NFA WWC #49- Catch Up (#35 chosen)

Pairings: none

Characters: Jimmy, Tim, Tony, Ziva; smattering of Ducky, Gibbs, Abby

Genres: Supernatural/Horror

Warnings: Violence, Language, season seven/eight-ish

Summary: – NFA Random Generator prompt: Jimmy Palmer / Timothy McGee / save me. Jimmy has a secret that he never thought would be useful in his current job. He was wrong.

A/N: This is all Sergeant Conley's fault ;D


XXX

By the pricking of my thumbs

Something wicked this way comes

MacBeth, Act 4, Scene 1

Thursday

"Hey, Probie, how was your check-up?"

Tony had been waiting for McGee to get back so he could tease him about his annual physical. It was something that always had annoyed the man in the past, and an annoyed McGee was always entertaining. Ziva looked up with interest, obviously waiting to hear McGee's report as well.

"Fine. Ducky says I'm the picture of health," replied McGee before sitting down at his desk and starting typing away at his keyboard.

"Yeah, well considering his usual patients, that's not much of an endorsement, McPaleface."

McGee huffed in annoyance. "There's nothing wrong with me Tony. I just don't spend too much time out in the sun. I might even be in better shape than you now. How was your last checkup?"

Tony decided to ignore that last comment, as well as the soft snort of laughter from Ziva.

"You think you're in better shape than me, huh? Prove it: this Saturday, you and me, mano a mano."

"Doing what?"

"Basketball."

"Forget it, Tony."

"Come on, McGee, a little fresh air and sunshine will do you good. Or are you worried I'll prove to you just how wrong you are?"

"No, I'm worried that you, being the ridiculously competitive person that you are, will turn this into some crazy no-holds barred contest that will wind up with one or both of us getting hurt."

"He does have a point," said Ziva. "You do tend to forget the rules of the game in such situations."

"Fine, we'll have a referee, make it more official."

"Who are you going to get to be the referee?" asked Ziva.

"Palmer."

"What?" asked the man in question as he stepped off the elevator and walked towards them, file in hand.

"You're our chaperone, Palmer. McGee's worried I might get a little rough."

"Rough…?"

"Basketball. One on one," explained McGee. "Tony wants to have a little contest this weekend."

"Well, uh, sounds good to me. What time?"

"Not helping, Jimmy," he muttered while Tony grinned.

"How about 0900? We can even use the courts at the park near McGeek's place, so he doesn't have far to walk wounded."

"That works for me." Palmer turned to McGee, who was patently ignoring the other two men. "That OK with you, McGee?"

"Sure, fine, whatever. Did you need something, Palmer?" he asked, indicating the folder.

"Oh, yes, sorry, just the toxicology reports from Sergeant Parsons. It looks like he was quite under the influence."

"Ah, good, an easy one for once. Thanks, Jimmy," said Tony as he grabbed the file and went back to his desk.

"No problem. I-."

"Need to go get Ducky. Gear up, we've got a dead Marine," said Gibbs as he strode through the bullpen to his desk and grabbed his own gear.

"Oh, right. On my way." He ran to the elevator as the agents fell in behind their leader and headed out.

XXX

"Well this is weird," observed Tony as they pulled into the driveway of their destination. The house was old, classic Victorian in design, and desperately in need of a new coat of paint. The storm clouds that had gathered in the sky above the structure added a note of creepiness to the scene.

"That's one word for it," said McGee. "What was our Marine doing here?"

"Fixing up the place," replied Gibbs. "He bought it about a month ago. He didn't come home last night and his wife called the neighbor to have him check. He found the body, called the local LEOs, and they called us."

"And the fun just never stops," snarked Tony as they headed towards the house.

They were almost to the front steps when they heard the arrival of the ME's truck. They waited for Ducky and Palmer to join them before entering the silent building.

The team stepped into what appeared to be the living room of the house. It was empty except for a few cans of paint and buckets of drywall, plastic, a few tools and, of course, the body.

The Marine lay on his back, limbs outstretched. There was dark-rimmed hole in the center of his forehead and a pool of blood under his head. No weapon was in evidence.

Ducky bent down over the body to examine the wound.

"It's not a contact wound, Jethro. There's no distortion of the entrance or stippling."

