I Was a Novelist

So this is a little one-shot where I imagine Tim has a girlfriend, and after the happenings of the finale how I think she would be feeling.
SPOILER ALERT* if you have not watched the last episode of the season.

I was a novelist, I made my money writing novels that were geared towards Young Adults and I was good at it. I had five, count them, five New York Times Best Sellers and at my age that was quite an accomplishment.

My boyfriend Timothy McGee was also a writer, not that he really admitted it out loud often, he was published too. And he would swear until he was blue in the face that his characters were not based off his co-workers, they were though. I had met his co-workers and if Tibbs was not the man he called 'Boss' on a daily basis when telling me his tails of dead Marines and Navy personnel then I was a zombie. One of those cool ones from The Walking Dead though.

I always admired Tim's job, he was good at it and NCIS made him happy. He cared for the people he worked with and I believe he was severely undervalued at times.

With that in mind, I stormed up to his slightly shaken looking boss, who had cuts on his face but other then that looked fine before fixing him with my own deadly stare.

Tim said sometimes I scared him more then Gibbs did with that look.

"What the hell happened? Tim said he was going to be home for dinner, I wasn't aware that we were having dinner at the hospital!" My words come out quick and I could already feel the tears prickling my eyes. The hospital had called me of course and while I was driving over I had thought out what was going to happen rationally, find a nurse, find out where he was, calmly make my way to his room, sit beside his bed.

That all flew out the window when I saw Gibbs though and by the way the older man was holding my forearms I gathered he thought I needed to calm down too.

"There was an explosion, McGee didn't get out in time. He's alive, burnt and bleeding but alive."

I clasp my hand to my mouth feeling a few tears fall, before something clicks in my head. "I heard on the TV that you were being evacuated, why wasn't he evacuating!"

Of course at the time I hadn't really paid attention to the TV, I was writing and I just assumed they were on lock down again because Tony was sniffing mysterious substances. That was the only time I had really known anything like that to happen and Tim and I hadn't even been dating then. But honestly, if I assumed every time something bad happened on the Navy yard that it involved Tim, I'd never get any sleep.

Even though it did usually involve him, and I had suffered what I'm pretty sure were small heart attack many times while we had been dating for the last three years.

Gibbs just stares at me, ignoring my question. It was creepy, and eventually he holds up some hunk of computer business, it looked like an external hard-drive but I could never be too sure. He could have a gun hidden in there and I'd never know.

"He was getting this, I don't know what it is. Or what is so important about it-"

"External hard-drive?" I offer, "If he was putting his damn video games on it from his work computer I'm going to kill him." Gibbs raises an eyebrow.

"Not that he has video games on his work…never mind" I trail off, looking down at the floor.

It was busy, there were people buzzing around pushing gurneys and yelling out medical terms that I would never understand on even my smartest day. Yup, this from someone who had wrote an epic ER drama novel once.

"I have to get back, DiNozzo and David got themselves trapped in the elevator." He almost growls this, "I just wanted to wait until you got here, you might want to call his Mom or sister…"

I nod and offer him a smile when he clasps my shoulder before walking down the hall and away from the chaos of the ER.

I didn't know how long I stood there in the waiting area, I think I thought over every novel I had ever read with a burn victim, and even created some myself. Skin grafts, missing noses, burns to the bone. I eventually had to sit down as I began to feel sick to my stomach and settled for putting my head between my knees and taking deep breaths.

"Family of Timothy McGee?"

I bolt up so fast I scare the middle aged woman on my left, before practically falling on my face as I rush over to the doctor who was looking over a chart with a frown on his face.
Well that's assuring.

"Yes, me!" I all but yell in his face, "Timothy's my boyfriend. How is he? Is he okay? He didn't lose any limbs did he? Lips, does he still have his lips? Face, he didn't loose hi-"

"Agent McGee will be fine, he had some minor burns on his face, nothing to worry about. His left arm has some pretty bad burns, and lacerations, he must have used that to shield himself from the explosion." I almost groan, why couldn't I have a normal boyfriend who didn't try and get himself blown up at least once a year?
"We got all the glass out, but his arm will take awhile to heal, we've moved him for now if you want to see him."

"Yes" I breath letting it all sink in, as I follow behind him, that's when he continues to talk. "His right shoulder was dislocated, but we got it back in place it should be okay in a few days. He also has some lacerations on his legs, they weren't very deep but he'll need help changing the bandages when he is released. Is there someone who can-"

"We live together," I interrupt, "I can do it."

The doctor nods, before pushing open a door leading me inside.

"Someone will be by to check his vitals in a while, if you have any questions you can ask a nurse, and I'll be back in a few hours."

Nodding I break away from the doctor and walk straight over to the bed which held my unconscious boyfriend. His thin hair was matted to his head, and I could see angry red burns on the one side of his face, they weren't bad though, it just looked like a bad sunburn, his arm though was bandaged, and the other in a sling.

Hooking my foot around the chair behind me I pull it closer before sitting as close as I could, placing my hand on his good shoulder watching his still form.

"I'm going to kill you when you wake up Tim, hospital or no hospital you scared the shit out of me. What were you thinking?… What am I thinking your unconscious, I can yell at you later."

I watch him after that, my hand still on his shoulder waiting for him to wake up.

I was a novelist, and I would always be a writer, and I knew when I got home this event would influence my writing. But for now, for now I would just wait for my boyfriend to wake up. I would wait for him to open his eyes so I could tell him I love him. Kiss him and tell him how happy I was he didn't get his face burnt off because I was rather fond of it.

I would cancel my book signing in LA to take care of him, and never tell him I did that because I knew he will have forgotten, it being the furthest thing from his mind right now. I would sleep here all night, every night until he was home because the bed felt too big without his legs tangled in mine, without him holding me tight to his chest. I would have my sister go home and feed Jethro, because he loved that dog even though he didn't like to admit it.

I'd never tell him how much he scared me today, nope. How my heart stopped when I got a call saying there had been an accident. How I had instantly regretted denying him that kiss this morning because I was in the shower and didn't feel like poking my head out of the curtain. Telling him he'd have to do without for the day, and if he was lucky he'd get one when he got home. How I had been in a silly mood and my last words to him were, 'Yeah, yeah, don't forget the chicken balls tonight,' when he said he loved me before he left the bathroom.

Our relationship had always worked well, he worked a lot and I wrote a lot and flew to New York and LA constantly. But we knew each other inside and out, so I knew that even if I didn't say how much he'd scared me today he'd know as soon as he opened his eyes. He'd start apologizing, he'd try to think of ways to make it up to me and I'd brush it off and pretend I was fine. When he returned to work he'd call me constantly, or text just to see how I was doing even though I wasn't the one who had been hurt. And when he had time, when we had time he'd take me out to dinner and tell me he loved me, tell me how much I meant to him and how he was sorry that he scared me.

He'd remind me that his job wasn't all sunshine and rainbows and I'd elbow him and tell him it never even came close to sunshine and rainbows, and he shouldn't even compare it to that. I knew what he was going to do, I knew him as well as I knew characters I had written, created from my own brain and I could anticipate his moves better then he could himself sometimes.

For that same reason he'd know that when he woke up I would sneak away and call his Dad, pretending to go get coffee. I'd lie about the fact I was getting sleep when really I'd just watch him for the next few days to make sure he didn't disappear on me. He'd know that I was going to be suffocating for the next while, that I'd revert to writing a novel I swore wasn't about our relationship as I'd bang out page after page about my feelings and his accident because that's the only way I could express myself fully.

I was a novelist, and he wasn't going anywhere until I got my happily ever after. Not matter how hard he tried to get himself blown up.