A/N: Random story here… Yupp, that's pretty much it. Don't quite know where this came from, but oh well. Can't really tell you what it's about, that would ruin it ;) This is really different from anything I've done before, so bear with me. I'm just experimenting here. It's semi-late where I am, and it's been a very long, emotionally charged day, not to mention I got three hours of sleep last night, so this may be crap, and I wouldn't know it. I plan on continuing it, but I could leave it as a oneshot, if you like. I don't know, though, if you don't tell me. (That means REVIEW.)
By the way, this is supposed to be slightly confusing in the first chapter. Don't worry, things will clear up eventually.
Disclaimer: Tim McGee has never been kidnapped, shot, framed for murder, or sucked it up and asked Abby out, so it's obvious that I don't own NCIS. I also don't own any of the bands that I mentioned in the random paragraph up there, because if I did, every one of them would be performing in my hometown on a nightly basis.
XXX
She entered the room slowly, letting the door click closed quietly behind her. She then crossed over to the bed and took in the still form lying on it. She didn't allow tears to spring to her eyes.
She sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair on the left of the bed and took the hand of the occupant, hating how cold it felt. It was difficult to entwine fingers with all the cords and plastic tubing from IV's and assorted machines she didn't pretend to understand. On the other side of the bed, the electrocardiogram beeped steadily and relentlessly, the sound seeming to bounce off of the pristine white walls.
The man was unresponsive to her touch. He was in a coma, the doctors said. He wasn't aware of anything that was happening. Well, she envied him. He couldn't see just how far to hell things had gone since the day this happened to him.
The others suspected she had nightmares, like them. But when she told them no, she wasn't lying. She didn't have nightmares. She didn't sleep.
They tried, she knew they did. They cared about him. But they couldn't come here. They couldn't see him like this.
They couldn't come anyway. It was too dangerous. No one wanted to endanger him when he couldn't take care of himself. She was the only one with access to him, and she could sense that wearing thin day by day. She would have to choose: keep coming here and cut ties with the others, or disappear like them. If he ever woke up, and she was gone, no one would be here for him. He had no one else.
They sometimes asked her how she could do this. Sit by him day and night when he was so unnervingly vacant. She understood how they might find it unsettling, but she found a strange peace in it. Maybe she had been under the scrutinizing eye of the blinding LED lights and watchful extremists too long, but he looked like nothing could disturb him here, like whatever happened, he was right where he needed to be.
All the old bruises had long faded from his face, all the injuries long healed. Physically, he was in good condition, they told her. But no brain activity had been recorded since they brought him in, and the longer he stayed, the less hope there was that he would recover.
In a way, it may be a good thing. Once, she wouldn't have believed anyone could say that, but she had toughened up. She had to. No one was weak in this place that survived.
He wasn't weak. But no one can escape forever.
Oh, how she wished she were the one oblivious to the world. He was lucky in a way none of them, especially her, could have foreseen. If he woke up, he would hate what he saw, as much as she hated what life had become.
Still, she wished he was there to hold her the way he always had been.
She shook the thought from her head, careful to guard her expression in front of the cameras that cared more about ensuring that no one left than they did about no one getting in. The days when life was still partially logical and mostly enjoyable were gone. Now a good day meant not getting killed on your way home from stealing something.
That was probably what bothered her the most about the changes. She knew the extremists didn't care about people being hurt, but there were others who did, others who were born and raised in respect for the law. Now there was no law. So what happened to those people? Why weren't they standing up?
She answered her own question.
Because it's suicide.
That was what had gotten him here.
She looked over at his face. She had loved him, once. She still did. But this was the point when she had to force herself to consider the logic instead of sentimentality.
Just like he had always told her.
She sighed. Suicide or not, someone would have to do something sometime.
She had a pretty good idea who.
XXX
A/N: I. Am. So. Tired. So if it's crap, I understand. It'll take a lot more than a failed story to hurt my feelings – I have two older sisters – so don't be afraid to tell me if you don't like it. More importantly, don't be afraid to tell me if you do :) Yeah, I know it's confuzzling. And no, you aren't supposed to know who it is in a coma and who it is watching them yet. MWAHAHAHAHA. On a more serious note, though, I know for a fact that I am screwing myself by posting this, because right now I have five WIP's that people want updates for, plus, like, eleven that I haven't posted yet, and then, BAM! here comes this one, out of the blue. The moral to this story is, don't count on a quick update. Maybe we'll all get a pleasant surprise with a quick one, but I wouldn't hold my breath.
That means STOP holding your breath.
lol Have a good… *thinks: No, not night, most people won't read this at night… No, not weekend, it's Thursday… end thought* …life!