Thanks to every reader who has patiently stuck with this story, and a double thank you to those who have reviewed! Enjoy this last chapter, guys. Let me know what you think!

...

1 Month Later

"Sarah, you don't have to push me around, I'm perfectly capable of using crutches!" Tim protested as his sister directed his wheelchair into his apartment.

"You say that now, but tomorrow when I'm gone you're gonna miss having the luxury of wheeling around like an old lady," she teased.

After two weeks, McGee was released from the hospital and into the care of his sister, who'd made a deal with her professors and was making up her missed work through email. At first it was wonderful- with Sarah so determined to make up for her behavior and their shared bonding of mourning their father, the two became closer than they had in years. But her finals were only a few weeks away and Tim refused to let his sister stay with him when she should have been spending the last month of the semester focusing on her classes. This wasn't undergrad business, no- she was working on a graduate degree and there was no way that any more time away from school would be acceptable. Tim insisted she return, despite her wishes, although now that his leg was the only persisting injury, he argued that he could get around just fine.

"It's not like you'd be able to wheel me around at work," he grumbled. "Even if I am still gonna be stuck at my desk."

"Well tomorrow's your first day back- you should probably take it slow anyway." When she noticed that he wasn't listening, she jostled the chair slightly to get his attention. "Hey, your cast comes off in two weeks. You can survive that long, right?" she asked. Tim had elected not to tell Sarah about his own emotional problems; in fact, he hadn't given it much thought at all. Which, of course, wasn't good. He still forewent actual grieving for his dad while he focused on recovery…Dr. Cranston was right, this hadn't changed things for him all that much. In fact, this dependence on his sister and his team had begun to reinforce all of his negative self-image problems.

"Yeah, sure. I guess."

"Don't pout," Sarah smiled. "At least you're doing what you love. And if you need anything, you know I can come right back-"

"No, it's fine. If I need anything I'll call Penny or Tony."

Sarah stopped and walked around the chair to face him. "Please promise that if you do need something you will actually call them, ok? You've always been the type to keep it all in. Even Ziva mentioned it when you were in the hospital."

"I promise."

She patted his shoulder and went to make them dinner. Tim sighed and scooted himself out of his chair and onto the couch. Gibbs had agreed that McGee could return to work the next day, as long as he also went back to seeing Dr. Cranston at the same time. So he had a full day of desk duty and crutches, followed by therapy in the evening. Not exactly the return to NCIS he'd been expecting, though once again, any work would be better than sitting alone in his apartment.

...

Rachel finished the last of her coffee and tossed the cup into the trash before turning back to the file on her desk. Tim McGee would be there any moment and she needed all the caffeine she could get- this was his first therapy session in a while... It was the first time they'd be speaking since his accident, the first time they'd be speaking since his father died. They had a lot to cover, and Dr. Cranston had an idea of how to finally get Agent McGee to open up to her. It would be a risk, but one worth taking, and she'd stay up all night talking to him if she had to…Hence the extra cup of coffee.

Her little intercom buzzed, and her assistant let her know that Tim was on his way in. Rachel stood and smiled when the door opened. Her secretary held the door open while the agent navigated his way in on crutches and over to the couch.

"Hey Dr. Cranston."

"Hello Tim. How are you feeling?"

"Better than I felt a few weeks ago," he said, a small smile on his face as he eased himself down and placed his crutches on the floor. Rachel studied him carefully as she sat. He looked so much healthier; it was clear he'd caught up on his sleep in his time off. Still, there was that trademark air of exhaustion about him, his eyes were still haunted quite a bit. But of course, that's where she came in.

"I haven't seen you since you were in the hospital," Dr. Cranston said. Tim's brow furrowed.

"You were there? I don't remember…"

"It's okay, I was only there when you were unconscious. I spoke with your sister and your team a little bit. They were very worried about you. Is Sarah staying with you right now?"

"Well, she stayed with me ever since I got out of the hospital. She went back to school today."

Rachel brightened at that. "How have things been between you two?"

Tim's small smile was the most genuine feeling the psychiatrist had ever gotten from her patient. "Much better, actually…" his face darkened in realization. "You didn't tell her about our sessions, did you? I didn't want her to know."

"No, I didn't," she assured him. "I'm obligated not to tell anyway. I just mentioned that I was helping you with your father's illness. It was Ziva who called her out on her behavior, as a matter of fact."

"Ziva? How did she-"

"I think she sort of sensed it. Your sister was feeling very guilty, and your team mentioned that she should have treated you better. I think that, and your accident, put her priorities in order."

Tim looked a bit perturbed by the fact that his team had been discussing his relationship with his sister, but nodded. "Whatever she did, it worked. Sarah's been great. She apologized and we sort of talked through things."

