First thing's first: I'm going to apologize now for long waits between updates. I've taken a hiatus from fanfiction to work on an original novel, and, in fact, am STILL on that hiatus- this file is just for me to open up when for the life of me I just don't want to work on my novel right then. This fic is second priority right now for me. That being said- and I'm really, really sorry I had to say it- if you ever want status on how it's coming along or want to make sure I haven't abandoned it, feel free to PM me! I've taken a hiatus from fanfiction writing but still respond to reviews/messages!

Secondly, I promise that aside form what the first scene may convey, this will be McGee-centric. It started off with me wanting to show what affect his disappearance had had on the team- then somehow, became this. This is still going to be a McGee-centric fic, though.

Now- (disclaimer, I own nothing)- I hope you all enjoy!

August 17th, 2008

The apartment wasn't as silent as one might expect.

The hum of the air conditioner and refrigerator; the gentle whir of a dozen and one computers and one very well kept typewriter. Not that the typewriter made any noise. For something so noisy while in use, it was curiously silent when left alone.

That silence was mirrored, somehow, throughout the apartment, intensifying in the white noise of life until it was so oppressive in the dusty air that it was hard to breathe.

Even the sounds of Abby sleeping felt- wrong, somehow. Out of place.

Tony looked at the goth again, eyes moving slowly over her passed out form. She was curled up in one corner of the couch to the extreme, squished as tiny as she could manage so she hardly even took up a cushion. It didn't look like she had intended to go to sleep there; by her wet face and the plush hippo squashed in her arms, Tony would've guessed she'd cried herself to sleep.

The purpling circles under her eyes, the paleness that left her appearance less vampiric and more sickly as of late, told him it probably hadn't taken her long to pass out.

He frowned, moving closer to her claimed couch. By the looks of things, Abby really had taken up residence in McGee's apartment. Sure, maybe the two were the Ross and Rachel of NCIS; will they, won't they- but this was definitely wrong.

Of course, he couldn't claim that he was faring much better. He still worked the case; many late nights now spent hitting the streets, following up with contacts Ziva would never have and those that didn't keep computerized records for Abby to hack. He'd bet a month's wages that Abby'd already hacked every file with even a mention of McGee in the past months, from his medical records to his high school yearbook.

It didn't stop her from still working until her eyes were red and she could barely think straight.

It didn't stop him breaking his knuckles in a punch against concrete from nothing more than agonized frustration.

Tony gave a long, defeated sigh and looked away. Who was he kidding? He could hardly judge Abby for camping on McGee's couch. The second talk of a replacement had began, he'd grabbed McGoof's ridiculous, hypoallergenic, professional, favorite screen-cleaning cloth and stowed it in his desk's lockbox for safe keeping. No temp was touching it.

He didn't even know screen-cleaning cloths were a thing, nor could he understand why McGee had such an attachment to it. But the kid had almost had an aneurysm when it had gone missing under the Great Paperstorm of 2003, and that was all Tony needed to know.

The cold, two-fingered graze at his neck made him jump. It took all his self control not to swear, and instead just look irritably at Ziva. She stood behind him, half in the apartment's shadow, half in the hallway's light, features hidden in the low light but surely as unreadable as the stone she could cut herself from in times of great need. Her dark eyes moved from him to Abby, resting on her friend in an undefined emotion that Tony just might categorize as regret.

"It seems that Abby has been paying the rent here for the past three months, as well as all other utilities." There was a short pause in which Ziva folded her arms, what little Tony could see of her of her expression turning darker. "...Is denial how you Americans cope, or is this one of those other traits that only Abby has?"

"Denial?" he questioned back, just as quietly.

Ziva shrugged. "The way I understand it, after forty eight hours, statistically, chances of recovery are slim. After this extended period of time, the chances are... well, they are dismal, Tony. Astronomical. Yet, Abby does not relent."

Tony knew her well enough now; knew the cold detachment in her was not a sign of her not caring, but, in reality, was a sign that she cared too much. Distancing herself was how Ziva dealed. For someone who had dealt with too much loss in her life, it could be seen as easier not to feel at all.

The day he ever felt like that, Tony knew it would be time to resign.

"Yeah, well, you know Abby," he grunted and stood as quietly as he could, unwilling to get into this discussion with her now. Or ever. "Stubborn to a fault. Ziva, I'm going to try and clean up a little. You should stay with her, in case she wakes up."

"...Tony."

The effort to come to not just keep walking and, instead, to hold his ground and face what Ziva had to say, was far larger than he would like to admit.