"All right, check the rest of the house, then photos, sketch and bag and tag. I'll go talk to the neighbor."

"On it, Boss," said Tony with a grin. "I'll search the ground floor, Ziva can take the second floor, Probie, you take the basement. It should be right up your alley: nice, dark, out of the sun." Tony winked at Ziva and she just shook her head.

McGee rolled his eyes and turned to walk back through the house, looking for the stairs, which he found near the back of the kitchen. He opened the door and reached for the light switch. The bulb at the bottom of the stairs flickered to life.

"Great…"

He carefully made his way down the stairs and looked around as he descended. The corners of the basement were barely illuminated by a second bulb in the center of the room, but he could see it was absolutely empty. He made a quick circuit and turned to head back up the stairs when he noticed the door had swung shut. Suddenly, the lights flickered and died, plunging the room into darkness.

"Cute, Tony, real cute," he muttered as he tried to feel his way back to the stairs. The darkness surrounding him seemed to grow thicker with each step and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. He tried to move faster but the sense of claustrophobia increased and he felt the beginnings of a panic attack. Just as he felt the banister with the tips of his fingers, he experienced the sensation of something settling onto his back. He bit back a yelp and ran up the steps, not caring how he looked. He just wanted out of that basement.

He hit the door with a bang and stumbled into the kitchen, checking his back to see what had latched onto him, but there was nothing there.

"What's a matter, McGee, was that basement just too sca-wy?" asked Tony, mockingly.

"No, I just couldn't see, since someone turned off the lights," he snapped as he glared at the older man.

A brief puzzled expression crossed Tony's face before he laughed. "Wasn't me. I guess the wiring in this place isn't all that great."

"Whatever. There's nothing down there. We better get back to work or Gibbs will have both our hides."

Both men went back to their tasks, never noticing that Palmer was staring at them, an uneasy look on his face.

Friday

The case turned out to be another easy one. The dead Marine, according to scuttlebutt, had been having an affair with his wife's sister, and when Gibbs questioned the wife she broke down and confessed to the murder. All that was left was the paperwork. By 1800, the team was ready to head out.

McGee stretched and groaned as he reached back to rub the base of his neck. He hadn't been able to shake the feeling of something touching him at that spot since yesterday, and even repeated washings failed to eliminate it. He supposed at this point it was just all in his head, an unpleasant souvenir from his reaction to being shut in the dark basement.

He started to gather up his things and was interrupted by Tony.

"Don't forget, McGee. Tomorrow, it's showdown time. 0900."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there," he grumbled, but in the back of his mind he was wondering if he would. He was much more tired than he expected to be after such an easy day, but he figured a good night's sleep would cure all. He headed for the elevator and almost ran into Jimmy as he exited.

"Hey, McGee. All ready for the big game tomorrow?"

"Does everyone here have a one-track mind?" muttered Tim under his breath. "Yeah, Palmer, I'll be there. I'm trusting you to keep a eye on Tony, though. Don't let his enthusiasm get the best of him."

"You mean, 'best of me', don't you, McSpoilsport?" Tony said as he joined McGee at the elevator.

"Keep telling yourself that, Tony," he said with more confidence than he felt. "See you tomorrow, Palmer."

"See you…McGee." Tony and McGee stepped into the elevator and neither man saw the look that crossed the Autopsy Gremlin's face.

Saturday

Tony arrived at the park a few minutes early to warm up, and was surprised to see that Palmer was already there.

"Hey, Jimmy. You ready to help me show Timmy what 'in shape' means?"

"I…guess. Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you notice anything…strange about McGee?"

"McGee is strange, Palmer. Be more specific."

"Just…nothing, never mind."

Tony shot him a look that clearly said "then why did you bring it up?" and went back to stretching. By 0900, he was ready for the game. He took a few practice shots before sitting down to wait.

By 0910, Tony was starting to get annoyed. McGee hadn't shown up or at least called to say he'd be late.

"I think he chickened out. What do you say we go to his place and drag Elf Lord down here? "

"Sure, OK." They walked the block and a half to McGee's apartment building and went inside. When they reached his apartment, Tony banged on the door.

