Fifteen Minutes to Midnight - Chapter 5
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.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
Chapter Five
“Really great plan, DiNozzo,” Tim growls. “How the hell do we get out of here?”
In the grand scheme of things, our current position really isn’t terrible. Okay, fine, so we’re locked in the laundry room. And we are sitting on the floor, handcuffed together with the cuffs wrapped around the pipe to a wash sink. But still, we’re alone and the Clampett brothers aren’t anywhere to be found.
I’d rather take my chances with the sink than three rednecks with guns.
“We get loose,” I suggest simply, “then we get the car.”
He groans. “They took our keys, remember?”
“Correction, McHostage, they took your keys.” I jiggle mine in my pocket. “I can still use the car to get us out of here.”
“Then why don’t you use them on the handcuffs?” After I laugh anxiously, I don’t need to see Tim’s face to know he’s pissed. His huff tells me everything. “You didn’t bring the cuff key, did you?”
I rub the back of my neck. “I don’t usually. Once you get ‘em cuffed, it’s not like you really need to cut them loose. Booking generally takes care of that.” Tim huffs again. “Look, McGee, if you want to get out of here, just help me with the sink.”
“Fine.”
When he shifts his weight, he jerks me sideways. My head bounces off the sink with a thud that echoes all the way through my brain and for a moment, tiny, black stars explode in my vision. When the cartooned birds don’t come next, I feel a little forsaken. Since we’re about to channel our inner Wiley Coyotes against the sink, it seems only right for the Merry Melody birds to join the fun.
Moaning, I massage my temple. I’m going to have to watch that next head slap from Gibbs because it might just prove fatal.
“Come on, Tony,” Tim calls. “Stop messing around over there. We need to get moving.”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
He shifts again and I brace myself against the sink this time. I jerk myself backwards, yanking him into it instead. The sound of his face colliding into the plastic resonates-he didn’t hit it nearly as hard as I did. He yelps and mutters a curse.
When he recovers, he tugs on my arm again. But I beat him to it.
There’s another thud, followed by a louder groan and an even more colorful curse. To let him know I’m serious, I grab his hand. He goes slack in my grasp.
“Truce, Tony, truce.” When I let go, he sighs. “Can we get out of here now? Please.”
I nod. “Sure, but we need to get the sink out of the way.”
“How?”
“Rip it out of the wall.”
I picture him rolling his eyes. “Of course.”
We move in tandem until our cuffed arms are pressed against the base of the sink and our free hands grasp the top. I shift into a crouch and on the other side, I hear Tim do the same.
With my face smashed flat against the plastic, I say, “Are you ready?”
“As I can be,” he replies, voice muffled.
“Alright, on three.” The sink presses deep against my arm. “One…two…three.”
At the same time, we surge upwards against the appliance. My muscles shake and scream from the sudden - and infrequent - use. The sink lets out a baleful moan before it rocks forward ever so slightly. But it isn’t enough. I collapse at the same time Tim does and we both lie there, panting and groaning.
“Are you ready to try again?” he asks.
I wheeze. “Just…give me…a few…more…minutes.”
I stay there for much longer than that, breathing hard and staring at the popcorn ceiling overhead. After we get out of this, I’m making the gym a priority again. Maybe I can convince Zoe to lift weights with me like we used to back in Philly. I bet she still looks as good in spandex.
And suddenly, my motivation to get free reignites.
“Okay, Tim, let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Right,” he says, and we maneuver back into position.
“One…two…three.”
We burst upwards with more force than before. The heavy plastic of the sink digs into my shoulder, but I grind my teeth and go to my happy place: Zoe working her ass off in a pair of spinning shorts.
I will get out of here to see that again.
Just as my muscles are about to give up, the sink releases a heartbroken creak before it explodes from the wall with a huge chunk of plaster. The pipe breaks free too and water gushes out like a geyser. Before Tim and I have a chance out of the way, we end up completely drenched. My coat and suit weigh a thousand pounds each. My partner looks more like a drowning victim than a federal agent.
“Great,” Tim grouses. “We’re soaking wet.”
I ring out my coat’s hem. “It could be worse. We could still be cuffed to the sink.”
He glares at me. “But I’m still cuffed to you.”
“Would you rather I be Gibbs?”
All I get is a huff and an eye roll.
