Fifteen Minutes to Midnight - Chapter 9
Title: Fifteen Minutes to Midnight
Author: fulltobursting aka unilocular
Artist:
hinky_hippo
Summary: In the midst of a case, Tim and Tony are at each others' throats...like usual. But when a routine interview takes a potentially deadly turn, they both learn the true meaning of friendship.
Rating: Strong Teen
Spoilers/Warnings: General spoilers up to 12x10: House Rules. General violence, whump, bad language, and lots of movie references.
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Chapter Nine
I suspect I might be dreaming when Daniel Craig and Sean Connery join me in a darkened bar for martinis - shaken, not stirred, of course. I know that I am when Queen Elizabeth shows up to tell me I’m a shoe-in for the next James Bond film, one that includes Carrie Fisher as the female lead. I’ll take the role on one condition, I tell her, the Star Wars slave outfit better make an appearance.
“Because McGee was so right,” I slur. Too many martinis and Bond conversation.
Queen Elizabeth crooks an eyebrow. “Oh yeah, DiNozzo? About what?”
Something sounds wrong this time. She sounds gruffer, annoyed…and a hell of lot like Gibbs.
I shake my head, feeling a pang of regret as Daniel Craig and Sean Connery fade away. I was just about to join the ranks of Bond legends before it slipped through my fingers like sand. Instead of staring at two of Hollywood legends, I end up with a view of a blank, white ceiling.
The room is too bright for me to stand, so I close my eyes and bite back a hiss. The whole place reeks of stale air and disinfectant like no one has bothered to open a window since this place was built. I twist my fingers in the rough sheets and make a face.
G-d, I hate hospitals.
“Glad to see you’re finally awake, DiNozzo.” That disembodied voice of Gibbs says.
“Boss? That you?”
I force my eyes open, glance to the side of the bed where Gibbs stands at attention. He schools his face into an air of nonchalance, but I notice the flicker of relief in his eyes. A small smile cracks through his otherwise stony façade.
“How are you feeling?” Gibbs asks.
I grin. “Ready and raring to go. Where’s McGee?”
Gibbs looks away. “He’s fine.”
When I push myself up, I ignore the stars exploding in my vision. Gibbs blurs into the carousel of my hospital room, but I still surge to my feet because I need to find my friend, see that he’s okay with my own eyes. The world lurches sideways and Gibbs grabs my shoulders, eases me back against the bed. Based on how tightly he grips me, I don’t think I’m getting out of here anytime soon.
Or he won’t tell me that Tim didn’t make it.
Suddenly, my heart races. The bleating of the heart rate monitor announces it to the entire room. So that’s what panic sounds like in the medical world. Clinical, cold, beeps and blips like a video game gone wrong.
“Boss.” I swallow hard. “Where is McGee?”
Gibbs presses his lips together. “Downstairs in surgery. The doctors are trying to get the bullet out and get his infection under control. He lost a lot of blood.”
“But he’ll be okay, right?”
My boss looks away. He never was one to lie to me and right now, I hate him for it. “Bishop’s supposed to text me as soon as he comes out of surgery.”
Gibbs claims the visitor’s chair and silence curls around us like a cat settling down for a nap. I don’t know how long we sit there, listening to the chirp of the equipment and trying to see who can win this staring contest. Gibbs has a hell of a lot more practice than I do.
Out of nowhere, I picture Ellie in the surgery waiting room, helplessly clutching her phone like a lifeline and waiting to find out whether our partner survived.
I scrub my hand across my face. “You know, Boss, I almost made it to the road. If I just had, maybe - “
“It wouldn’t’ve turned out any different, DiNozzo.”
I shrug, not really listening. “How far were we?”
“About a half mile.”
I run my tongue along my teeth and chuckle. We were so close and it could’ve made all the difference between Tim’s life and his death.
“I could’ve made it,” I whisper.
“With the hypothermia you had, you were lucky to make it as far as you did. You two were five miles from where Sammy Gentry said they’d left you.” The way Gibbs says it makes it sound like getting sick could be an excuse, but it really isn’t.
“So how’d you get him to crack?” Because my boss would never consider releasing a prisoner to get what he wanted. He has mind games, blank glares, and water torture for that.
“I asked nicely, but it took some convincing to find out Lake’s killer.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Greg?”
“Kenneth.”