Turning revealed that Ziva had moved- silent, as always, so disturbingly silent- out of the light to stand entirely in the darkness of the apartment. Expression shadowed, all there was to see was the stubborn set of her jaw, the hard glint of her eyes that bespoke of emotion again, emotion that Tony didn't want to define.

"I do not know how it is here, but in Mossad, there comes a time when you must accept and move on." She spoke quickly, like the words were poison that she desperately wanted to vent; desperation, yep, that was there, too. Ziva's voice did not crack or break like most; she had spent long enough containing emotion and forbidding it from being released that when she broke, that, too, was disguised. Transformed into a way where she looked and sounded whole, even as the world fell apart. "In Israel, missing in action means killed in action. Terrorists do not take prisoners; they take lives."

"Well, this isn't a terrorist, now is it, Ziva? Unless McGoo's gone McSecretSpy on us, seems like the grudge terrorists have with us would be with Gibbs, not our hacker." He shrugged easily. Probably too easily, by the way her eyes narrowed when he did it. "And this is America, Ziva, not Israel."

He definitely sounded too irritated to pull off the unaffected facade, but that was because he was irritated, damn it. And Ziva would've called him out on it had she not been surely fighting to accept her own words. "One does not simply vanish into thin air, Tony. Being alive leaves a trace. ...We have found no trace."

"That's right; it doesn't. That's what you're trying to say, though, isn't it?" When Ziva just stared, lost, he pressed on before he had time to regret it. "He's dead. That's what you're trying to tell me, right? That he's dead? Funny; I haven't heard you admit that to yourself, either."

The look the flickered across her face for barely even a millisecond was enough to make hot tempers cool. In just that tiny second she'd looked hurt- there was no other word for it.

Tony closed his eyes, sighing again. This wasn't easy for either of them. And now was probably the worst time to argue it, Abby asleep mere feet away, and the worst location, smack dab in the middle of his apartment.

When he opened his eyes again, anger already forgotten in place of a strange hollowness that somehow hurt, Ziva's hard stare was all that greeted him. Seemed he'd have to be the bigger man. "...Sorry," he grunted gruffly, voice still low for Abby's sake.

She looked away briefly, eyes hidden by a long stretch of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. Her gaze went to Abby again, and he saw her soften, the lines of tension fading in her stance that was always stiff with coiled grace and alertness. "I am sorry, too," she said at length, and the iron facade was gone now, her voice only supported by the steely, nearly invulnerable undercurrent she had cultivated throughout years of heartbreak. "Tony, I have lost many people. When I came to NCIS, I had hoped to get away from it all... I had hoped that I would not come to care for any of you. It only hurts if you care."

He raised an eyebrow. "Should've asked me for advice. I could've told you how many times that didn't work out for any number of secret agents, criminals turned samaritans, widows turned superheroes- or villains-"

"Yes, I am sure you could have. And I am sure it ended just as well for all your stupid movies as it did for me, Tony." Her voice picked up again, in both speed and volume until it broke over just for a second on too loud for comfort. They both stopped, turning to stare at Abby; the goth snuffled once, then just dropped back into her sleep.

Her eyes flashing, Ziva turned back towards him, her voice again a whisper. "McGee and I were never supposed to be friends. He was never supposed to tell me which bus to take, or help me with my silly American phone, or..." She chuckled softly. "Or convince Abby to give me a chance." She took a deep, shuddering breath, turning away from the couch to look at him again. "...And now he is dead."

Tony could not contain the flinch; it was all he could do to hold back the selfish exclamation that she was wrong. He didn't believe McGee was dead. There was nothing pointing to that; no dammed thing, and until there was, then he was alive. That was how it worked.

Until they found a body, McGee was still his probie, and his probie didn't get to just quit on him.

But, Ziva wasn't him- and Ziva had lost a lot of people in her life. She'd probably gone through her own phases of refusing to accept what would eventually become reality. She needed to think that he was dead. She needed to accept what was, to her, the truth.

Him trying to stop her would only make everything worse.

He watched her for another long few, silent moments. Watched as she collected herself in the faint light, still raw, still hurt, but not falling apart. She took several shaking breaths again, and with each one a resolve formed in place, a cold sort of thing that Tony really didn't think he was going to like; Ziva at last regained all of her composure, what had almost become a breakdown contained again. Hazel eyes moved to find his, hard and unreadable again in a way that left him worried for what was to come.

"Ziva?"

"McGee and I being friends was never supposed to happen, Tony." She spoke curiously, voice cold and detached, somehow; her face was a seamless statue cut from unfeeling marble. "And, you and I... whatever it is that we are... that really was not supposed to happen."