Rachel smiled. She was fairly certain that "talking through things" did not involve Tim opening up to Sarah the way he should have. "I'm glad to hear you're talking through things with someone. I wish you'd talk through things with me."

McGee's ears tinged pink. She'd called him on his fib and they both knew it. "Sorry Dr. Cranston…I really…." he trailed off, at a loss for words.

"It's okay, Tim," she soothed. "There's still that wall there. I understand. Let's try to work through it tonight, hm?"

"I don't think that will help to be honest."

"But I'll bet you really want to be cleared for duty," she countered. McGee sighed.

"Yeah."

"Ok. So overall, you're happy with how your relationship with your sister has progressed?"

"Oh yeah. We're closer than we have been in a long time."

"Good. If something about that changes, let me know and we'll go back to it. Now let's talk about your father's death. How are you doing with that?"

"Fine," he said. It was clearly a lie.

"Fine?" she asked gently, prompting him forward.

"Well, I mean, it was sudden. I thought he had at least another month. And I won't lie, it hurts that he's gone. He was a good man. He wasn't always a good dad, but he was always the first to admit that. I don't think an extra month would have changed anything between us."

"You were with him when he died, yes?"

"Yeah."

"You don't have to answer if you don't want, but did he say anything special to you before he passed away?"

"…He thanked me for helping him, and he said that he loved me."

"He told you he loved you?" Rachel confirmed. "When was the last time you heard that from him?"

McGee swallowed. "I don't remember."

Rachel nodded, letting his response hang in the air between them. "How did it make you feel?" When he looked like he might not answer, she pressed on. "Tim? Talk to me this time."

"It felt good, but it hurt." McGee rushed out. "I think he meant it, but I'm…I'm angry that it took him so long to figure it out."

"Good, that's great that you're being honest with me. Now, how have you been dealing with the fact that he's gone? I know that you were never that close, but I'm sure it hurts."

"Yeah. It does. A lot."

"But you're no stranger to grief and pain," Rachel began.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you've been miserable for months, hiding things inside, carrying it all with you." McGee looked away, so Dr. Cranston decided that it was time to put her plans in action. Praying that it would work, she asked "Is that why you crashed your car out on the road? As an outlet for your misery?"

Tim's widened eyes snapped back to hers. "What?"

"No one wanted to mention it, but it was clear that some of your team members wondered if you crashed your car on purpose."

Something flashed in his eyes. "Tony, I'll bet."

"I don't know about Agent DiNozzo, but I certainly wondered. You still haven't answered my question."

"No! I didn't crash my car on purpose. It was an accident."

"You were going ninety miles an hour, Tim," Rachel accused. She felt terrible for doing this, but she could already see that it was working.

"I was distracted and angry and I was expending some energy."

"But you could have died. Did you ever think about that?"

"I considered it," he said, becoming annoyed.

"But you didn't care?"

"At the time, no. But I didn't mean to crash like that. I was just angry and feeling too much. I was distracted."

Rachel sat back as she waited for McGee to realize what he'd said. "You were feeling too much?" he nodded and in the back of her mind, she rejoiced. She knew what she meant and knew how to work with someone like this. "Let me try and guess what you've been feeling…so after all that you've been through, you're hurt and angry and full of stress. So, so much stress. Am I correct so far?" He nodded. "And there's pain. Your heart hurts so much your chest feels like it might burst. You carry the weight in your shoulders, both emotionally and physically, so you're exhausted. But most nights you can't sleep. Because your mind just won't stop thinking. About everything. About what's going on in your life. Right?" He nodded again, though she noticed that this time his eyes were shut in pain. But she continued. "You can't do much for your father, so you're desperate to do something. To make up for it. And even more, when you're actively working, your brain is strangely calm. It's less painful when you are keeping busy, so that's what you do. It consumes you…and there's still so much pain, and you didn't think you could feel this much pain, because you're feeling so much, so many different emotions."

Several tears slipped out from Tim's closed eyelids, but he whispered a broken "yes."

"So you choose, instead, to feel nothing. To try and feel nothing. And you're desperate to be helpful, to work, and to hold on to those few things you have left. So you'd throw yourself in front of your friends to save them. If you die, then you wouldn't be so bothered by it because you'd feel nothing. But in a good way. Am I on the right track?"

"Yeah," he confirmed, opening his eyes. More tears escaped and ran down his face.

"Ok. With this in mind, think back to your car accident. You didn't care about yourself, but what if you'd hurt someone else? What if you'd hit another car and injured that person?"

The horrified look on McGee's tear-streaked face told her that he hadn't considered it.

"I never thought about it."