I didn’t see that coming. Maybe it was some sort of Stockholm Syndrome, but I would’ve bet my new stapler on Greg. Between the rage issues and anger at playing second banana to his twin, he made the most sense. But hey, when it comes to DNA testing, I’m still right. Ken and Greg are a genetic match. Fingerprints and Sammy’s testimony will be what damn him to jail.
“Any idea why?” I ask.
“Lake raped Kenneth’s younger sister, Merliee, while she was an ensign. When she complained to her superiors, she was discharged for poor conduct and - “
“She got the Big Chicken Dinner for that?”
Gibbs nods. “Ended up jumping off a bridge at 29 because she couldn’t deal with it. Kenneth decided to settle the score.”
I think I’ve heard a story from Ducky about something similar. An eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, too much body-part roulette if you ask me. I try to put the pieces together, but my brain feels like the world moves slower than usual.
“How does Charlene Moser fit into all this?” I ask.
“Someone needed to lure Lake to the park.”
“And it’s not like any of the brothers were good-looking enough to pull that off,” I say, shooting him a lopsided grin that he returns. “So that’s it?”
“Kenneth already confessed to the murder and attempted murder of a federal agent in return for not charging Charlene with obstruction and letting Sammy plead down the kidnapping charges.” When I don’t respond, Gibbs leans forward. “Something on your mind, DiNozzo?”
I bite my lip and after a long debate, I decide to let Sammy’s mistake slide.
“What about the cover-up?” I ask instead.
“Barrows’ team will have their hands full as soon as they wrap up the Lake murder. Who knows how high it goes and for how long.”
At that moment, Gibbs’ phone buzzes. After he pulls it out, he squints at it as though the tiny text is all the device’s fault. Despite how many times we tell him that we can change it, he refuses to acknowledge he needs the large print.
Screwing his nose in disgust, he passes it to me. “Left my glasses at the office.”
I look at it, but the whole screen is blurry. So I close my left eye, hold the phone up to my right until it comes into focus. The text from Ellie reads simply, McGee out of surgery.
When I pass the phone back to Gibbs, I start out of bed. The world tilts sideways and I reach for the support of the bedrail. My boss is by my side instantaneously, easing me back into the safety of my scratchy sheets and rock hard mattress.
“Where do ya think you’re going, DiNozzo?” he asks.
“To see McGee.”
Gibbs squeezes my shoulder. “Later.”
“Sure,” I say.
Like I intend to keep the promise. Ha.
He stares at me like he might actually believe the lie. Then he nods at me as though to say, I’ll see you in a little bit. Without another word, he heads out of the room.
As soon as I’m alone, I reach for the wire connecting to my chest. I rip all three leads off in an impromptu waxing session and I bite back a scream. I’m sure Zoe will make fun of my hairless patches later. The heart rate monitor behind me screams to alert the nurses that I’m dying, so I scramble out of bed. I grab the IV pole and rush out of the room. My bare feet pad along the hospital floor as I escape to the elevator.
I meander past the nurses’ station. A pretty, college-aged brunette pops her head up. Catching me in the middle of a jailbreak wipes the broad smile right off her face.
“Sir? You shouldn’t be out of bed,” she says.
Ignoring her, I pick up the pace. I elbow my way between two men as I get onto the elevator. They double-take between me and the nurse, wide-eyed like they aren’t sure what do to.
“Stop that patient!” she yells.
While I slam the door close button like my life depends on it, I shrug nonchalantly. “Women. Can’t live with them, can’t outrun them either.”
They both smile knowingly as the door closes. I squint at the floor numbers while one of the men launches into a tirade about his wife and her never-ending chore list. After I pick the second floor-surgical recovery-I half-listen to the men compare notes on their honey-do-list and thank my lucky stars that I hired a cleaning lady.
When the doors slither open, I leave the men behind and sneak into the hallway. Thankfully, all of the medical personnel are too involved into their own worlds to notice me. I move through the hallway, finding every snag and bump in the uneven floor with my IV pole.
I pop my head into each room I pass. Fat man. Old lady. Fat lady. Fat, old man. Little kid with a broken leg. Young woman holding twins.
By the time I find Tim’s at the end of the hallway, my heart races and my vision blurs.
But seeing my partner propped up in his bed fills me with an odd sense of relief. Even though he’s paler than his sheets and hooked up to more machines than I was, the steady chirp of the heart rate monitor attests to him still being alive.
