For the next few days, Tim had an endless stream of people sitting by his bed, talking to him, talking about him, and hoping that he would wake up and be okay again. Sometimes, it seemed more likely than others. On the first day, his blood pressure was so high that the doctors were forced to give him nitroprusside to control it. Thankfully, it worked and they were able to feel some relief. With Tim completely sedated, they were able to x ray and then splint his hand after it was revealed that he'd managed to break two bones in his assault on the wall in Vance's office. On the second day, a complete urinalysis was done, along with tests of renal function, CPK levels and other tests showed that Tim had, indeed, received a very high dose of PCP but that it was slowly being flushed from his system. Dr. Stapleton figured that it would take a week at the very least for reactions to the drug to fade and possibly as long as two weeks. However, he did feel that it would be safe to bring Tim out of sedation after four days as originally planned.
It was just a matter of waiting.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
The first thing Tim noticed was that he felt absolutely terrible. He felt as though someone had mistaken his body for a two-by-four and had pounded it with hundreds of rusty nails. ...but on second thought, he decided that was a horrible comparison. For one thing, it didn't make any sense. The second thing he noticed was a feeling of a void in his memory, a great black box holding...what? ...but like that belonging to Pandora, he felt that he didn't really want to open it and find out what was in there.
It's dark.
Why is it dark?
Because my eyes are closed.
That much decided, Tim struggled to open his eyes, but it took too much effort to breathe and to blink at the same time and he couldn't manage it. He subsided and decided that breathing was more important.
Suddenly, his skin was crawling as if there were hundreds, if not thousands, of bugs crawling just beneath the epidermis. He couldn't think of what to do and there wasn't enough breath in his lungs to scream. ...so he whimpered. He tried to move but he couldn't, couldn't get away from the bugs on him.
"Shh. It's all right, Timothy. Calm down."
Tim tried to get the bugs off, but he couldn't seem to move his arms. He continued to whimper, but then, he felt a hand on his forehead and another taking hold of his own hand.
"Don't worry. You're okay."
"Just sleep. You'll be fine."
The sensations faded and Tim let himself fall back into the sleep recommended by the disembodied voice he heard.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Tim came awake again in the darkness and he thought he could open his eyes this time. He tried...and succeeded.
Briefly.
"McGee?"
Tim sifted through his memories to attach a face to the voice. When he succeeded, his eyes opened again, quickly...but still closed after a few seconds.
"Director...what...are you...doing wherever I am?"
"You're in a hospital, McGee."
Tim struggled to open his eyes once more. This time, they stayed open as narrow slits.
"Why? ...did I get shot? Is that why I feel so crappy?" Tim asked. "At the house...did I lose the wrestling match?"
Vance chuckled. "Well...you did get shot...sort of."
"What does that mean?"
"You were drugged, McGee."
"Drugged?" Tim repeated, managing to get his eyes open all the way. "How? I didn't... Wouldn't I have noticed?"