After one last look at the once-immaculate laundry room with a water that rises with Biblical strength, I break the lock on the laundry room door and we make our way into the main house. We squelch as quietly as we can through the kitchen towards the back door. One look tells me that even if I could pick the deadbolt, we couldn’t escape due to the pile of junk on the porch.
“That’s a fire hazard,” Tim says.
“Remind me to tell Gibbs to bring the fire marshal.” I meet his dead-eye stare, desperate to switch gears. “Do you think they’re still here?”
He closes his eyes for a moment, listens hard. “I don’t hear anything. Maybe they left?”
“Here’s hoping, McGee.”
I move forward and Tim follows like my shadow. After a few feet, it makes my skin crawl. We slink into the hallway towards the living room and come up empty. When we arrive at the front door, I turn back.
Tim is inches from my face.
His hair is slicked against his forehead and his cheeks are ruddy from the frigid water with that bruise on his chin going a gruesome purple. Dread works its way onto his face, but I can’t have that right now.
So I narrow my eyes. “Stop breathing down my neck.”
Annoyance quickly replaces the fear. Now, that I can work with.
“I’m not trying to.” But he exhales towards me on purpose.
I put my free hand up. “Seriously, knock it off.”
He takes a full step away until we’re at arm’s length. “Is this better?”
I sigh contentedly. “Much.”
Closing his eyes, he moves his mouth as though he’s saying everything he ever wanted to under his breath. Eventually, he looks past me at the door.
“Can we go now?” he asks.
With a nod, I head through the front door with Tim on my heels again. As soon as we’re outside, the freezing, autumn air bites through my wet clothes before it settles into my bones. An icy wind leaves us shivering as I scan the yard for signs of life. Our breaths come in thick, white puffs. Thankfully, the entire space between the forest and the barn is completely deserted.
The Charger is exactly where we parked it.
I fish my keys out, ready to bolt for the vehicle, but Tim holds us back.
“We need to be smart about this,” he says. “They’ve got to be around here somewhere.”
He takes the porch steps slowly as I follow him. Even though I urge him to move faster, he keeps up the snail’s pace as though we might not make it to the car if we ran. His anxious gaze rakes over the driveway, but there isn’t anything to find. We creep, side-by-side, with the car in sight.
I notice someone leaning against the barn with a cigarette resting between his lips. Sammy stares at us, wide-eyed and shocked, like a deer trapped in a car’s headlights. Smoke curls up from his cigarette, racing towards the sky.
Tim freezes, his entire body going rigid.
At that moment, the entire world stops.
My heart skips a beat before it hammers away, sending adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream. Sammy raises the gun and then, everything catches up again.
“McGee, run!”
I grab Tim’s hand and yank him towards the woods. Tim’s big brain obviously takes longer to process everything because he doesn’t react for a few steps. Then, he struggles to catch his stride. Snippets of trees and rusted out cars rush past as we sprint over the uneven ground.
Somewhere behind us, a gunshot cracks.
Oh shit. That was a freaking shotgun.
Birds crow and cry as they abandon their perches. The mud sucks on my dress shoes, trying to drag me down like quicksand. Branches snap and gnaw at my cheeks, but I don’t drop Tim’s hand. He stumbles again and I barely give him a chance to regain his balance.
“Keep moving, Tim!”
“I’m trying.” He pants. “I’m trying.”
Another shot echoes. Handgun, farther away this time.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs. “They’re shooting at us.”
We run even deeper into the woods with the gunshots spurring us onward. It sounds like the brothers are spreading out to search for us.
I stop dead and Tim barrels into me, nearly knocking us over. He doubles over to his knees, his breaths coming in struggling gasps. His body trembles violently. I wrap my free hand around my chest, trying to encourage some warmth back into my muscles.
Another handgun shot rings out, somewhere deep in the woods to the left.
“Tony…what…what are...” Tim inhales like he’s about to die. “What are…we…doing?”
I hold a finger to my lips, strain my ears. Birds shriek and leaves rustle in the wind. The shotgun booms somewhere to the right. Fifty yards, give or take. Moments later, the handgun goes off again to the left. It’s merely yards away, deeper into the woods than we are. But close enough that we might get caught.
“Tony?” Tim glances up. “We need to - “
“Get to the car. Now!”
One hard jerk to the cuffs and he rises, exhausted and ready. After a few yards, he lags behind. So I grab his arm and force him forward. Once we get back to work, I’m taking his sorry ass to the gym with me. Next time, he better be the one dragging me through the damned forest.