"I know, and that's okay. But you could have killed someone, Tim. You and your car were dangerous in that moment, not because you wanted to hurt someone, but because you didn't care for yourself. You were so caught up in your pain, which I understand perfectly, but you were so distracted that you were a danger to others. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, and I'm sorry."

"Okay, now consider this. Your car is an everyday tool, a vehicle. Your job requires the thing you're so concerned about right now: your gun. I know you're not a violent man, I know you hate killing people, so you of all people are most qualified to carry a badge and a gun. But if your emotions can get the best of you while in your car, think about how you might be with your weapon. You almost killed yourself, and could have killed someone else, completely on accident, with your car. Imagine how you might be with a weapon in your hands. I'm not saying you would turn it on yourself or on an innocent person, but in your emotional state, with your distraction, you might be a danger to yourself or to others the way you were during your accident. Does that make sense? Do your understand why you should not be permitted to carry your weapon or enter the field?"

McGee swallowed a violent sob in an attempt to keep it together. "Yeah, I understand. I do."

Finally, there was some clarity. Now that he accepted that much, she could continue.

"Ok, now that you understand, let's tackle why you feel this way."

"I think you pretty much covered it," he said, running a hand over his face.

"Alright, but it's a serious problem that you won't let yourself feel anything. I can tell that it's more about the fact that you're feeling so much that you'd rather shut the whole thing down, because all of your thoughts and emotions are tangled up in a sort of knot. So I want you to acknowledge your feelings. I want you to let yourself feel them."

He hesitated, so she said, "I know it's hard and scary, and I know it's going to hurt. But your depression now hurts far more than what you will feel when you've gotten through this. Let yourself feel."

"I don't know how…" he admitted quietly.

"That's okay, I'll help you. Tell me each emotion that you're experiencing right at this moment."

"I feel…scared."

"Why? What are you scared about?"

"I'm scared that I could have killed someone last month, or anytime before that. I'm scared because I know that cancer has a genetic component to it, and that now my sister is possibly at risk. And I am too. I'm scared that I'm never going to get my job back to the way it was, that I'm going to be like this forever."

"Good. What else are you feeling?"

"Angry."

"Why?"

"I'm angry that my dad was a pretty terrible father and even on his deathbed all he could manage was a quick apology and an 'I love you'. I'm mad that Sarah tried to heap all of her grief onto me. I'm angry that I'm stuck at my damn desk every day at work. I'm pissed because I'm stuck with these stupid crutches for at least two more weeks and I can only blame myself."

So much rage coursed from his body that Dr. Cranston thought he might actually throw something. This might scare a normal person, but she had to fight the urge to celebrate.

"What else?"

"I'm grieving. I'm sad because my dad is dead, and my girlfriend broke up with me. And there was nothing I could do about either one. I'm upset because I've been carrying this around for so long. I'm upset that I worried and pushed away people who I care about and who tried to help me, and I'm upset that I can't be bothered to feel more than passing care about my own wellbeing..." Without further prompting from Rachel, he switched to his next emotion. The tears were now coursing down his face, and he listed through several more problems he was dealing with before ending up at his most troublesome.

"I feel pain. All the time. In my chest, in my head, everywhere. I'm in pain because…because I know I'm not doing okay, that I'm struggling, because I still feel useless."

"Why do you feel useless?" Dr. Cranston asked.

"It's something my dad called me once, a long time ago, when I refused to join the navy. It didn't bother me again until when he started hospice, and Sarah mentioned that I was useless if I wasn't going to help save him. And then he started dying, and I really couldn't do anything about it, and I felt unneeded. It sort of crossed over into everything else, and then, like you said, I needed to do something to put meaning and purpose back into my life."

McGee was clearly fighting back powerful emotions even still, with his head bent and his eyes cast onto the floor. Rachel sighed softly.

"Tim, don't fight it. Let it out. I'm not going to judge you. But I need you to know that you are not actually useless. You are loved and cared for very much…"

The agent broke down and began to cry. It wasn't loud weeping the way his sister expressed her sadness. Rather, it was near silent. The only sounds he emitted were the gasping breaths he took in between each sob. With his face in his hands, Tim cried for several minutes. Her own eyes misty, Rachel went over and sat next to him on the couch, careful to leave a generous amount of space between them. She made it a personal rule to only touch clients if the touch was needed and therapeutic. McGee had closed himself off to everyone for months now, so even though his sister and his friends may have come into contact with him in some way, this was the first time in a very long time that he'd been open and real with anyone. So she carefully, ever so gently, put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't move away, and in fact leaned into it slightly, so Dr. Cranston knew she'd made the right choice.

"It's alright," she assured him. "This is good. Let it out."