Ellie and Gibbs linger by his side. Concern weighs heavy on her features like she can barely shoulder the burden of the sudden promotion with us incapacitated while Gibbs struggles to stay unreadable.
Down the hallway, the nurse from upstairs comes around the corner hell for leather. Her angry eyes scan the area before she darts into the closest room.
I finally duck inside Tim’s room.
Gibbs turns. “DiNozzo, what the hell are you doing out of bed?”
“Checking up on McGee, boss,” I say.
“Tony - “ Ellie smiles through her sudden tears “ - you’re okay. We were so worried.”
I stare at Tim for a long moment. “Me too.”
When I take another step forward, my body suddenly weighs thousands of pounds. The world tilt sideways. Gibbs and Ellie head over to catch me, lead me to the open chair. I collapse against it, fight the wave of nausea and lightheadedness. My eyes close on their own, but I force them open.
“How are you feeling?” Ellie sounds like she’s a world away.
“Fine,” I say. “Just peachy.”
“You look - “
“Like…crap,” Tim says, voice barely a whisper.
Hope swells within my chest and I can’t help but grin. His eyes barely open to slits before they close again. Leaning forward, I reach for my partner’s hand and squeeze it hard enough to rouse him.
“You don’t look too hot yourself, McGoo,” I say.
His eyes flutter open. “I…got…shot. What’s your…excuse?”
“You.”
He gives me a tight smile like he understands everything that single word entails. “Thank…you, Tony. For every…thing.” His gaze jumps to Gibbs and Ellie, but it hardly registers either of them. “Nice to see…you, Boss…Bishop. Thanks…for coming.”
Gibbs nods while Ellie steps forward to clutch Tim’s forearm.
“You two gave us quite the scare, McGee,” she whispers, smiling, “but the doctor says you and Tony are going to be just fine. Just fine.”
His eyebrows jump. “You make it sound bad. How bad…is it?”
She squeezes his arm. “You’ll live.”
“That’s what…Tony said.” He huffs quietly. “What…about the…bullet? Can I…”
Her face falls when she looks to Gibbs for guidance, but he just laughs. “Abby already called dibs, Elf Lord. You could always fight her for it.”
“Let her…” His voice trails off as he falls asleep. When his hand goes slack underneath my fingertips, I’m thankful that everything’s going to be okay, that we’re going to be okay.
I lean back in my chair and listen to Ellie drone on about our conditions: dehydration and exposure for me and a quad injury with nicked artery for Tim. Recovery for me should be a couple of days, she says. Rest and fluids will fix everything that’s wrong with me. I feel like I’m getting off easy, especially when she tells me how Tim is in for, at best, a few months of physiotherapy and desk duty. The worst case scenario is permanent damage and the end of a once promising career.
That’s all I can think about as I drift to sleep.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
The upstairs nurse must’ve been a prison warden in a past life because she tries to lock me in my hospital room and throw away the key. She doesn’t take my request to share my cell with Tim seriously until I threaten to sign myself out AMA. Even though I just plan to camp out by his bedside, I don’t tell her that. Thankfully, she believes that threat because within the hour, they kick out Tim’s roommate and I find myself settling down in the bed next to his.
One day and a couple of blood transfusions-I think, because everything moves so slow in hospital time-make a world of difference for Tim. Sitting up in his bed, he works at his disgusting hospital meal. He chases something that might’ve been a carrot around his plate with a spork. I ate the same meal an hour ago, but I still have no idea what the hell it was.
Some of the natural color returned to Tim’s cheeks and he no longer looks like the next person in line to visit Ducky. His left leg, an intricate mess of bandages and hospital tape, is braced and elevated.
When he tries to stab his vegetable with the spork, it hops onto the floor and disappears under my bed. I wonder how long it’ll take for the cleaning crew to find it.
Tim lets out a broken sigh. “I can’t believe this.”
“It’s for the best, McGee,” I say. “The food was awful anyway.”
He looks at me strangely. “What?”
I point to the floor. “Dinner? It sucked. I can’t wait to get out of here and get some real food. I could eat a whole pepperoni pizza right now.”
“Oh yeah, you mean the cauliflower.”
Ah, so that wasn’t a carrot boiled to death and resurrected only to be cooked to death again.
His eyes wander back to the TV in the corner that silently plays Casablanca. He muted it because I spent the first hour of the film quoting some of the dialogue, but he doesn’t know I’ve memorized every line. I don’t have to hear anyone speak to know exactly what they’re going to say. Play it again, Sam.