"Wake up, Probie! Time to take your humiliation like a man." A neighbor poked her head out and glared at them while Palmer gave her an apologetic smile and shrugged. She rolled her eyes and disappeared from view. Tony banged on the door again, but there was still no response. Finally he pulled out a spare key.

"Where did you get that?"

"Ziva. She said Tim got tired of us picking his lock and gave her a spare. I figured he'd try to back out so I borrowed it in case we had to come get him."

"Oh."

Tony opened the door and stepped into the quiet apartment. McGee had finally moved to a bigger place, but the layout was similar to his old apartment. The major difference was the space for a couch and the TV in the living room. After calling out McGee's name and receiving no answer, Tony checked the corner of the room behind the rows of bookcases but saw no sign of the younger man. His computer was off and his books were neatly stacked on the desk. Tony noticed a thin layer of dust on the top of the books and nodded: McGee hadn't had time this week and obviously hadn't done any reading last night. Tony headed for the bedroom and when he reached the doorway, he froze.

McGee was laying on his back, with one arm hanging of the bed, his fingers just inches away from his open cell phone. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes, and he was breathing much too slowly. Tony hurried to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Probie?"

McGee stirred and his eyes slowly opened to half-mast. He stared at Tony for a few moments before responding weakly.

"To..ny? Wha…what are…you doing…here?"

"You missed our game, Tim. I was…I'm here to check on you. What happened?"

"I…tired. Sorry." He closed his eyes again.

"Probie!"

McGee didn't even open his eyes when he answered. "Another…time. Need to…sleep."

"Damn it. Palmer?" Tony turned to look for the other man and saw him standing in the doorway with a surprising expression of horror on his face. His expression quickly cleared when he saw Tony staring at him. He immediately walked over to the bed to take a closer look at McGee.

"Any idea of what's wrong with him?" asked Tony.

Palmer touched McGee's forehead and snatched his hand back.

"What?"

"He's cold. If it was the flu or something like that he'd have a fever." He put two fingers against the side of McGee's neck. "Heart rate is way too slow and his pulse is weak. We need to get him to a hospital."

"No," moaned McGee. "No hospital. Just need…sleep."

"Don't argue, Probie. You're going."

XXX

Palmer drove as Tony made the call to Gibbs.

"Yeah?"

"Boss, it's Tony. I'm on the way to Bethesda with McGee."

"Game get that rough?"

"We never got started. He's sick, really sick. I'm...I don't know what happened."

"On my way."

He closed the phone and turned to Jimmy.

"Do you have any idea what could have caused this?"

The younger man hesitated before replying. "No…not really. Maybe Dr. Mallard would have a better idea but…I've never seen something like this before."

"Ducky said he was perfectly fine just two days ago. What could hit him that fast?" Tony glanced at Palmer and sighed. "I know: you have no idea. Damn it. Stuff like this just doesn't happen to Probie."

"I don't think it happens to many people."

Both men lapsed into silence, their thoughts on their teammate in the vehicle ahead of them.

XXX

Several hours later, the whole group was gathered in the ER waiting area, anxious for news about their teammate. Gibbs and Ziva sat in silence, while Tony paced and Abby chattered, trying to assure the rest that McGee would be fine. Palmer sat off to one side, watching the other members of the group. The others didn't seem to notice the tense but puzzled expression he wore, as if waiting for the great reveal of the mystery.

Finally Ducky entered the waiting room and they all immediately surrounded him.

"What's going on, Duck? How is he?"

"Have they figured out what was wrong with Probie?"

"He's going to be OK, right? Of course he will, it's Tim, nothing ever happens to him."

"Yes, of course he will. All of this worry will be for nothing, yes?"

"Uh, Dr. Mallard? Are you OK?"

Ducky sagged slightly under the barrage of questions and they all fell silent when they took in his expression.

"Timothy is receiving the best supportive care at the moment. He is experiencing bradycardia, and is beginning to show signs of hypoxemia as well which is most likely caused by his low rate of respiration. They have him on supplemental oxygen and are monitoring his O2 levels. His body temperature has also dropped. Unfortunately, unless we are able to determine a cause for his current condition, I fear it will progress to the point of being irreversible.

"In English, Duck?"

Ducky sighed deeply and delivered the attending physician's prognosis.

"I'm afraid…that Timothy is dying."


Next up - Palmer's POV.

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