They sat there quietly for several minutes, her comforting him as he expelled all of the pent up emotions he'd felt for far too long. When he had finished, they sat and talked about little things, about how all the good aspects of Tim's life, about the people he loved and cared about and who cared about him. When they discussed his team, McGee frowned.

"I'd never have done this if they hadn't made me."

"I understand. But good thing they did, right? It seems that Agent DiNozzo played a big part in getting you here."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I was mad at him for telling Gibbs, but I know that he had to."

"You'd do the same for him I'd bet."

"Yeah, I would," he sighed. "I think I owe him an apology."

"Honestly, Tim, I don't think you own anyone anything. Except for yourself. But I do think you should talk to Tony. He was very worried about you. I think we made some real progress today. Do you feel any better?"

"Yes." For the first time in a long time, he did feel something close to alright. "Thank you so much."

"It's my job," she smiled warmly.

...

McGee pulled out of the driveway to Dr. Cranston's practice and rolled his shoulders. He was almost sore after that intense session- he wanted nothing more than to go home and fall right into bed. But it wasn't that late, so he wanted to do one more thing that night before he could really get a good night's sleep.

It was a short ride from Rachel's business to Tony's apartment, even with his ultra-cautious driving habits. He hoped that DiNozzo would be home; there was once a time that on a nice night like that one, the senior agent would be out on the town. But those days were behind them, and Tony was indeed in his apartment. When McGee knocked, he waited for a minute, suddenly nervous as if he were a Probe again. Why? He didn't have any reason to be! But he was. Before he could second-guess himself and turn around, the door swung open to reveal the senior agent, whose eyes lit up in confusion and surprise when he saw his friend, whose eyes were still a bit red from crying.

"McGee... What's up? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, sorry to come over like this, but can we talk for a minute?"

"Of course," Tony said, snapping out of his surprised freeze. "Sorry, I just haven't actually seen you since you were in the hospital."

After McGee was released into his sister's care, he'd spent most of his time resting, recuperating, and working through physical therapy. Everyone from the team had dropped in at least once, and some (Abby) multiple times a week. This was great, but none of them ever got much of a chance to talk with Tim for a long period of time, as he was usually exhausted and asleep by the time they got off of work.

"Yeah, guess that's my fault," the junior agent said sheepishly. "Sorry."

"No, don't be sorry," DiNozzo said quickly, going to the kitchen and retrieving a couple of beers.

"Actually, that's why I came over," McGee said, balancing on his crutches but still managing to reach up and scratch the back of his head. "I owe you an apology. I'm sorry for reacting the way I did when you told Gibbs about our talk. And for kind of ignoring... avoiding you after that. That was immature."

"I don't blame you at all," Tony shook his head. "I would have reacted the same way."

"I know, but still. I…I wanted to thank you. If you hadn't said anything, I'd probably be dead right now." He ignored DiNozzo's pained, panicked expression and continued. "I had a session with Dr. Cranston today...and I guess it went well because I'm in a ton of pain." Even as he said it, Tim gave a lopsided but genuine grin. At DiNozzo's confused look, he frowned. "She sort of forced me to talk, and I finally stopped resisting, so we sort of…tore everything open."

Now the older man understood. Tim had been ignoring his wounds so much that they'd healed wrong, like a bone that is never set properly. Rachel must have encouraged him to open up the wound so that they could set the bone the right way. They might have to re-break it first, and it may hurt like hell, but now true healing could begin.

"I'm proud of you, McGee," Tony lightly clapped Tim on his shoulder. "I'm sorry that you had to go through all of that."

"No, I'm glad you guys forced me into seeing Rachel. I never would have gone otherwise, and I didn't realize how much I needed it until today." The junior agent's face crumpled with the memory of the session that had just ended; he looked so distressed that DiNozzo became concerned.

"You okay, Tim?"

"No," McGee croaked, closing his eyes again. At this, Tony pulled him in for a hug. It was far more comforting and less awkward than the one they'd had all those days and weeks before.

"I'm not okay, not at all," the younger man said. "But I'm getting there. I didn't realize how much I'd worried you all. And how much I put you in danger. I'm sorry." A few more tears escaped his eyes, just when he thought he was all cried-out.

"No, it's not your fault, Tim," Tony said, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. "You have nothing to apologize for."

They sat there, two agents, drinking beer and each trying not to cry like little girls. Since it was still early, Tony decided to order a pizza and demanded that McGee stay for a movie. When the film was done, DiNozzo looked over to see his younger friend asleep in his spot on the sofa. Pulling a blanket over him, the senior agent decided not to disturb him, knowing that even on the couch, his best friend would sleep better that night than he had in half a year, because finally, Tim was safe.

And his friend's safety, well... that was more than enough.