Title: Room for One More

NFA hangman prize for WriterKos.

Characters: Tim-centric, plus the rest of the crew

Genre: Supernatural/Angst

Rating: FR 13

Warnings: The usual weirdness

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yadda yadda

I intended this to be a long oneshot, but my muse had other ideas. I know better than to argue with her. Anyway, this will two chapters long, possibly with an epilogue.

Summary: McGee is plagued by a recurring nightmare.


The invariable mark of a dream is to see it come true.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

"…room for one more…"

Tim McGee awoke with a gasp and bolted upright, his heart hammering in his chest. He glanced around the darkened room with wide terrified eyes, almost expecting to see a horrible apparition, but he was alone. After several deep breaths and a few moments to calm his racing heart, he managed a shaky laugh.

Stupid…

He hadn't awoken from a nightmare in such a state since he was a kid, and he currently had no idea why this one was so disturbing. It had started out fairly simple: he had been standing at his window, looking out at the dark street below, when a black van had pulled up to the curb outside. The driver wasn't visible, but soon he heard a door creak open and after a few moments of silence, a figure had emerged from the darkness and walked around the front of the van. It stopped in front of his window and looked up. The sight of the pale, gaunt, black-eyed face had caused his heartbeat to gallop as it smiled knowingly up at him. After a moment of silence, the figure pointed to the van and the doors opened to reveal the bodies of the dead and decomposing waiting within. It turned its attention back to him, grinned maliciously, and whispered the four words that had followed him back to the waking world before the entire scene vanished in an explosion of darkness.

He shook his head and checked the clock on his nightstand: 02:13. Sighing deeply, he lay back down on the bed and closed his eyes. Only an hour of sleep was not enough to face the day, especially since they were finishing up a case and Gibbs had been on a tear to close this one out quickly. Tim rolled over onto his side and tried to erase the dream from his mind so he could go back to sleep but he tossed and turned for what seemed like hours before finally giving up. He couldn't shake the pervasive feeling of dread the dream had created.

Maybe a shower and a cup of strong coffee will help.

He rose from his bed and stumbled to the bathroom so he could get ready for another long day at work.

XXX

Tim had been at work for several hours before the rest of the team showed up. He had managed to catch up on quite a bit of paperwork, and had then done a little research on dreams. What he found was not particularly helpful and he sighed in frustration.

"Problem, Probie?"

"No, just trying to finish up this case report." He quickly switched to his case report as Tony wandered over.

"That report looks done already."

"Never hurts to double check," he snapped.

"Whoa. What's with you, McGrumpy?"

"Nothing. I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Gotta learn to step away from the keyboard, Elf Lord."

Tim didn't bother to respond. He was saved from further comments by the arrival of Gibbs.

"Gear up. Dead Petty Officer at Pax River."

Glad for the distraction, Tim grabbed his bag and followed Gibbs to the elevator. Once the team was inside, Tony started in again, but one glare from Gibbs silenced the senior agent, and Tim breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

The scene itself was fairly straightforward, and as he followed the routine of "bagging and tagging", the memory of the strange dream was pushed to the back of Tim's mind. The rest of the day was spent tracking down records of the deceased in an attempt to discern why someone had stabbed the twenty-nine year old, yet still baby-faced officer. Working through the night with only a brief respite to go get dinner, Tim managed to unearth some major discrepancies in the man's financial records. More searching revealed a gambling problem and several overdue debts, upon which someone had apparently decided to collect.

The team tracked down the holders of the officer's IOUs and, after spending time in interrogation with Gibbs, one had cracked. It was near midnight of the second day of the case by the time they had completed the preliminary paperwork, and Tim's lack of sleep was definitely catching up to him. When they finally got the Boss's nod to leave, Tim was quite ready for a quick dinner at home and a good night's sleep.

XXX

"…room for one more…"

Tim barely managed to contain a scream as he shot up in bed, sweat dotting his brow and chest aching. It took longer to recover from the dream this time, as the feelings of anxiety and dread gripped him like the claws of a recalcitrant feline. He rubbed a hand over his face and paused for only a moment before tumbling out of bed and rushing for the bathroom, where what little he had managed to eat for dinner made a sudden reappearance. He leaned, shaking, against the basin until the nausea subsided and then staggered to his feet. As he started to leave the bathroom, he caught a glance of himself in the mirror and stared in shock at his ashen appearance.