The stricken expression on Tim’s face drags me out of my movie stupor.
“If it isn’t the food, what is it?” I ask.
“My leg.” He says the words as though could be funny, like the universe plays one big joke on him or yesterday was just a really bad dream. “The doctors said…I might never walk the…same…again.”
I press my lips together. “You and I both know it’s still too early to tell, Tim.”
He hangs his head. “Yeah, I know. We won’t find out until I start healing and physical therapy. But, Tony, my life as a field agent might be over. Gibbs might…”
“You really think the boss will get rid of you?” The way he won’t meet my gaze speaks volumes. “It wouldn’t be like that, Tim. You’ll see.”
“If I can’t walk, I’m no good to the team.” He sighs like the world is falling apart.
“I think you’re jumping the gun here, McGee. Just wait and see what happens before you start planning your life after the team. Who knows, you might even end up as the head of Cybercrimes.” His broken moan makes me move on…quickly. “I’m sure Gibbs’ll have more than enough computer work while you’re on desk duty. And after that, we’ll take it one day at a time.”
He nods slowly.
“Time heals all wounds, remember?” I say.
He scrubs his hands over his face. “Why does everyone always say that?”
I shrug. “Because it’s true.”
“Really?”
I waggle my eyebrows, channel my best Shrek impression. “Really, really.”
Rolling his eyes, Tim laughs. For a moment, the companionable silence settles around us and it feels like we’re back in the bullpen, hunkering down to pull another all-nighter. I don’t know how many more times like this we’ll have to share, but I sit back to relish this moment.
When Casablanca ends, he channel-surfs through the hospital’s limited-and depressing-offering. After a couple complete scans, he finds a scene that I instantly recognize. Two blondes, a redhead, and a brunette in a diner, talking over breakfast.
“Wait,” I say, without thinking. “I love this movie.”
Tim drops the remote like it’s on fire.
“Wait, you like Sex and the City?” His eyes nearly bug out of his head. I feel the blush start on my neck before it engulfs my face. “Since when does a self-proclaimed movie buff like Sex and the City?”
I sweep imaginary lint off my hospital gown. “Since his girlfriend makes him watch it all the time.”
Tim nods disbelievingly. “Sure.”
“It’s true. She forced me to watch all six seasons…and the movies.” I lick my lips, glance over at the flower print on the wall that hasn’t had color since the 1970s. “I told you Zoe would spill my deepest, darkest secret and the one she knows is that I actually kind of enjoyed the show.”
I don’t expect him to nod. “Yeah, I know. Delilah made me watch it too.”
We sit in silence for a long time, two manly men watching a show about life and love from a women’s perspective. Research, I tell myself. I’m doing research in case things don’t work out with Zoe. But the episode that’s on is a great one: when Carrie gets dumped by a Post-It note. I’m not sure what all the fuss is about because who hasn’t done that at least once? Okay, fine, twice.
I bet Tim probably hasn’t. I doubt he’d have the balls to dump someone with a Post-It note. Scratch that, he probably wouldn’t have the heart to dump anyone at all.
“You know,” I blurt out, “I always thought you were like Charlotte.”
“What? I’m definitely more like Miranda.” When I shake my head, Tim looks slightly offended. “Yeah, well, you’re exactly like Samantha.”
Running my hand across my chin, I consider his thought. Kim Cattrall: sex vixen, killer body, great sense of humor, and wicked fashion sense. Not a bad choice, Tim, not bad at all.
I nod heartily and grin. “That I can live with. Now, what about Bishop?”
He crumples his nose. “No contest,” and we unison: “Carrie.”
“Oh yeah, definitely.” I shoot him a glance. “What do you think about Gibbs?”
“What about me?” Gibbs’ voice carries from the hallway.
Tim’s wide eyes meet mine. His mouth moves like he’s about to say something, but I recover first.
“McGee, change the channel,” I yelp.
When he scrambles for the remote, he accidently throws it to the floor. The damned thing explodes into a million pieces and the batteries roll under my bed to have a party with the bit of carrot/cauliflower. Yanking my blanket up to my neck, I lean back against the bed to feign sleep.
“Oh no, you don’t, DiNozzo,” Tim says as a piece of carrot/cauliflower pings off my head.
Coffee cup in hand, Gibbs materializes in the doorway. His eyes widen at the television as I dive under the blanket.
