McGee stood in front of the ATM, tapping his fingers impatiently against the cool metal surface while he waited for the machine to stop grinding and spit out his money. It had been a long week and he was tired and wanted to go home.

"Hey!"

McGee flinched a little at the unexpected loud call, but didn't turn around or acknowledge it. It most likely wasn't directed at him anyway. He'd taken his money and was stuffing them in his wallet when the call came again.

"Hey, Tiny Tim, I'm talking to you."

McGee stiffened up. Only one person had ever called him Tiny Tim… He turned around slowly, letting the wallet slip into a pocket.

"Benny?"

A snide grin met him. Even though Benny looked different, that smile was the same that it had always been. He was older than McGee remembered him, of course, and bigger. He'd put on muscles, probably outweighed McGee by 50 pounds or more, and towered over him by at least four inches. His once pretty boyish features had grown handsome with the years. His dark brown hair was cut short and his blue eyes were looking McGee up and down, slowly.

"Well, well, well," Benny drawled. "Tiny Tim... Although you seem to finally have grown out of that nickname. Congratulations."

Involuntarily McGee cast an eye down his own body and then he cursed himself for falling right back into old tracks. Instead he tried to put on an indifferent facial expression and met Benny's eyes.

"What do you want, Benny?"

Benny narrowed his eyes and took a step closer to McGee and McGee had to use all his willpower to not step back. At a hand motion from Benny his companions moved in too, flanking McGee. He eyed them nervously.

"Listen, Benny," McGee said, a hint of alarm tugging at his consciousness. "It was nice meeting you again, but I have to go." He turned around to go, but Benny grabbed his arm.

"Not so fast," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "How long has it been since I saw you last? We have a lot of catching up to do. How 'bout a beer?"

"No thanks," McGee answered, pulling his arm out of Benny's grasp. "I've got an early start tomorrow."

"Now, now," There was a hint of irritation in Benny's voice. "Don't be like that, Timmy. I'm just offering you a night out and some reminiscing. Come on, it's Friday and barely midnight. Lots of bars still open."

McGee eyed him suspiciously. It sounded too good to be true, but he still didn't want to spend any time with Benny.

"No thanks," he said again. "Take care of yourself."

He turned around and started walking away again, this time unhindered. He couldn't help but feel relieved as he fished for his car keys in his pocket, wanting to feel their reassuring weight in his hand.

…then his shoulder exploded and a millisecond later he heard the sharp crack of a gunshot…

McGee's eyelids jerked open and he lay in bed panting. The first seconds were always the worst, when he couldn't remember where he was or what had happened, when he wasn't sure if he'd only heard the gunshot in his dream or if it'd been real. It always felt real.

Slowly his breathing evened out as his wakening consciousness took precedence over the dreamscape and he rolled over on his back before he remembered that that wasn't a good idea. With a groan he sat up, his left hand going to his right shoulder, rubbing it. It was throbbing in sympathy with its dream counterpart.

He had this dream, this nightmare, every time he fell asleep. Sometimes he got a few hours of sleep between them… sometimes he only got fifteen minutes. He'd had it so many times now that he could no longer separate what were actual memories and what was just a dream. Had he really felt the shot before he'd heard it? Was that even possible? Every time he had the dream Benny seemed more and more threatening. Was that his imagination too? Or had he really not suspected a thing when it happened? And why had he turned his back on him? It had gotten so far that he was second-guessing every move, every breath, he'd made that night. And he hated it.

But in a way he was glad every time he woke up. He didn't want the dream to go on; he didn't want to remember what had happened next. Anyone could be shot, that wasn't a big deal… Or well, of course it was a big deal, getting shot was always dangerous, always traumatic. But it was something you had to be prepared for in his line of work.

But the other thing, the thing that he couldn't bear to think about, the thing he didn't dare put a name on…

He looked at the bedside clock. It was still the middle of the afternoon, even though the heavy curtains that covered the window kept the room in complete darkness. He should try for a few more hours of sleep, it could only do him good.