What's wrong with me?

He still had no idea why this particular dream was affecting him so strongly. He wondered if it was just being amplified by the stresses of the job, or was indicative of some other problem. Finally, after several minutes of searching through his mind for some clue as to the dream's true significance, he decided to talk to someone else about it, someone he trusted.

XXX

Once again, Tim arrived at work long before anyone else on the team. The security guard gave him a curious look, but nothing else was said when he signed in at 0400. After a couple of hours of work, he made his way down to autopsy to wait for Ducky.

When the M.E. arrived, he was at first surprised, then obviously concerned by Tim's presence.

"Timothy! What brings you down here so early?"

"Hey, Ducky. I…I need to talk to you."

"Of course, dear boy. Let me get a pot of tea started and then we may chat."

Tim watched as Ducky performed his morning ritual and as soon as the tea was steeping, the older man returned his attention to the agent.

"Now, what is troubling you? I must say, you do not look at all well. Have you been feeling under the weather?"

"No, I just haven't been sleeping very much. I was wondering if there could be some underlying medical cause for…nightmares."

"What sort of nightmares?"

Tim described the version that had disrupted his sleep twice in the past three nights.

"I know it doesn't sound all that bad, but when I wake up, it feels so much worse than it should. Do you have any idea what could cause that?"

"Physically, there isn't much that could, other than use of certain drugs which I'm sure is not an issue here. Some studies have indicated that low cholesterol levels may contribute, due to an effect on hormones in the body and neurotransmitters such as serotonin. Generally nightmares are more often associated with psychological issues, particularly stress and anxiety, or perhaps post-traumatic stress disorder."

"I've been stressed before. It's part of the job. I'm just trying to figure out why these have started all of a sudden."

"Perhaps something has occurred recently that has a more personal connection?"

"Not that I can remember. It's been pretty routine lately."

"Take some time to think about it. Perhaps the source is not immediately obvious, but may take some time to unearth. Once you do figure out the cause, it will be much easier to work around it. In the mean time, make sure you maintain as healthy a routine as possible. Lack of sleep can be quite detrimental to one's health."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Ducky. Oh, would you mind not mentioning this to anyone else? You know how they are, and…"

"I do. Perfectly understandable, but if this doesn't resolve itself soon, I trust you will do what is necessary."

"Got it. Thanks again, Ducky."

Tim left autopsy and returned to his desk. He was glad to see the rest had not arrived yet, which offered him some time to think. He went over all of the most recent cases, trying to find something that could have stirred such a strong response, but luck escaped him once again.

He managed to make it through the rest of the day without dozing off as he completed the final paperwork for both recent cases, but by the end of the day he was dragging. Tony noticed his exhaustion and started to rag on him, but Tim was really not in the mood for it and left as soon as he could. Unfortunately Tony decided to follow him.

"Hey, Probie!"

"What?" Tim kept walking, focused on getting home and to bed.

"Man, what is wrong with you?"

Tim nearly growled in frustration as he turned to face his partner.

"What's wrong with me? I'm tired. I heading home and I would like to get there as soon as I can so I can get some sleep. Any other questions?" He resumed his trek to his car and winced. He'd pay for that tomorrow, he knew, but sometimes the direct approach was the only way to deal with his perpetually nosy co-worker. He made it to his car and turned around, only to find that Tony was gone.

XXX

"…room for one more…"

Tim was out of bed and on his feet before he even realized it and rushed for the bathroom where he once again lost what little dinner he'd been able to choke down. When he finished, he leaned against the bathroom wall and pounded a fist on the floor in frustration.

"This is ridiculous," he whispered in anger. "Why won't it just stop?"