“What in the hell are you two watching?”
Click to Read the Epilogue
Author: fulltobursting aka unilocular
Artist:
hinky_hippo
Summary: In the midst of a case, Tim and Tony are at each others' throats...like usual. But when a routine interview takes a potentially deadly turn, they both learn the true meaning of friendship.
Rating: Strong Teen
Spoilers/Warnings: General spoilers up to 12x10: House Rules. General violence, whump, bad language, and lots of movie references.
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Chapter Nine
I suspect I might be dreaming when Daniel Craig and Sean Connery join me in a darkened bar for martinis - shaken, not stirred, of course. I know that I am when Queen Elizabeth shows up to tell me I’m a shoe-in for the next James Bond film, one that includes Carrie Fisher as the female lead. I’ll take the role on one condition, I tell her, the Star Wars slave outfit better make an appearance.
“Because McGee was so right,” I slur. Too many martinis and Bond conversation.
Queen Elizabeth crooks an eyebrow. “Oh yeah, DiNozzo? About what?”
Something sounds wrong this time. She sounds gruffer, annoyed…and a hell of lot like Gibbs.
I shake my head, feeling a pang of regret as Daniel Craig and Sean Connery fade away. I was just about to join the ranks of Bond legends before it slipped through my fingers like sand. Instead of staring at two of Hollywood legends, I end up with a view of a blank, white ceiling.
The room is too bright for me to stand, so I close my eyes and bite back a hiss. The whole place reeks of stale air and disinfectant like no one has bothered to open a window since this place was built. I twist my fingers in the rough sheets and make a face.
G-d, I hate hospitals.
“Glad to see you’re finally awake, DiNozzo.” That disembodied voice of Gibbs says.
“Boss? That you?”
I force my eyes open, glance to the side of the bed where Gibbs stands at attention. He schools his face into an air of nonchalance, but I notice the flicker of relief in his eyes. A small smile cracks through his otherwise stony façade.
“How are you feeling?” Gibbs asks.
I grin. “Ready and raring to go. Where’s McGee?”
Gibbs looks away. “He’s fine.”
When I push myself up, I ignore the stars exploding in my vision. Gibbs blurs into the carousel of my hospital room, but I still surge to my feet because I need to find my friend, see that he’s okay with my own eyes. The world lurches sideways and Gibbs grabs my shoulders, eases me back against the bed. Based on how tightly he grips me, I don’t think I’m getting out of here anytime soon.
Or he won’t tell me that Tim didn’t make it.
Suddenly, my heart races. The bleating of the heart rate monitor announces it to the entire room. So that’s what panic sounds like in the medical world. Clinical, cold, beeps and blips like a video game gone wrong.
“Boss.” I swallow hard. “Where is McGee?”
Gibbs presses his lips together. “Downstairs in surgery. The doctors are trying to get the bullet out and get his infection under control. He lost a lot of blood.”
“But he’ll be okay, right?”
My boss looks away. He never was one to lie to me and right now, I hate him for it. “Bishop’s supposed to text me as soon as he comes out of surgery.”
Gibbs claims the visitor’s chair and silence curls around us like a cat settling down for a nap. I don’t know how long we sit there, listening to the chirp of the equipment and trying to see who can win this staring contest. Gibbs has a hell of a lot more practice than I do.
Out of nowhere, I picture Ellie in the surgery waiting room, helplessly clutching her phone like a lifeline and waiting to find out whether our partner survived.
I scrub my hand across my face. “You know, Boss, I almost made it to the road. If I just had, maybe - “
“It wouldn’t’ve turned out any different, DiNozzo.”
I shrug, not really listening. “How far were we?”
“About a half mile.”
I run my tongue along my teeth and chuckle. We were so close and it could’ve made all the difference between Tim’s life and his death.
“I could’ve made it,” I whisper.
“With the hypothermia you had, you were lucky to make it as far as you did. You two were five miles from where Sammy Gentry said they’d left you.” The way Gibbs says it makes it sound like getting sick could be an excuse, but it really isn’t.
“So how’d you get him to crack?” Because my boss would never consider releasing a prisoner to get what he wanted. He has mind games, blank glares, and water torture for that.
“I asked nicely, but it took some convincing to find out Lake’s killer.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Greg?”
“Kenneth.”
