Fixing McGee's Problem

By Shellie Williams

Disclaimer: The characters and places of NCIS do not belong to me. No money or profit was made from this snippet.

III

It was late when Tony drove up to Tim's apartment building. For a moment after he'd turned off the car, he sat in the quiet and second-guessed his decision. What if Tim were asleep? What if he didn't feel like company? Come on, DiNozzo, when has that ever stopped you? Determined, Tony got out of his car, bottle in hand, and walked to Tim's door.

It took several minutes of knocking and nagging before McGee finally opened. Tony leaned in and grinned. "Thought you could use some company."

Hair mussed, eyes half-lidded, McGee gave every indication that he'd been asleep. He covered a yawn with his good hand and missed the moment when Tony shifted past him into the apartment.

Realizing Tony was in, McGee turned to face him. "DiNozzo, it's nearly one o'clock. I was asleep, man. Can't this wait?"

Ignoring the sleepy protest, Tony rummaged in the kitchen for a couple of glasses. Finding two, he moved back to the front door just in time to detour McGee from returning to his bedroom, steering him toward his desk, instead. "Not until we've celebrated your first day back at work."

Tim plopped into his chair. He braced his elbow on his desk and wiped a hand wearily across his face. "What? I was only gone two days." Taking the glass Tony offered without protest, McGee closed his eyes and mumbled, "Besides, I'll be on desk duty for at least a week. So I'm not really back at work, yet." He took a sip of his drink. His eyes opened wide and he sputtered and coughed into his fist. "What the hell--?"

"Just a little celebration drink, McGee."

McGee looked at Tony as if he'd grown a third ear. "It's whisky! I'm not drinking whisky at 1 AM when I have to be at work in a few hours."

"McGee. You don't have to be so straight-laced all the time. You don't have to drink much; besides, this will help you sleep. Believe me. It's better than pain meds." Cautiously, Tony tipped the bottle and poured just a bit more into McGee's glass. He hid his grin when Tim didn't protest.

Perhaps it was because it was so late, or the pain meds, but for whatever reason, Tim was tipsy within the hour. He'd drunk less than a third of the bottle. Tony shook his head. No wonder Probie didn't imbibe much; he didn't want the others to know how little it took for him to get drunk. When it took Tim three times to find the desk in order to set his glass down, Tony figured he'd had enough.

"Come on, Tim, time for bed."

"I'm not that kind of girl." McGee giggled.

"Upsy-daisy." Standing, Tony slid his arm under McGee's good shoulder and lifted him to his feet.

Overbalanced, Tony drifted into the wall. Finding his feet, he guided them both to the bedroom, and aimed for the bed. In a move that lacked both grace and coordination, Tony released McGee and grimaced in sympathy when the young man landed half on his injured arm. Luckily, there was enough alcohol in his system to dull the pain. With barely a grunt, Tim rolled to his good side.

Tony tugged some of the covering out from under McGee's legs and tossed them over him. Satisfied McGee was comfortable, Tony caught a chair and pulled it closer.

"McGee."

"Hhmmm?"

"You're on desk duty tomorrow, and for the rest of the week. You need to take it easy and let your arm heal."

Tony watched as McGee swallowed. A tiny line appeared between his eyebrows when he frowned. "I need – I need to be in the field with you and Ziva. I need to be there to back up Gibbs when he --"

Tony leaned closer. "When he what, Tim?"

"When he needs me."

"Gibbs will be fine. Ziva and I will take care of him."

McGee's eyes remained closed and his breathing evened out, growing deeper. "He s-saved my life, Tony. I owe him."

Tony shifted closer and spoke softly. "What do you owe him?"

McGee's breathing caught for a second, then continued in the rhythm of a sleeper. Just as Tony was about to give up, McGee's voice mumbled quiet and low: "My life."

Oh boy.