Shots crack at random intervals, some closer than others.
I try to tune them out, but every single one makes me flinch and Tim inhale sharply. So I choose to focus my attention on getting us to the car intact. If I lose my head, Tim will too.
And well, I’d rather not think about that.
After what feels like a lifetime, we come across scraps of civilization: a rusted out car here, a motorcycle frame there. My heart lifts when I recognize the corpse of a Mustang we passed on the way into the woods.
Another gunshot cracks, closer than before.
Tim goes down hard, dragging me with him. I land face first in the mud. Over the ringing in my ears, I barely make out Tim’s groan. He moves his hands towards the back of his leg and my cuffed hand grazes something sticky, wet, and hot. It boils against my skin, scorches against the cold air.
If we don’t get moving, we’re as good as dead.
I push myself up and he groans again. My body goes on high alert as my eyes dart around the tree line for the shooter. Someone has to be nearby. That shot sounded way too close for comfort.
“Come on, McGee,” I start, “we need to - “
His moan twists my gut. “My leg…Tony. I think…I think I’m hit.”
Those words ignite panic in my gut as I turn to my partner.
Flat on his back, Tim screws his face in agony. His shaking free hand scrabbles for the back of his left thigh. At that moment, I notice the blood on my fingertips.
He gasps. “How bad…how bad is it?”
I inspect his leg as best as I can. There’s an entry wound in the back of his thigh, no exit. The blood flows heavily, but there’s no spray. Thank G-d. That means while the bullet probably didn’t nick an artery, but it’s still buried deep inside his leg. If I can slow the flow, he might live long enough to see a hospital.
“Tony, just tell me. How bad is it?” His voice jumps an octave.
“You’ll live,” I say, as much for my benefit as his.
I remove my knife from my belt buckle, and then I shrug off my coat. I slice the sleeve open so I maneuver it around the handcuffs. When I use it to apply pressure to Tim’s leg, he yelps at my touch.
Blood slowly seeps under my coat, dribbling through my fingers until the ground beneath us darkens. I press harder and he writhes away from me, a cry dying in his throat. Sweat pricks to his forehead, adding to the mess of sink water and mud.
“Tony?” Tim’s gaze wanders towards his leg.
“Look at me, McGee,” I order. “Keep your eyes on me.”
He hisses when I apply even more pressure. “Oh G-d, Tony, that hurts.”
“I know, Tim, I know.” I check the bleeding and it’s, mercifully, slowing down. Then I add: “I’m sorry,” so quietly that he doesn’t hear me over his strident breathing.
When his eyes dip to half-mast, terror burns through me like wildfire and for a moment, I’m terrified my heart will try to escape my chest. I shake Tim to rouse him.
“You stay awake,” I say. “That’s an order.”
He smiles through the pain. “You always boss me around.”
“That’s because I’m the senior field agent. It’s my job to tell you want to do, remember?” When he starts to slip away again, I shoot him a grin. “Speaking of work, you’re writing my report.”
Indignation keeps him alert. “What? Why? This isn’t my fault.”
“Because I said so.”
“That’s…bullshit, Tony. Write your own report.” Then he manages a small, conspiratorial smile. “Or we should make Bishop do it.”
“Oh really? And I wanted to read about this experience with your flowery author language.” I laugh. “Remember that last book? When you wrote, ‘The way the leafless trees stretched after G-d in the cloudless sky like a congregation of the damned as Agent Tommy walked out of the courtroom, his faith gone forever.’? ”
He makes a face. “That was one line, Tony, and it never even made it into the book.”
Frowning, I sigh. “Talk about a shame because I kind of liked it.”
The pallor of Tim’s cheeks and his trembling breaths turns my guts to ash. Beside my cuffed hand, I feel his tremble. His eyes still hold mine and I struggle to school the fear from my face. His body begins to go slack, so I adjust my hold on his leg.
He gasps, his head slamming back against the ground. At least, he’s still awake.
“When’s the next one coming out?” I ask.
His brow furrows. “I thought you…never…read them.”
“I might have skimmed the first one. Plus, it was nice being known as a minor celebrity around the agency.” When I nod, he doesn’t react. “What are you going to call Bishop? And where’d Agent Lisa go?”
“Lisa joined MI-5, deep…cover…stuff. And Bishop, well, I don’t know…” His voice trails off.