I didn’t see that coming. Maybe it was some sort of Stockholm Syndrome, but I would’ve bet my new stapler on Greg. Between the rage issues and anger at playing second banana to his twin, he made the most sense. But hey, when it comes to DNA testing, I’m still right. Ken and Greg are a genetic match. Fingerprints and Sammy’s testimony will be what damn him to jail.
“Any idea why?” I ask.
“Lake raped Kenneth’s younger sister, Merliee, while she was an ensign. When she complained to her superiors, she was discharged for poor conduct and - “
“She got the Big Chicken Dinner for that?”
Gibbs nods. “Ended up jumping off a bridge at 29 because she couldn’t deal with it. Kenneth decided to settle the score.”
I think I’ve heard a story from Ducky about something similar. An eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, too much body-part roulette if you ask me. I try to put the pieces together, but my brain feels like the world moves slower than usual.
“How does Charlene Moser fit into all this?” I ask.
“Someone needed to lure Lake to the park.”
“And it’s not like any of the brothers were good-looking enough to pull that off,” I say, shooting him a lopsided grin that he returns. “So that’s it?”
“Kenneth already confessed to the murder and attempted murder of a federal agent in return for not charging Charlene with obstruction and letting Sammy plead down the kidnapping charges.” When I don’t respond, Gibbs leans forward. “Something on your mind, DiNozzo?”
I bite my lip and after a long debate, I decide to let Sammy’s mistake slide.
“What about the cover-up?” I ask instead.
“Barrows’ team will have their hands full as soon as they wrap up the Lake murder. Who knows how high it goes and for how long.”
At that moment, Gibbs’ phone buzzes. After he pulls it out, he squints at it as though the tiny text is all the device’s fault. Despite how many times we tell him that we can change it, he refuses to acknowledge he needs the large print.
Screwing his nose in disgust, he passes it to me. “Left my glasses at the office.”
I look at it, but the whole screen is blurry. So I close my left eye, hold the phone up to my right until it comes into focus. The text from Ellie reads simply, McGee out of surgery.
When I pass the phone back to Gibbs, I start out of bed. The world tilts sideways and I reach for the support of the bedrail. My boss is by my side instantaneously, easing me back into the safety of my scratchy sheets and rock hard mattress.
“Where do ya think you’re going, DiNozzo?” he asks.
“To see McGee.”
Gibbs squeezes my shoulder. “Later.”
“Sure,” I say.
Like I intend to keep the promise. Ha.
He stares at me like he might actually believe the lie. Then he nods at me as though to say, I’ll see you in a little bit. Without another word, he heads out of the room.
As soon as I’m alone, I reach for the wire connecting to my chest. I rip all three leads off in an impromptu waxing session and I bite back a scream. I’m sure Zoe will make fun of my hairless patches later. The heart rate monitor behind me screams to alert the nurses that I’m dying, so I scramble out of bed. I grab the IV pole and rush out of the room. My bare feet pad along the hospital floor as I escape to the elevator.
I meander past the nurses’ station. A pretty, college-aged brunette pops her head up. Catching me in the middle of a jailbreak wipes the broad smile right off her face.
“Sir? You shouldn’t be out of bed,” she says.
Ignoring her, I pick up the pace. I elbow my way between two men as I get onto the elevator. They double-take between me and the nurse, wide-eyed like they aren’t sure what do to.
“Stop that patient!” she yells.
While I slam the door close button like my life depends on it, I shrug nonchalantly. “Women. Can’t live with them, can’t outrun them either.”
They both smile knowingly as the door closes. I squint at the floor numbers while one of the men launches into a tirade about his wife and her never-ending chore list. After I pick the second floor-surgical recovery-I half-listen to the men compare notes on their honey-do-list and thank my lucky stars that I hired a cleaning lady.
When the doors slither open, I leave the men behind and sneak into the hallway. Thankfully, all of the medical personnel are too involved into their own worlds to notice me. I move through the hallway, finding every snag and bump in the uneven floor with my IV pole.
I pop my head into each room I pass. Fat man. Old lady. Fat lady. Fat, old man. Little kid with a broken leg. Young woman holding twins.
By the time I find Tim’s at the end of the hallway, my heart races and my vision blurs.
But seeing my partner propped up in his bed fills me with an odd sense of relief. Even though he’s paler than his sheets and hooked up to more machines than I was, the steady chirp of the heart rate monitor attests to him still being alive.
Ellie and Gibbs linger by his side. Concern weighs heavy on her features like she can barely shoulder the burden of the sudden promotion with us incapacitated while Gibbs struggles to stay unreadable.
