns back to the bag, dumping its contents out in the floor at his feet. Bending over to dig through everything, he hopes fervently that he actually has some of his migraine medication in there.
It's all of thirty seconds before the physical position he's in while searching through the clothes and other items, with his head tucked low while his eyes look back and forth amidst the pile, sends one too many waves of agony through his head – and his body takes the fall – hitting the mat with a thud – as blackness overtakes him, swallowing him whole.