“I bet you’re going to name her Belly Queen, huh?”
He perks up long enough to narrow his eyes. “I would never give a character an awful name like that.”
“Tell that to Pimmy Jalmer.”
When he slips away again, I check his leg. The blood still seeps underneath the coat, through my fingers, all over the ground. The earth beneath him turns a terrifying black.
I need to get the bleeding to stop, so I reach to remove my belt.
Tim stares up at me like I’ve finally lost it. “What are you doing, Tony?”
“I’m going to make a tourniquet.” That wakes him right up. “Don’t worry, Tim. I know what I’m doing. I saw it in Open Water. It was a great film about being lost at sea and surrounded by sharks. Not anything like what we’re-”
“No.”
I cock my head. “What?”
“I don’t want a tourniquet, Tony. I’d rather die than...” He swallows as though he searches for the courage to continue. “I’d rather die…than lose…my leg.”
My heart drops into my stomach. “Are you sure?”
When he nods, I want nothing more than to head-slap some sense into him. But I don’t have the time reason with him. So I get back to our original plan: to get the hell of here.
Thankfully, the bleeding from his leg has slowed enough for us to get moving. I try to lift him, but it’s awkward with the cuff and Tim is far heavier than he looks. Way too much muscle and not enough Nutter Butters.
“Alright, McGee,” I say. “Let’s take this nice and slow.”
And as I stand up, I help him to his feet. The movement is uneasy at best with me bearing most of his weight as he hobbles forward.
“Tony, I don’t…think…” he pants heavily. “I…don’t…think…I - “
“DiNozzo Rule Nineteen.”
He shoots me a look. “What?”
“If you’re not dead, walk it off.”
“Did you just make that up?”
“Nah,” I lie, “it’s always been one, but it seems applicable now.”
Tim’s face turns into a grim mask of determination, burying the agony I’m sure he feels deep underneath it. As we make our way back to the car slowly, I strain my ears for any sound of the approaching brothers. Just as I discern the outline of the barn through the foliage, a crash echoes in the underbrush.
With my heart wedged firmly in my throat, I glance over my shoulder.
Sammy caught up to us.
Click to Read Chapter Six
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.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
Chapter Five
“Really great plan, DiNozzo,” Tim growls. “How the hell do we get out of here?”
In the grand scheme of things, our current position really isn’t terrible. Okay, fine, so we’re locked in the laundry room. And we are sitting on the floor, handcuffed together with the cuffs wrapped around the pipe to a wash sink. But still, we’re alone and the Clampett brothers aren’t anywhere to be found.
I’d rather take my chances with the sink than three rednecks with guns.
“We get loose,” I suggest simply, “then we get the car.”
He groans. “They took our keys, remember?”
“Correction, McHostage, they took your keys.” I jiggle mine in my pocket. “I can still use the car to get us out of here.”
“Then why don’t you use them on the handcuffs?” After I laugh anxiously, I don’t need to see Tim’s face to know he’s pissed. His huff tells me everything. “You didn’t bring the cuff key, did you?”
I rub the back of my neck. “I don’t usually. Once you get ‘em cuffed, it’s not like you really need to cut them loose. Booking generally takes care of that.” Tim huffs again. “Look, McGee, if you want to get out of here, just help me with the sink.”
“Fine.”
When he shifts his weight, he jerks me sideways. My head bounces off the sink with a thud that echoes all the way through my brain and for a moment, tiny, black stars explode in my vision. When the cartooned birds don’t come next, I feel a little forsaken. Since we’re about to channel our inner Wiley Coyotes against the sink, it seems only right for the Merry Melody birds to join the fun.
Moaning, I massage my temple. I’m going to have to watch that next head slap from Gibbs because it might just prove fatal.
“Come on, Tony,” Tim calls. “Stop messing around over there. We need to get moving.”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
He shifts again and I brace myself against the sink this time. I jerk myself backwards, yanking him into it instead. The sound of his face colliding into the plastic resonates-he didn’t hit it nearly as hard as I did. He yelps and mutters a curse.
When he recovers, he tugs on my arm again. But I beat him to it.
There’s another thud, followed by a louder groan and an even more colorful curse. To let him know I’m serious, I grab his hand. He goes slack in my grasp.
“Truce, Tony, truce.” When I let go, he sighs. “Can we get out of here now? Please.”