Down the hallway, the nurse from upstairs comes around the corner hell for leather. Her angry eyes scan the area before she darts into the closest room.
I finally duck inside Tim’s room.
Gibbs turns. “DiNozzo, what the hell are you doing out of bed?”
“Checking up on McGee, boss,” I say.
“Tony - “ Ellie smiles through her sudden tears “ - you’re okay. We were so worried.”
I stare at Tim for a long moment. “Me too.”
When I take another step forward, my body suddenly weighs thousands of pounds. The world tilt sideways. Gibbs and Ellie head over to catch me, lead me to the open chair. I collapse against it, fight the wave of nausea and lightheadedness. My eyes close on their own, but I force them open.
“How are you feeling?” Ellie sounds like she’s a world away.
“Fine,” I say. “Just peachy.”
“You look - “
“Like…crap,” Tim says, voice barely a whisper.
Hope swells within my chest and I can’t help but grin. His eyes barely open to slits before they close again. Leaning forward, I reach for my partner’s hand and squeeze it hard enough to rouse him.
“You don’t look too hot yourself, McGoo,” I say.
His eyes flutter open. “I…got…shot. What’s your…excuse?”
“You.”
He gives me a tight smile like he understands everything that single word entails. “Thank…you, Tony. For every…thing.” His gaze jumps to Gibbs and Ellie, but it hardly registers either of them. “Nice to see…you, Boss…Bishop. Thanks…for coming.”
Gibbs nods while Ellie steps forward to clutch Tim’s forearm.
“You two gave us quite the scare, McGee,” she whispers, smiling, “but the doctor says you and Tony are going to be just fine. Just fine.”
His eyebrows jump. “You make it sound bad. How bad…is it?”
She squeezes his arm. “You’ll live.”
“That’s what…Tony said.” He huffs quietly. “What…about the…bullet? Can I…”
Her face falls when she looks to Gibbs for guidance, but he just laughs. “Abby already called dibs, Elf Lord. You could always fight her for it.”
“Let her…” His voice trails off as he falls asleep. When his hand goes slack underneath my fingertips, I’m thankful that everything’s going to be okay, that we’re going to be okay.
I lean back in my chair and listen to Ellie drone on about our conditions: dehydration and exposure for me and a quad injury with nicked artery for Tim. Recovery for me should be a couple of days, she says. Rest and fluids will fix everything that’s wrong with me. I feel like I’m getting off easy, especially when she tells me how Tim is in for, at best, a few months of physiotherapy and desk duty. The worst case scenario is permanent damage and the end of a once promising career.
That’s all I can think about as I drift to sleep.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
The upstairs nurse must’ve been a prison warden in a past life because she tries to lock me in my hospital room and throw away the key. She doesn’t take my request to share my cell with Tim seriously until I threaten to sign myself out AMA. Even though I just plan to camp out by his bedside, I don’t tell her that. Thankfully, she believes that threat because within the hour, they kick out Tim’s roommate and I find myself settling down in the bed next to his.
One day and a couple of blood transfusions-I think, because everything moves so slow in hospital time-make a world of difference for Tim. Sitting up in his bed, he works at his disgusting hospital meal. He chases something that might’ve been a carrot around his plate with a spork. I ate the same meal an hour ago, but I still have no idea what the hell it was.
Some of the natural color returned to Tim’s cheeks and he no longer looks like the next person in line to visit Ducky. His left leg, an intricate mess of bandages and hospital tape, is braced and elevated.
When he tries to stab his vegetable with the spork, it hops onto the floor and disappears under my bed. I wonder how long it’ll take for the cleaning crew to find it.
Tim lets out a broken sigh. “I can’t believe this.”
“It’s for the best, McGee,” I say. “The food was awful anyway.”
He looks at me strangely. “What?”
I point to the floor. “Dinner? It sucked. I can’t wait to get out of here and get some real food. I could eat a whole pepperoni pizza right now.”
“Oh yeah, you mean the cauliflower.”
Ah, so that wasn’t a carrot boiled to death and resurrected only to be cooked to death again.
His eyes wander back to the TV in the corner that silently plays Casablanca. He muted it because I spent the first hour of the film quoting some of the dialogue, but he doesn’t know I’ve memorized every line. I don’t have to hear anyone speak to know exactly what they’re going to say. Play it again, Sam.