He lay back down on his side and rubbed his eyes. He was so tired.

--

A few hours later McGee was sitting in a plush armchair in the spacious guestroom that Ducky had put him in, staring out the window. He'd been asleep most of the afternoon, but the nightmare just wouldn't leave him alone so he'd finally given up. He was stiff and sore from being forced to always lie in the same position and he didn't feel rested at all. He'd gotten up and pulled the curtains away and had since been watching the afternoon light fade away, feeling guilty about just sitting here and doing nothing while he knew his team was hard at work

There was a light knock on the door and Abby stuck her head in.

"Hey, McGee."

"Hi, Abby."

She quickly crossed the room and straddled his knees, lacing her hands behind his neck, looking very seductive. "I thought you'd might like some company."

"That's really nice of you Abs," McGee said evasively, "but…"

"Come on, McGee, you don't really want to turn down this one-time offer, do you?" She waggled her eyebrows at him, licking her lips with the tip of her tongue.

"Abby," he said calmly. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm okay."

Suddenly Abby's flirtatious smile turned into quivering lip motions. "No, you're not," she said with a small voice.

"Abs..."

"No, I saw what he did to you. And he shot you, Tim. He could've killed you." And with that she threw herself around his neck, squeezing him tightly. He could feel her crying against his neck.

"Shh," he crooned. "It's okay, I'm here."

But Abby kept sobbing, and McGee was starting to feel uncomfortable. Not only by having a crying woman in his lap, but Abby was also leaning hard on his gunshot wound, her elbow in a very unfortunate angle. And no matter how soft the chair was, it was not comfortable to have his back pressed up against it.

"Abby, Abby please…"

"You can't die, Tim. Promise me that."

"I'm not dying, Abs. But could you please…" His voice was strangled and he put his left hand on her waist, pushing her away.

She pulled back. "What?" Then she saw how pale he was.

As Abby leaned back McGee brought his good hand up to rub against his shoulder as he leaned forward and closed his eyes. There was a burning pain in his shoulder and he was trying very hard to keep it under control by breathing deeply though his nose.

"Oh, Tim," Abby said guiltily. "I'm so sorry. Hold on, I'll get help."

He could feel her get up from his lap and a moment later he heard her yell "Ducky!" at the top of her lungs.

Before long the M.E. was leaning over him, unbuttoning his shirt, noting his pallor, and the cold sweat on his skin.

"Dear me. You need to be more careful, Timothy," he scolded mildly. "Your injuries are not to be taken lightly."

"It was my fault, Ducky. I was hugging him too hard," Abby said, standing next to him, nervously twisting her hands, still with dried tears on her cheeks.

"Well, then you should be more careful," he admonished her.

The skin around McGee's wound was red and irritated.

"I'm sorry, Timothy, but it looks like the onset of an infection," Ducky said, putting a hand to McGee's forehead, but luckily finding him fever free. "I'll see about getting you some stronger antibiotics. In the mean time, I think this would be a good time for you to nap. Dinner's still an hour or so away."

"I've been sleeping all day, Ducky," McGee whined.

"But it doesn't seem to have done you much good," Ducky said. "And there's no reason to whine about it. Come on, let's get you into bed."

"I don't whine," McGee muttered grumpily. "Tony whines. I protest."

They helped him over to the bed and Abby spread a blanket over him.

"Come along then, dear," Ducky said, grasping Abby's elbow gently to steer her out of the room.

McGee was suddenly struck by an intense feeling of loneliness. He didn't want to be left alone with his nightmares.

"Abby?" he called after them. "Could you, maybe… I mean, if you want to… Could you stay? Not to… do… anything. Just stay?"

"Ah, McGee, of course I will."

So as McGee lay on his side, Abby kicked off her boots and lay down opposite him on the ample bed. She leaned over and gave him a very chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth and then watched him dozing until Ducky called them down for dinner.

--

TBC…

--