Yeah- he wasn't going to like where this was going. At all.

"...What are you saying?" he managed; his voice felt distant to even himself, flat and unconnected to the growing, cold feeling inside him.

"I am saying that this was a mistake."

He almost laughed. It was ironic, of course; Ziva would be the one to shy away from commitment from whatever this was, not him the infamous commitment-phobe, but her.

Almost laughed.

"Ziva-"

"I am not all right, Tony. I am not all right right now, at all. And, not to diminish what he was to me, McGee was just my friend. You are-!"

Occasional lover?

Best friend?

Partner?

So much more, Tony decided. That was all their relationship could be described as- so much more than friends.

Hot emotions became lingering pain, and Ziva just shook her head helplessly. "If McGee has left me not all right, Tony, I do not care to think of what you would leave me as."

"I'm still here, though, Ziva."

He trembled with the ferocity of sheer desperation that he didn't want to see grow into despair at what he knew was coming. He held out a hand, a final lifeline, should she choose to take it, but already knew the outcome long before she turned away from him in firm refusal.

"And some day, Tony, you will not be."

He was left staring as Ziva vanished out the door, silent as ever and fleeing the complicated mess of a partnership they had found that he had still never managed to regret. Even now, when this strange hollow feeling had expanded in his chest until it felt hard to breathe.

Alone- again.

Tiredly, Tony dragged himself to sit across from Abby, trying to make himself focus on his original reason for coming here and forget what it had devolved into. There was not believing he was dead, and then there was moving into his apartment, wearing his clothes, paying his bills- the girl had a serious problem, and they'd originally come to talk to her about it.

Except, there was no they, anymore, and Tony somehow didn't think he would be any good at convincing Abby that her Tim wasn't coming back.

Neither was Ziva.

Miserably, Tony dropped his head into his hands, resigning himself to another brand of loneliness, different from the hole his probie had left when he'd disappeared but no less potent.

He wondered when, if ever, he would get it that sticking himself out there only ended badly.

August 18th, 2008

The moment Tony and Ziva reached the crime scene, Gibbs knew something was off.

They weren't speaking except over the case, and while the blissful silence was definitely a nice change, it was unnerving to say the least. What few words they did exchange, while strictly work related, were also troublesome; Ziva was cold and short, and Tony was bitingly sarcastic, both signs that the two were preoccupied and would rather be anywhere but here.

He groaned inwardly.

At least, the case was shaping up to be rather simple. A probable drunk driver had driven straight into the wall of a navy base, then panicked and abandoned his then totaled vehicle, leaving behind an injured passenger who was now hospitalized. The area was surveilled, so it was looking to be an open and shut case; unless their search of his car turned up drugs, illegal weapons, or human body parts, for once, they'd be going home at five. Gibbs had been planning on heading back to NCIS after the crime scene and leaving Tony and Ziva to interview the passenger, but by the way they were behaving they'd kill each other they even got there.

"Hey, Boss, we got a problem here."

Or, perhaps he should never count his chickens before they hatched. Rubbing his eyes, Gibbs quickly shook himself out out of unfocused, absentminded nonsense and moved forward to where Tony stood at the back of the car, trunk popped- to reveal blood stains.

A lot of them.

"Not enough for a dead body; more than enough to be a problem."

"You think, DiNozzo?"

Tony turned back to start taking pictures, and Gibbs looked worryingly over stains, arms folded. "Still dark... this is recent. Probably same time as the car crash." Frowning, he looked towards Ziva, at the front of the car, and headed for her to see what she'd found. "Anything out of place here?"

Ziva glanced over her shoulder, then withdrew from the front seat, pushing a strand of hair off her forehead. "Not that I can tell. Everything is consistent with the impact described; however, I can not seem to find any blood."

"Check the airbag," Tony called, "normally, it blows up in the driver's face- kablam!- and, poof, bloody nose."

"You do not think I checked for that? No blood, Tony!"

Tony's head shot around from the edge of the car like a moth drawn to a flame. A moth that fed on adolescent-esque irritating, drawn to an argumentative inferno. "Well, I just was making sure; you've been a little unobservant lately-"

"Oh, I have been unobservant?!"

"Both of you, shut up."

Gibbs rubbed his forehead, trying to forestall the already coming headache. The two agents both turned to him, thankfully quiet this time, but one look at the irritation still plain on DiNozzo's face and the unwritten but still present hostility on Ziva's, and his decision was made. "I'm going to go interview the passenger."

