Time wasn't measured by the sun or the moon.
The sun rose and it set and in between were stars.
It was all rather monotonous.
He remembered Gibbs telling him to sit down. He remembered being chilled against a fire that miraculously appeared. He remembered sunsets (sunrises?) with more colors than he could list in computer color codes. He remembered Gibbs pushing him up and moving. He remembered watching the satellites flying over his head in the clear, night sky and wondering if anyone was watching them up there.
Once, he remembered that these types of events had a precise order, but the sequence had long ago escaped him.
No, Time wasn't measured by the movement of the sun.
It was measured by water.
Three (or four) times, Tim caught Gibbs staring at the line in his bottle as it crept further down to the bottom. The worried frown didn't subside the two times Gibbs noticed Tim watching.
The first time, the water bottle was half full. Gibbs just shrugged and made Tim take another sip.
The second time, Gibbs didn't even argue when Tim refused to drink. The bottle was 1/6th full.
At 1/8th full, they saw a rock cropping in the distance. There wasn't much they could say (or hope); it was just another pile of rocks. As they got closer, they saw this particular rock cropping had greener and brighter vegetation. Without saying a word, the two men changed their direction.
It seemed like it took forever to get there, but it was worth it. By some miracle, they found a small waterhole sheltered under some desert willows. It was only a few feet wide and maybe a couple inches deep, but the water was clear and it was the lifeline they desperately needed.
Tim knelt down and placed his cupped hands into the water. The cool water, as it touched his skin, sent chills through his body.
Gibbs grabbed Tim's wrist as his head moved closer to the water's surface.
"Stop."
Tim stopped. A slight wheeze escaped his lips at the abrupt halt, but he didn't protest Gibbs sudden denial. He raised his head up and their eyes locked. He let his labored breathing ask the question his voice didn't have the strength to give.
Why?
Gibbs turned his head; his eyes going to something on the other side of the waterhole.
Tim didn't see it at first. The shade and the bushes had hidden the corpse from the man too intent on the water in front of him. It might have once been a coyote. Or a wild dog. Tim couldn't really tell what it was from where he knelt.
What was obvious was the dried, grey fur, crumbling off its mummified remains.
"It's too close to the water."
Tim's attention snapped back to Gibbs. It took him a few moments to link Gibbs' words to the regret in his voice. When it did, Tim's hands shook underneath the water.
"Boss, please."
It was all he could plead before Gibbs pulled his hands out and dried them the best he could with his sleeves.
"We can risk it! We'll die if we don't get something to drink soon," Tim tried to rationalize.
Gibbs held his hands tight to prevent him from going back. "If it didn't die from contaminated water, it certainly contaminated it now. We'll die if we drink, Tim."
Tim's eyes didn't have the water to spare for tears, but that didn't stop them from clouding up his vision. He gradually dropped his forehead against the sand so his mentor couldn't see the despair he truly felt.
He was inches away, just inches away, and he couldn't drink a drop.