He was close enough to the window to see the rain fall, but it was his reflection in the glass that always drove him to distraction. It was still him, still Timothy McGee. And yet, he couldn't stop staring at the vast differences of this particular McGee looking back at him. His hair was lighter, his skin smoother and darker.
It was his eyes that betrayed the illusion before him. That, and the aches and pains in his joints and his back.
When did he become so old?
"Mr. McGee?"
Tim broke out of his thoughts and turned his attention back at the doctor. "I'm sorry. Where were we?"
White gave a pointed gaze at the window. "Do you want me to close the blinds?"
"No, it's fine…I'm fine…it's all…" He couldn't seem to find the right words anymore.
He was certain he was able to once.
"..fine."
"We are talking about blinds, right?" From the window to her patient, she considered her next words. "It's…okay to grieve."
The rush of emotions at the statement spiked into Tim's gut, lifted him to his feet and away from the doctor as she quickly leaned back in her chair from the movement. Suddenly embarrassed at the response, Tim tried to save face by walking closer to the window and actually watch the rain this time.
"Grieving is important part of recovery when you've faced death. I don't care how you do it. Cry, laugh, yell or," she threw her hand up as to throw the emotion away. "You can do nothing. Just as long as you don't deny that you're grieving right now."
Tim leaned his forehead against the cool glass. The storm was nearly on top of them now. He could feel the glass rattle and he couldn't tell if it was from the thunder's sound waves crashing into them or his own shaking body.
He took in a very long, very sorrowful breath and let it out before his body could betray him further.
"There are much worst things in life than death," he told her, confident in that most certain fact.
"Like what?"
He doesn't answer.