I nod. “Sure, but we need to get the sink out of the way.”
“How?”
“Rip it out of the wall.”
I picture him rolling his eyes. “Of course.”
We move in tandem until our cuffed arms are pressed against the base of the sink and our free hands grasp the top. I shift into a crouch and on the other side, I hear Tim do the same.
With my face smashed flat against the plastic, I say, “Are you ready?”
“As I can be,” he replies, voice muffled.
“Alright, on three.” The sink presses deep against my arm. “One…two…three.”
At the same time, we surge upwards against the appliance. My muscles shake and scream from the sudden - and infrequent - use. The sink lets out a baleful moan before it rocks forward ever so slightly. But it isn’t enough. I collapse at the same time Tim does and we both lie there, panting and groaning.
“Are you ready to try again?” he asks.
I wheeze. “Just…give me…a few…more…minutes.”
I stay there for much longer than that, breathing hard and staring at the popcorn ceiling overhead. After we get out of this, I’m making the gym a priority again. Maybe I can convince Zoe to lift weights with me like we used to back in Philly. I bet she still looks as good in spandex.
And suddenly, my motivation to get free reignites.
“Okay, Tim, let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Right,” he says, and we maneuver back into position.
“One…two…three.”
We burst upwards with more force than before. The heavy plastic of the sink digs into my shoulder, but I grind my teeth and go to my happy place: Zoe working her ass off in a pair of spinning shorts.
I will get out of here to see that again.
Just as my muscles are about to give up, the sink releases a heartbroken creak before it explodes from the wall with a huge chunk of plaster. The pipe breaks free too and water gushes out like a geyser. Before Tim and I have a chance out of the way, we end up completely drenched. My coat and suit weigh a thousand pounds each. My partner looks more like a drowning victim than a federal agent.
“Great,” Tim grouses. “We’re soaking wet.”
I ring out my coat’s hem. “It could be worse. We could still be cuffed to the sink.”
He glares at me. “But I’m still cuffed to you.”
“Would you rather I be Gibbs?”
All I get is a huff and an eye roll.
After one last look at the once-immaculate laundry room with a water that rises with Biblical strength, I break the lock on the laundry room door and we make our way into the main house. We squelch as quietly as we can through the kitchen towards the back door. One look tells me that even if I could pick the deadbolt, we couldn’t escape due to the pile of junk on the porch.
“That’s a fire hazard,” Tim says.
“Remind me to tell Gibbs to bring the fire marshal.” I meet his dead-eye stare, desperate to switch gears. “Do you think they’re still here?”
He closes his eyes for a moment, listens hard. “I don’t hear anything. Maybe they left?”
“Here’s hoping, McGee.”
I move forward and Tim follows like my shadow. After a few feet, it makes my skin crawl. We slink into the hallway towards the living room and come up empty. When we arrive at the front door, I turn back.
Tim is inches from my face.
His hair is slicked against his forehead and his cheeks are ruddy from the frigid water with that bruise on his chin going a gruesome purple. Dread works its way onto his face, but I can’t have that right now.
So I narrow my eyes. “Stop breathing down my neck.”
Annoyance quickly replaces the fear. Now, that I can work with.
“I’m not trying to.” But he exhales towards me on purpose.
I put my free hand up. “Seriously, knock it off.”
He takes a full step away until we’re at arm’s length. “Is this better?”
I sigh contentedly. “Much.”
Closing his eyes, he moves his mouth as though he’s saying everything he ever wanted to under his breath. Eventually, he looks past me at the door.
“Can we go now?” he asks.
With a nod, I head through the front door with Tim on my heels again. As soon as we’re outside, the freezing, autumn air bites through my wet clothes before it settles into my bones. An icy wind leaves us shivering as I scan the yard for signs of life. Our breaths come in thick, white puffs. Thankfully, the entire space between the forest and the barn is completely deserted.
The Charger is exactly where we parked it.
I fish my keys out, ready to bolt for the vehicle, but Tim holds us back.
“We need to be smart about this,” he says. “They’ve got to be around here somewhere.”
He takes the porch steps slowly as I follow him. Even though I urge him to move faster, he keeps up the snail’s pace as though we might not make it to the car if we ran. His anxious gaze rakes over the driveway, but there isn’t anything to find. We creep, side-by-side, with the car in sight.