He checked his watch and groaned. He'd only managed to get two more hours of sleep to add to his meager total for the week, and he knew there would be no more gained that night. He staggered to his feet, rinsed out his mouth in the sink, and splashed some water on his face, then walked to his desk and sat down in front of his computer. He started checking for more dream interpretation websites, but the information in them didn't seem to fit his situation, was essentially useless, or even contradictory. The only thing he could gather was that apparently he was anxious about something or perhaps was dreading change. Not helpful. After several hours of fruitless searches, he shut down the computer and headed back to his room to get ready for work.

The only relief he got that day was from Tony's chatter. The man seemed to have taken the hint and left Tim alone for most of the day. Tim himself was too busy to notice.

Another call out, this time for a missing Marine sergeant, occupied the team for the rest of the day. Once back from the original scene Tim set to work with the searches, but this time he could barely keep his eyes open. He watched the information scroll across the screen, hoping for something that would help close this case quickly.

The sudden slap of a palm on his desk startled Tim out of his daze and when he looked up he was staring directly into a pair of cold blue eyes. He blushed, more flustered than he had been in years.

"McGee."

"Yeah, Boss?"

"With me."

He stumbled after Gibbs and glanced back at Tony, expecting to see a smug smirk on the older man's face, but was surprised to see thinly veiled concern instead.

He stepped into the elevator behind Gibbs and moved to the back, leaning against the wall for support. He hadn't had a "conference" for quite some time, but the old feelings of apprehension returned quickly.

Gibbs flipped the switch to bring the elevator to a half and turned to face Tim.

"Something you want to tell me, McGee? This isn't like you."

"I know. I'm sor…I haven't been getting much sleep lately."

"That why you've been here at 0400 almost all week?" Tim nodded. "How much sleep have you been getting?"

"About two hours a night, if I'm lucky." Tim noticed Gibbs' eyes widen slightly in surprise.

"Why?"

"I…I just can't sleep. Believe me, I've tried."

Gibbs stared at him for a moment and sighed. "Go home, McGee. Go home and get some sleep. You're no good to me, the team or yourself in this condition."

"But Boss…"

"It's not open to discussion. Tony and Ziva can cover for you for a change."

"Right. Uh…thanks, Boss." Gibbs just nodded and turned to flip the switch.

When the elevator returned to the bullpen, both men exited and Tim walked to his desk to retrieve his bag and returned to the elevator without looking at his co-workers.

On the way home he stopped to buy some Tylenol PM, hoping a little extra chemical help would allow him to get some sleep. Gibbs was right: he was a hazard to his team and none of them could afford that. He managed to make it home, take the pills, and crawl into bed before the draw of sleep pulled him under. He slept, and eventually he dreamed, but this time the dream changed.

Standing at his window, looking out at the dark street below…a black van pulling up to the curb outside… a door creaking open…silence…a figure emerging from the darkness and walking around the front of the van…stopping in front of the window…looking up. pale, gaunt, black-eyed face smiling knowingly up at him…the figure pointing to the van and the doors opening to reveal the bodies of the dead and decomposing waiting within…

Tim looked closer, and gasped as he finally recognized one of the bodies: it was Tony.

"NO!"

The single word tore at his throat as he nearly fell out of bed, heart racing. He put his hands to his face and let out a soft sob.

No. Nononononono…this can't be happening…

He fumbled for his phone and opened it, hitting one of the programmed numbers before he could stop himself. It rang several times before a sleepy voice answered.

"Yeah, DiNozzo?"

"T-tony?"

"McGee? What the hell, Probie? It's two in the morning."

"Sorry. I must have hit your number by accident."

"Why the hell are you calling anyone at two in the morning? Wait…are you drunk-dialing me?"

"No! No, it was an accident, I swear. I…never mind. Sorry I woke you, and I'll see you tomorrow…well, later today I guess."

"Wait. Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"You want to tell me what's going on?"

"It's…nothing, Tony. See you later." He disconnected the call before Tony could say anything else.

Am I going crazy? Is the job finally getting to me?

Tim was pretty sure he didn't really want the answers to those questions.

XXX

The clock ticked over to 0400 just as Tim entered the bullpen, and he was surprised to find he wasn't alone.

"Ziva? What are you doing here so early?"

"I think I should be asking you that same question, McGee."

"I…I wanted to get caught up on the paperwork from yesterday. You know, since I went home early."