Tony tilted his head, aggravation fading- temporarily, Gibbs was sure- for surprise. "Alone, boss?"

"Yeah. Given that this case just got hotter, I want you two going to check the surveillance tapes; start following up on our runaway driver." He started to turn, then stopped, pointing between the two of them in an authoritative wave. "And when I get back, you two are going to have worked out whatever this is." He gestured vaguely between his two agents; this time there wasn't even enough of a pause for him to start his escape before the bickering started again.

"Boss, I don't know what you're talking about, we're just tired-"

"Come on, Gibbs-"

"I don't care."

He sighed again. Things had been tense for a while now; this was not even the first time the two had been openly argumentative from what was probably stress. For a time, he'd thought he was imagining it, the enormity of the secret weighing on his mind to create a perpetual atmosphere of tension that he envisioned the others trapped in as well- but it was undeniable.

He just doesn't see how much this is affecting them.

Gibbs cursed under his breath, then, wondering when exactly he'd started taking orders from junior agents.

His back to the his team now, Gibbs took advantage of the short pause needed for them to stare at him to get out of earshot before it started up again. He ducked under the crime scene tape and turned towards his car, stopping any speculations of what had happened between those two before they could get momentum. They sounded like an arguing couple, and not for the first time, either; he hated to admit that he really did not know how deeply involved they were, if they were even involved at all.

Didn't change the fact that they were fighting like a dammed married couple.

His phone vibrated gently in his pocket when he reached his car. Frowning, Gibbs pulled it out; the hopes that were dashed when he saw it wasn't an email, but a text message, were powerful enough that he almost threw the flimsy thing against the dashboard and shattered it.

Again.

He turned the key in the ignition with such violence he almost yanked it out. With an open handed smack on the dashboard, he tossed the phone into the passenger's seat and briefly leaned his head against the steering wheel, the burning leather against his forehead not even close to give him the strength to pull away.

"Damn, it McGee."

The day progressed only from bad to worse when he was greeted at the hospital, not by a nurse and a room number, but by a waiting lieutenant commander. The moment he stepped inside the hospital the doctor moved for him, clipboard in hand, features tense and guarded.

Normally he was the one waiting for the doctor.

Which, of course, just meant this case was going to be a lot more time consuming than he'd hoped.

"Agent Gibbs?"

"Commander," he returned, heading for the elevator without pause.

Clearly a bit thrown, the lieutenant stood behind for a moment, frowning, then hurried to catch up with him. "Agent Gibbs, the John Doe that came in this morning- there's something you should know."

"He doesn't show injuries typical of a car accident."

The man stopped again, hand hovering an inch away from the elevator button. "Y- yes," he stammered, staring at him in open surprise. "How'd you know?"

Sighing, Gibbs punched the button himself and remained silent. The sooner the doctor finished his explanation, the sooner he could get back to staring at his email, waiting for the message he knew in his gut wouldn't come.

Screw it.

If the status update hadn't come by quitting time tonight, he was telling his team everything.

Clearing his throat, the doctor went on when Gibbs didn't. "Well, he has extensive injuries- but none of which that are consistent with a car accident. Bullet wound to the shoulder- a couple weeks old, I think, and untreated; resulted in an infection. Malnourishment. And a strange lack of anything to the face and neck; ribs show several unhealed fractures but they're old, too. No matter how he was found, that man was not in a car when it crashed."

Gibbs sighed again. Seemed quitting time just got that much later.

"Inconsistencies with injuries are not why you were waiting for me at the entrance, commander," he said gruffly, allowing the man to lead him out of the elevator and towards the John Doe's room. He checked his phone again, grimacing when there was still nothing new.

"He woke up, sir. Told me that I needed to get in contact with Special Agent Gibbs immediately- by then you were already on the way here. Said he was a missing federal agent for NCIS, that his name was- um..." The doctor glanced down at his clipboard uncertainly, searching. "Ah, yes- Timothy-"

"McGee."

Whatever else the doctor said was lost to his state of breathless shock, the sight in front of him all it took to render him speechless and paralyzed- feeling rather like he'd just been punched in the gut.

It was McGee.

Gibbs had known for a while now that his agent was alive. Even that he was somewhere in DC.

That didn't mean was prepared to see him like this.

McGee.

McGee.