I notice someone leaning against the barn with a cigarette resting between his lips. Sammy stares at us, wide-eyed and shocked, like a deer trapped in a car’s headlights. Smoke curls up from his cigarette, racing towards the sky.
Tim freezes, his entire body going rigid.
At that moment, the entire world stops.
My heart skips a beat before it hammers away, sending adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream. Sammy raises the gun and then, everything catches up again.
“McGee, run!”
I grab Tim’s hand and yank him towards the woods. Tim’s big brain obviously takes longer to process everything because he doesn’t react for a few steps. Then, he struggles to catch his stride. Snippets of trees and rusted out cars rush past as we sprint over the uneven ground.
Somewhere behind us, a gunshot cracks.
Oh shit. That was a freaking shotgun.
Birds crow and cry as they abandon their perches. The mud sucks on my dress shoes, trying to drag me down like quicksand. Branches snap and gnaw at my cheeks, but I don’t drop Tim’s hand. He stumbles again and I barely give him a chance to regain his balance.
“Keep moving, Tim!”
“I’m trying.” He pants. “I’m trying.”
Another shot echoes. Handgun, farther away this time.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs. “They’re shooting at us.”
We run even deeper into the woods with the gunshots spurring us onward. It sounds like the brothers are spreading out to search for us.
I stop dead and Tim barrels into me, nearly knocking us over. He doubles over to his knees, his breaths coming in struggling gasps. His body trembles violently. I wrap my free hand around my chest, trying to encourage some warmth back into my muscles.
Another handgun shot rings out, somewhere deep in the woods to the left.
“Tony…what…what are...” Tim inhales like he’s about to die. “What are…we…doing?”
I hold a finger to my lips, strain my ears. Birds shriek and leaves rustle in the wind. The shotgun booms somewhere to the right. Fifty yards, give or take. Moments later, the handgun goes off again to the left. It’s merely yards away, deeper into the woods than we are. But close enough that we might get caught.
“Tony?” Tim glances up. “We need to - “
“Get to the car. Now!”
One hard jerk to the cuffs and he rises, exhausted and ready. After a few yards, he lags behind. So I grab his arm and force him forward. Once we get back to work, I’m taking his sorry ass to the gym with me. Next time, he better be the one dragging me through the damned forest.
Shots crack at random intervals, some closer than others.
I try to tune them out, but every single one makes me flinch and Tim inhale sharply. So I choose to focus my attention on getting us to the car intact. If I lose my head, Tim will too.
And well, I’d rather not think about that.
After what feels like a lifetime, we come across scraps of civilization: a rusted out car here, a motorcycle frame there. My heart lifts when I recognize the corpse of a Mustang we passed on the way into the woods.
Another gunshot cracks, closer than before.
Tim goes down hard, dragging me with him. I land face first in the mud. Over the ringing in my ears, I barely make out Tim’s groan. He moves his hands towards the back of his leg and my cuffed hand grazes something sticky, wet, and hot. It boils against my skin, scorches against the cold air.
If we don’t get moving, we’re as good as dead.
I push myself up and he groans again. My body goes on high alert as my eyes dart around the tree line for the shooter. Someone has to be nearby. That shot sounded way too close for comfort.
“Come on, McGee,” I start, “we need to - “
His moan twists my gut. “My leg…Tony. I think…I think I’m hit.”
Those words ignite panic in my gut as I turn to my partner.
Flat on his back, Tim screws his face in agony. His shaking free hand scrabbles for the back of his left thigh. At that moment, I notice the blood on my fingertips.
He gasps. “How bad…how bad is it?”
I inspect his leg as best as I can. There’s an entry wound in the back of his thigh, no exit. The blood flows heavily, but there’s no spray. Thank G-d. That means while the bullet probably didn’t nick an artery, but it’s still buried deep inside his leg. If I can slow the flow, he might live long enough to see a hospital.
“Tony, just tell me. How bad is it?” His voice jumps an octave.
“You’ll live,” I say, as much for my benefit as his.
I remove my knife from my belt buckle, and then I shrug off my coat. I slice the sleeve open so I maneuver it around the handcuffs. When I use it to apply pressure to Tim’s leg, he yelps at my touch.
Blood slowly seeps under my coat, dribbling through my fingers until the ground beneath us darkens. I press harder and he writhes away from me, a cry dying in his throat. Sweat pricks to his forehead, adding to the mess of sink water and mud.