"Gibbs sent you home early. Did it help?"

"A little."

"But not enough. McGee, I know something is troubling you. Please, let me help you. Tell me what is wrong."

"I don't really know, Ziva. Believe me, I wish I did."

"When you do know, you will tell me, yes?"

"I…okay." I have no idea when that will be, though.

"Good. Now, let us see if we can have something ready for Gibbs when he gets here."

"On it. Ziva?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for trying to help."

"You are welcome, McGee."

XXX

Several hours later, after both Gibbs and Tony had arrived, with the latter commenting on his early morning call, Tim had settled into his normal search routine. He couldn't help glancing at Tony, far too often than was safe, but he just couldn't get the image of the man as he had seen him in the dream out of his head.

Finally, after a series of searches, he found a possible link to the missing Marine. The man had an ex-wife who worked downtown, and from the divorce documents he had been able to find, their parting was due to more than just irreconcilable differences.

"She works at a local law firm: Highwell, Simms, and Turner," he told Gibbs. "The address is 1653 East Cromwell."

"DiNozzo, you and McGee go interview the ex."

Tony raised an eyebrow in surprise, glanced at McGee, and started to say something but was cut off by a glare from Gibbs.

"That wasn't a request. Go."

Both men grabbed their bags and headed for the elevator as Tim fought the sinking feeling in his stomach. This was not going to end well, he could tell already.

Once they had left the Yard, Tony turned toward Tim.

"So, about that little call last night-."

"I told you, it was an accident. I'm sorry I woke you up."

"OK, enough. What is going on with you, Probie? You've been weird all week, and even after Gibbs gave you part of the day off, you still show up to work looking like bottled crap. What gives?"

"Nothing, Tony. I'm just…going through a rough patch. It will clear up." I really hope so, at least.

"A 'rough patch'? This is more than just a patch, McUnderstatement."

"I'm handling it, Tony."

"No, I don't think you are."

"Whatever." Tim realized he sounded like a petulant child, but he couldn't help it. The fear that had been gnawing at him had deepened, and he still had not identified a concrete source of his anxiety. He didn't need someone looking over his shoulder while he figured it out.

"Tim…"

"Just drop it."

"Fine." The car was silent for the rest of the trip.

XXX

The law offices of Highwell, Simms, and Turner were on the 20th floor of a new thirty story high-rise office building. Tony whistled in surprise when they arrived and looked up at the expanse of glass.

"Man, I'd hate to see the rent for these offices, right Probie?" Tim could only stare in silence as he was filled with a sudden sharp feeling of dread.

"Probie?"

"Yeah, me too," he answered absently.

Tony just shook his head. "Come on, McSpacy. Let's get this over with."

Melissa Carver, the ex-wife of the missing Marine sergeant, was not what they had expected. She expressed regret when she heard that Sgt. Carver was missing and, despite what they had wanted to believe, she appeared to be sincere. After failing to gain anything useful from the woman, Tony gave her his card and told her to be sure to call if she remembered anything else. She ignored the innuendo that came with that statement and bid them good day.

As they walked back out to the elevators, Tim looked around at the expanses of black marble that covered the walls and shivered. For once, Tony didn't seem to notice his discomfort as he pressed the down button and waited in front of the central elevator. Soon a strident *ding* announced its arrival. The black doors slid open and suddenly Tim was gazing into the face of his nightmare. The figure appeared as a woman: black hair, dark eyes, sallow skin, and when she saw the two men, she smiled.

"Room for one more."

Tim stood frozen, unable to move, and for a moment he didn't even breathe. His trance was broken by a rough chuckle from Tony.

"Looks like you're taking the stairs, Probie. Maybe the exercise will wake you up."

He took a step towards the elevator and Tim's paralysis broke. He grabbed Tony's shoulder and pulled him back, away from that horrible face in the elevator. Caught off-balance, Tony stumbled back and crashed into Tim, and both men fell to the floor in a heap. Tim managed to catch a final glimpse of that hateful grin before the black doors slid shut.

Tony disentangled himself from the younger agent and turned to him in surprise and anger.

"McGee! What the-?"

And that was when all Hell broke loose.