Sickly pale and definitely fevered, forehead slick with sweat and already disheveled hair damp, his agent looked like any breach into consciousness was short lived. As of now, he tossed and turned weakly in a troubled, medicated sleep, eyes flickering uneasily through the travails of a nightmare. His left collarbone was visible through the gaping collar of the hospital gown, darkly bruised in what looked like had almost been a dislocation; his right was hidden in a crimson swath of gauze and immobilized in a sling. Gaunt and thin to the point of worry, it'd looked like he'd skipped more meals than he'd eaten, one of the several IVs in his good arm likely bringing much needed nourishment after weeks of near starvation.

He looked half-dead.

"Tim..." he gasped, staggering to the chair by his side on suddenly numb legs. "God, Tim."

What the hell happened to you, son?

"...You know him, I take it?"

"Yeah," Gibbs managed weakly, raising a hand to rub over his eyes in shock. "Yeah. Tim's my agent."

The doctor paused, leaving a pregnant silence intruded on by the many beeps and hisses of the machines monitoring Tim, and Gibbs just sat there and stared, unable to take it in.

Damn it, Tim was supposed to be fine. Every single email he assured him of that. He never would have allowed this otherwise; the second his agent had given even a hint of being not well he would've gone to Abby, endured her accusations of betrayal and her fists against his shoulders and her enraged tears, and then made her trace the damn emails and he would've kicked down the damn door in a second.

Of course, Tim had known that, which was surely why he'd lied.

Because, his agent wasn't just unwell- he looked like he'd been sick for weeks.

For someone who, for the past three months, had only existed as a blood stain next to his abandoned car and an abstract email address, it looked like he'd spent every day only deteriorating.

On the upside, at least now he knew why there had been no status update email this morning.

The doctor moved a little closer, now that he knew the situation much more cautious and sedate. "He'll be okay, Agent Gibbs," he promised quietly; sincerely. "He's responding well to the treatment. His fever's just a little too high for comfort, now. I'll be watching it for the next several hours; if it rises I'll have to start him on a new treatment plan- but he really will recover from this. It will take time, but he'll come out just fine."

Nothing that he said would come close to appeasing the unsteady roil of gnawing guilt inside of him.

Carefully, Gibbs sat forward, looking anxiously over his agent again. Every new wound or injury he saw sent another piercing stab of regret through his heart, the pain of what he should've done easily eclipsing the simmering rage he knew would surface later. "Damn it, Tim," he muttered, reaching out a hand to touch his agent's cold and clammy one. "I told you to tell me if anything was wrong."

The moment their hands touched, all hell broke loose.

Bloodshot, green eyes met his burst open to meet his, colored instantly in extreme distress, and weak wheezing grew into a panicked gasping. Tim mouthed his name, voice too weak to speak it, then abruptly shot forward.

"Tim!" Gibbs cried, jumping forward to stop him. "Tim, calm down! You're safe here!"

McGee shook his head, still struggling to speak. "Gibbs," he finally managed on the third try, voice scratchy in his ear, "Gibbs, you're...!"

Gibbs caught him when he swayed, focus vanishing in place of a sickly green pallor. He held him up by his good shoulder and through it could feel just how thin his agent was, the boniness of his shoulder, how his body felt light as a child's, and his gut tightened. "Hey, hey, easy, Tim. Easy."

"Gibbs, you've got... to..."

"Slow down, son; I've got you."

McGee shook his head weakly, still panting hard and fighting to speak. Gibbs moved back enough to see his face, and the disorientation he found was alarming; he cautiously palmed his sweaty cheek, supporting his head. "Tim?"

"Gibbs, they've... got... him."

Tim stared at him, sheer desperation glimmering in green eyes, desperation that was quickly devolving into sheer panic- and then, he was out. One moment, his eyes were bright with fever and panic; the next they were dull, and then, they rolled back into his head, and he slumped forward, passed out again, feverish and wheezing against his shoulder.

Stunned, Gibbs sat frozen, his agent unconscious and passed out on him, the enormity of the situation hitting him full force. McGee was back. McGee was sick. McGee was safe.

Then, what he'd said- and that look in his eyes...

There was only one thing that could mean.

His fists clenched, and he glared hard at the wall, rage coursing through his veins until he saw red.

Whoever had shot him was already living on borrowed time.

Author's note: I normally won't have notes at ends of chapters. Now, as this story is not pre-written, I am very open to viewer suggestions. Particularly on any possible ships. If you want/don't want Tiva or McAbby, please tell me! I will see what most people seem to want and follow that route. Also, interest in this story will determine how often I work on it. I am NOT holding chapters hostage for reviews; whenever a chapter is done, I will post it, but, currently, I'm set to work on this every weekend. If lots of you people review and show interest, I'll try and make it more often. That's all for now, everyone! Hope you enjoyed!