“Tony?” Tim’s gaze wanders towards his leg.
“Look at me, McGee,” I order. “Keep your eyes on me.”
He hisses when I apply even more pressure. “Oh G-d, Tony, that hurts.”
“I know, Tim, I know.” I check the bleeding and it’s, mercifully, slowing down. Then I add: “I’m sorry,” so quietly that he doesn’t hear me over his strident breathing.
When his eyes dip to half-mast, terror burns through me like wildfire and for a moment, I’m terrified my heart will try to escape my chest. I shake Tim to rouse him.
“You stay awake,” I say. “That’s an order.”
He smiles through the pain. “You always boss me around.”
“That’s because I’m the senior field agent. It’s my job to tell you want to do, remember?” When he starts to slip away again, I shoot him a grin. “Speaking of work, you’re writing my report.”
Indignation keeps him alert. “What? Why? This isn’t my fault.”
“Because I said so.”
“That’s…bullshit, Tony. Write your own report.” Then he manages a small, conspiratorial smile. “Or we should make Bishop do it.”
“Oh really? And I wanted to read about this experience with your flowery author language.” I laugh. “Remember that last book? When you wrote, ‘The way the leafless trees stretched after G-d in the cloudless sky like a congregation of the damned as Agent Tommy walked out of the courtroom, his faith gone forever.’? ”
He makes a face. “That was one line, Tony, and it never even made it into the book.”
Frowning, I sigh. “Talk about a shame because I kind of liked it.”
The pallor of Tim’s cheeks and his trembling breaths turns my guts to ash. Beside my cuffed hand, I feel his tremble. His eyes still hold mine and I struggle to school the fear from my face. His body begins to go slack, so I adjust my hold on his leg.
He gasps, his head slamming back against the ground. At least, he’s still awake.
“When’s the next one coming out?” I ask.
His brow furrows. “I thought you…never…read them.”
“I might have skimmed the first one. Plus, it was nice being known as a minor celebrity around the agency.” When I nod, he doesn’t react. “What are you going to call Bishop? And where’d Agent Lisa go?”
“Lisa joined MI-5, deep…cover…stuff. And Bishop, well, I don’t know…” His voice trails off.
“I bet you’re going to name her Belly Queen, huh?”
He perks up long enough to narrow his eyes. “I would never give a character an awful name like that.”
“Tell that to Pimmy Jalmer.”
When he slips away again, I check his leg. The blood still seeps underneath the coat, through my fingers, all over the ground. The earth beneath him turns a terrifying black.
I need to get the bleeding to stop, so I reach to remove my belt.
Tim stares up at me like I’ve finally lost it. “What are you doing, Tony?”
“I’m going to make a tourniquet.” That wakes him right up. “Don’t worry, Tim. I know what I’m doing. I saw it in Open Water. It was a great film about being lost at sea and surrounded by sharks. Not anything like what we’re-”
“No.”
I cock my head. “What?”
“I don’t want a tourniquet, Tony. I’d rather die than...” He swallows as though he searches for the courage to continue. “I’d rather die…than lose…my leg.”
My heart drops into my stomach. “Are you sure?”
When he nods, I want nothing more than to head-slap some sense into him. But I don’t have the time reason with him. So I get back to our original plan: to get the hell of here.
Thankfully, the bleeding from his leg has slowed enough for us to get moving. I try to lift him, but it’s awkward with the cuff and Tim is far heavier than he looks. Way too much muscle and not enough Nutter Butters.
“Alright, McGee,” I say. “Let’s take this nice and slow.”
And as I stand up, I help him to his feet. The movement is uneasy at best with me bearing most of his weight as he hobbles forward.
“Tony, I don’t…think…” he pants heavily. “I…don’t…think…I - “
“DiNozzo Rule Nineteen.”
He shoots me a look. “What?”
“If you’re not dead, walk it off.”
“Did you just make that up?”
“Nah,” I lie, “it’s always been one, but it seems applicable now.”
Tim’s face turns into a grim mask of determination, burying the agony I’m sure he feels deep underneath it. As we make our way back to the car slowly, I strain my ears for any sound of the approaching brothers. Just as I discern the outline of the barn through the foliage, a crash echoes in the underbrush.
With my heart wedged firmly in my throat, I glance over my shoulder.
Sammy caught up to us.
Click to Read Chapter Six