A/N: Just a last little bit to wrap it up. Thanks again for reading!
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"…rather the point, isn't it…"
"…about to have company…"
"…please, stop, please!..."
"…don't move, agent, we wouldn't want to permanently damage your…"
"…why are you doing this?..."
"…potential…"
"…thank you…"
Tim cracks his eyes open to see the recognizable taupe walls of a hospital room, silver bed rails, and starchy white sheets pulled up under his chin. Soft snores are coming from somewhere to the right and Tim turns his head slowly to find Tony sleeping awkwardly in a chair near the head of his bed. Tim takes some time to survey his friend, immediately noticing his unshaven face, dark circles under his eyes, and a white bandage taped to his left cheek.
Tony stirs as if sensing Tim's eyes on him, and he comes awake quickly, offering Tim a relieved smile when their eyes meet.
"Hey," he says, and Tim tries to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to reply. Sensing his troubles, Tony grabs a white styrofoam cup and guides the straw to Tim's lips. Tim drinks gratefully.
"Hey," Tim says. His voice is hoarse and raw. "What happened?" Tim points to Tony's face.
"You don't remember?" Tony asks, his eyebrows shooting up in alarm.
Tim shrugs and the motion pulls at something across his chest. He lifts up the blanket to see several large white bandages taped to his chest, and Tim knows that those cannot be the only ones adorning his body. He may be fuzzy on some details, but there are some experiences of his ordeal that he remembers with perfect clarity.
"Is he dead?" Tim asks, not taking his eyes off the white squares that he knows hide stitches that will turn into scars that will be eternal reminders of what he has gone through these past few days.
"Yes."
"Okay," Tim replies because he's not sure what other response is appropriate at the moment. He's never been one to celebrate the loss of life, but there have been notable exceptions during his career as an NCIS agent. This will probably be one of them.
"Are you okay?" Tony asks softly.
Tim looks up from his cursory examination of his body to find Tony starting at him with concern, but also what Tim recognizes as guilt.
"I'm fine." His friend nods in acceptance of the answer, though both of them know that Tim is far from fine. But that isn't what he is talking about anyway. "I'm fine, Tony."
"You were right," Tony says and Tim hates the amount of pain he hears in his friend's voice. "I should have listened to you, but I didn't, and I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault." Tony opens his mouth to most likely disagree, but Tim has to stop this line of thinking before it goes any further. "Tony, none of this is your fault. You didn't do this to me. The Carver did. I don't blame you for not believing me, and I certainly don't blame you for what happened." Tony's eyes have fallen to the floor and Tim sighs. "But if you need me to say it, then I will: I forgive you."
Tim can see Tony working things out, and he waits patiently for his friend to look back up at him. "Jeremiah Sullivan," Tony says and of all the things Tim had predicted Tony saying in response to Tim's forgiveness, it certainly wasn't that.
"Who?"
"That's The Carver's real name. We've learned a lot about him while you've been getting your beauty sleep."
Ah, Tim thinks. Forgiveness accepted then. Tim allows the change of subject easily, ready to move past the awkwardness and back into the relative normalcy of their friendship. "Like what?"
"Like the fact that eighteen months ago his sister, Petty Officer Julia Sullivan, came home to get married to her long-term fiancé when she was kidnapped and eventually found dead in Portland, Oregon. You can probably figure out the details of the how and such."
"Shot and taken from her car?" Tim guesses, and Tony nods. Tim shifts in bed to try to find a more comfortable position, but eventually gives it up as futile and leans back against the pillows once more. "Was she…" Tim trails off, but Tony knows what he's asking and he nods again.
"Same type of knife and everything," Tony confirms grimly. "They never caught Julia's killer, though they had a suspect for awhile. First missing man was the lead suspect in Julia's case. The second thing you were right about."
Tim's eyes are getting heavy, but he wants to understand… needs to understand what his role is in all of this. "What?"
"The men were obviously linked to the case," Tony says. "Sullivan isn't around to interrogate, but the analysts seem to think that the men represented Sullivan's own helplessness and inability to save Julia."
"He made me watch," Tim admits, and he finds that he can no longer hold Tony's gaze. "I had to watch as he…"
"I know." Tony leans forward in his chair and his hand moves out as if to grab McGee's arm, but it lands on the handrail instead. "Well, I didn't know for sure, but we assumed. Another woman was found yesterday. Time of death was after you were taken."
"What was her name?"
"Petty Officer Rachel Hanner."
Tim nods and silence falls in the small room. Tim wishes he could find some kind of closure with The Carver's death, but all he can think about is Rachel's final moments and his own powerlessness as he watched the life drain out of her and his very own fear of what his own final moments would be like.
"What about the other men?" When Tony doesn't answer right away, Tim flicks his eyes back over to his friend. Tony is doing that thing where he bites the inside of his cheek when he doesn't want to answer. "Tony…"
"We found them," Tony finally admits but his voice is tight and his words are wooden and Tim's suspicions about what his fate could have been is confirmed.
"Okay," Tim says, acknowledging Tony's visible relief at not having to explain what he meant in full detail with a small smile. His eyes are growing heavy, but there is so much more Tim needs to know. "What about the daffodils?"
"Julia's favorite flower."
"Okay." Tim feels certain that he's missing a lot of important information, but questions slip out of his thoughts just as quickly as he thinks of them. He really just wants to understand why he had been chosen, why he'd been taken and tortured, but instead he lets his eyes fall shut and asks, "How did you find me?"
"You found you," Tony answers, and Tim can hear the amusement in his voice.
"What?" Tim's eyes attempt to pop back open, but he thinks he only accomplishes a half-mast sort of look.
"Your program worked, Tim. That, and we had a survivor who helped-"
"A survivor?" Tim mumbles and he thinks he hears Tony chuckle.
"Go to sleep," Tony says firmly, but there is warmth and safety there. "We'll talk again when you're more awake."
"Stay?" Tim is pretty sure he had meant to ask Tony if he plans on staying, but the way it comes out sounds more like a plea and Tim has no energy to correct himself. Tim thinks he feels something brush against his forearm, but it's gone before he can identify it.
He wants to open his eyes and look at Tony, to make sure Tony knows he doesn't have to stay… that Tim isn't trying to make him feel guilty or responsible, but he's drifting further into unconsciousness and he can't fight the pull any longer.
"Of course I'll stay," Tim thinks he hears but then he's asleep and he doubts he'll never know for sure.
End.
