4

Just a Simple Rescue

By Shellie Williams

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or places of NCIS. No money was made from this snippet.

Summary: Just a little h/c snippet for my favorite target: McGee. Very short, very one shot. I won't even pretend this has a plot; it's just a scene that popped into my head. Please forgive my indulgence.

Author's Notes: I didn't ask before doing this, so I hope no one minds, but this little snippet is dedicated to my favorite NCIS/McGee writers. I appreciate all of the NCIS writers out there, especially the McGee ones, but my hat goes off to these ladies. You deserve all the praise, applause, and accolades you receive, and then some! OzGeek, Channel D, Enthusiastic Fish, and Eligent – you're the best! You can generate more stories and better and longer plots faster than I would think possible. I am so glad, and we fans are so lucky, that McGee is the character you all decided to focus on. Write on! 

With his head hung low between his shoulders, McGee watched a small bead of sweat trace slowly down to the ends of his hair and drip to the floor. The ache in his wrists had eventually given way to numbness, and he pondered the pros and cons of torture. Pro: the spears of pain that had shot down his arms and through his shoulders no longer distracted him. Con: losing feeling in his wrists and fingers couldn't be a good sign, medically speaking.

He held his breath and lifted his head, straining not to groan with the difficulty of that simple movement. Nothing had changed, of course. The room sat as it had been for the past five hours: four empty concrete walls, worn tile floor, old wooden chair facing him, and the same chains and ropes binding his ankles and wrists. For a moment, Tony's voice spoke in his head: "You people need to spend an afternoon with HGTV." McGee's mouth pulled into a lopsided grin, but the energy needed to stretch it into a smile wouldn't come. With a sigh, his head slumped down again.

The familiar sound of a doorknob turning didn't garner his attention, nor create the tension through his body that had occurred during the first couple of hours of torture. Muscles through his abdomen, ribs, and shoulders had been pounded into excruciating tenderness and were sensitive to any tiny movement. He waited until feet moved into his vision before raising his head again.

There he was: Mitchell Hunter, the epitome of a good guy's arch nemesis. He stood rubbing his knuckles. Expressionless eyes watched for a moment, and then he reached and touched McGee's face with one finger. McGee turned away; even the air seemed to hurt as it ghosted across his bruises.

"They're not coming for you, Agent McGee."

"You –" He had to cough to try and clear his throat. How did one keep from screaming when taking punches to the face and gut, anyway? Something he filed away to ask Ziva, later. "You underestimate my boss."

"I don't think so. It's your team who has underestimated me. If your boss hadn't been so cocky perhaps he would not have sent you alone."

"W-we weren't expecting to f-find --"

"Yes, you weren't expecting the victim to be the actual criminal; something that has helped me to evade the law up to this point." He stepped closer and reached behind his back. When he brought his arm back around, his fingers were wrapped loosely around a wicked looking knife.

Fear closed off McGee's throat, and despite his earlier weariness and belief that he couldn't move, he tugged urgently at the ropes in a futile effort to gain distance between himself and Hunter. Swallowing with difficulty, he drew his head back farther when the knife moved closer.

"Y-you don't want to do this."

"Oh, but I do." A smile curled the ends of Hunter's lips up and he inched closer still, oblivious to McGee's discomfort. "I've been wanting to do this for a long time."

The door across the room burst open.

"NCIS – Freeze!"

McGee couldn't breathe, but groaned with frustration as Hunter's hand clasped his throat. The man swung quickly under his arm and around behind him. The edge of the blade bit into his skin. McGee swallowed and felt the blade rise and fall against his Adam's apple. He closed his eyes.

"Put the knife down, Hunter."

Opening his eyes, McGee had the unpleasant sensation of being on the receiving end of Gibb's icy stare. The white NCIS letters across his black jacket looked almost iridescent in the room's low lighting. Ziva's face was bisected against the doorframe; the one eye he could see was laser-trained on Hunter, her gun arm held steady and sure on her target.

"I'll slit his throat before you can shoot me. It is you who will put down his weapon, Special Agent Gibbs."

"I don't think so."

A gunshot fractured through the room at about the same time that Hunter's head seemed to explode beside McGee. He flinched and drew his head back, squeezing his eyes shut as bone fragments and wetness hit his face. The knife slipped away and clattered to the floor, unnoticed. Voices shouted and time seemed to rush forward, as if he'd been in slow motion for the past hour. He tried to grasp what was happening, that it was all over and he'd been rescued, but it was as if he were in a dream and couldn't wake himself up.

Afraid to close his eyes again, afraid it would all disappear and Hunter would be back in front of him, holding that knife and smiling at him, McGee watched in a weird sort of limbo as Gibbs and Tony rushed toward him. Tony's arms encircled his waist while Gibbs reached up, above his head. Unable to understand, McGee looked up and watched Gibbs work at the cuffs that bound his wrists. Movement at his feet drew his attention, and he saw Ziva kneeling on the floor, untying the ropes around his ankles. His arms suddenly swung wooden at his sides. He felt ridiculous wearing the crumpled and dirty suit he'd put on for work that day. What did one wear for a torture session, anyway? Comfortable sweats or jeans and a T-shirt?

Weariness infused his limbs, robbing him of the ability to help as Tony carefully lowered him to his back. Someone cupped the back of his head, making sure he didn't crack it against the floor. Gibbs leaned over him and touched his face.

"Are you with me, McGee?"

Nodding, McGee swallowed and licked his lips. "I'm okay." Gibbs smiled and straightened to move away, but McGee managed to hook his sleeve and drag him back down. Words jumbled up in his mouth and wouldn't come out.

"What's that? I can't hear you." Gibbs leaned in closer.

"Thanks, boss. Thanks for coming after me."

Gibbs patted him on the shoulder and shifted to speak near his ear. "No problem, McGee; just a simple rescue." Then he was gone.

McGee smiled and closed his eyes.

THE END