The stricken expression on Tim’s face drags me out of my movie stupor.
“If it isn’t the food, what is it?” I ask.
“My leg.” He says the words as though could be funny, like the universe plays one big joke on him or yesterday was just a really bad dream. “The doctors said…I might never walk the…same…again.”
I press my lips together. “You and I both know it’s still too early to tell, Tim.”
He hangs his head. “Yeah, I know. We won’t find out until I start healing and physical therapy. But, Tony, my life as a field agent might be over. Gibbs might…”
“You really think the boss will get rid of you?” The way he won’t meet my gaze speaks volumes. “It wouldn’t be like that, Tim. You’ll see.”
“If I can’t walk, I’m no good to the team.” He sighs like the world is falling apart.
“I think you’re jumping the gun here, McGee. Just wait and see what happens before you start planning your life after the team. Who knows, you might even end up as the head of Cybercrimes.” His broken moan makes me move on…quickly. “I’m sure Gibbs’ll have more than enough computer work while you’re on desk duty. And after that, we’ll take it one day at a time.”
He nods slowly.
“Time heals all wounds, remember?” I say.
He scrubs his hands over his face. “Why does everyone always say that?”
I shrug. “Because it’s true.”
“Really?”
I waggle my eyebrows, channel my best Shrek impression. “Really, really.”
Rolling his eyes, Tim laughs. For a moment, the companionable silence settles around us and it feels like we’re back in the bullpen, hunkering down to pull another all-nighter. I don’t know how many more times like this we’ll have to share, but I sit back to relish this moment.
When Casablanca ends, he channel-surfs through the hospital’s limited-and depressing-offering. After a couple complete scans, he finds a scene that I instantly recognize. Two blondes, a redhead, and a brunette in a diner, talking over breakfast.
“Wait,” I say, without thinking. “I love this movie.”
Tim drops the remote like it’s on fire.
“Wait, you like Sex and the City?” His eyes nearly bug out of his head. I feel the blush start on my neck before it engulfs my face. “Since when does a self-proclaimed movie buff like Sex and the City?”
I sweep imaginary lint off my hospital gown. “Since his girlfriend makes him watch it all the time.”
Tim nods disbelievingly. “Sure.”
“It’s true. She forced me to watch all six seasons…and the movies.” I lick my lips, glance over at the flower print on the wall that hasn’t had color since the 1970s. “I told you Zoe would spill my deepest, darkest secret and the one she knows is that I actually kind of enjoyed the show.”
I don’t expect him to nod. “Yeah, I know. Delilah made me watch it too.”
We sit in silence for a long time, two manly men watching a show about life and love from a women’s perspective. Research, I tell myself. I’m doing research in case things don’t work out with Zoe. But the episode that’s on is a great one: when Carrie gets dumped by a Post-It note. I’m not sure what all the fuss is about because who hasn’t done that at least once? Okay, fine, twice.
I bet Tim probably hasn’t. I doubt he’d have the balls to dump someone with a Post-It note. Scratch that, he probably wouldn’t have the heart to dump anyone at all.
“You know,” I blurt out, “I always thought you were like Charlotte.”
“What? I’m definitely more like Miranda.” When I shake my head, Tim looks slightly offended. “Yeah, well, you’re exactly like Samantha.”
Running my hand across my chin, I consider his thought. Kim Cattrall: sex vixen, killer body, great sense of humor, and wicked fashion sense. Not a bad choice, Tim, not bad at all.
I nod heartily and grin. “That I can live with. Now, what about Bishop?”
He crumples his nose. “No contest,” and we unison: “Carrie.”
“Oh yeah, definitely.” I shoot him a glance. “What do you think about Gibbs?”
“What about me?” Gibbs’ voice carries from the hallway.
Tim’s wide eyes meet mine. His mouth moves like he’s about to say something, but I recover first.
“McGee, change the channel,” I yelp.
When he scrambles for the remote, he accidently throws it to the floor. The damned thing explodes into a million pieces and the batteries roll under my bed to have a party with the bit of carrot/cauliflower. Yanking my blanket up to my neck, I lean back against the bed to feign sleep.
“Oh no, you don’t, DiNozzo,” Tim says as a piece of carrot/cauliflower pings off my head.
Coffee cup in hand, Gibbs materializes in the doorway. His eyes widen at the television as I dive under the blanket.
“What in the hell are you two watching?”
Click to Read the Epilogue