Disclaimer : As always, I own nothing.
Author's Note : Huge thanks to everyone who's favortied, followed and read this story so far. Also thank you to DS2010, Rogue Tomato, CherryIce1988, Lister4eva, Crawcolady, lanteaddicted, scousemuz1k, HSMSupernatural, Precious Pup, AgentD.6, sopmire, angelscatie, diana teo, and Guests - Cassiopeia, LAG and anonymous.
I appreciate the support and your kind words. I still think this is one of my less interesting stories, but I digress and will allow you to form your own opinions.
Sincerest apologies to anyone that I've made cry...that has never been my intention.
Not quite finished yet. I need a full chapter for the reunion so this ended up as a standalone. Again, it will be finished. I just don't have a schedule as I'm not one to rush through a story just to get it done.
Next chapter of Incendiary will likely be up tomorrow.
Tony wakes up, explanations after the chapter.
Enjoy.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
Thursday, February 17, 2005 – 4:52am – Tim McGee's Apartment – Silver Spring, MD –
Rooted to his spot by the window, Tony watches his junior agent sleep soundly on the hardwood floor. Curled up with his back against the bookshelf, Tim breathes quietly, his inhalations scarcely audible over the world outside. A car passes by, its headlight briefly illuminating Tim's face. Muscles slack and lips parted as he sucks in a breath, Tin props his head on his hand. Tony realizes that it's the first time in days that the younger man looks completely undisturbed.
He has finally found peace.
Tony crosses the room, sliding around the furniture out of an unnecessary habit. He picks his way through the blackness until he finds an old writing desk and sinks down into its chair. Barely visible under the light that peeks through the blinds, Tony makes out the ancient typewriter and sheet of paper still trapped in its spool. With the rest of the desk empty, he wonders if he's found the beginning of a story Tim started to tell.
He reaches after the page, his fingers passing through the crisp paper. Surprisingly desperate to find out the conclusion of Tim's narrative, Tony sits further forward until he catches the line in a strip of light that cascades through the blinds.
The words he reads on the page break his heart all over again.
Agent Tommy DeLuca lived a hero.
Tony slumps back in the chair. He runs his hand over his face, feeling the itch in his eyes start again. Desperate to scratch the sensation away, he rubs the heels of his hand against them. One tear manages to escape, traipsing its way down his face. Tony shakes his head at the unwanted companions, they haven't visited him since the night his mother died.
He glances back to Tim's sleeping form. When a frigid breeze blows through the window, Tim shivers violently and pulls his knees tighter to his chest. Before he relaxes again, his breathing hitches.
"Really, Probie? You base a character on me and call him Agent Tommy? Where's your imagination anyway? No space for one in that brain of yours, huh? Watch, next I'll find out you called Gibbs, Mr. Pibbs."
Tony rolls his eyes and laughs half-heartedly. Tim's response comes in a quiet snore.
Leaning forward on his knees, Tony watches Tim rest.
The hours tick away.
The cars drive past with increasing regularity, their headlights slipping across the room and brightening Tim's tranquil features. The first specks of morning slip through the window, sweeping away the twilight's shadows. While the night outside melts away into the pink and orange of dawn, Tim continues to sleep under Tony's protective gaze.
The sub's rays invade Tim's apartment, finding their way into every recess until the residues of night have no place to hide. Defeated once again, the evening retreats to bide its time for another opportunity.
Tony studies his junior agent, a capable man who's never believed himself so.
Somewhere in the adjacent room, an alarm shrieks for attention, an office worker's battle cry to wage war on the day. Still slumped on the floor, Tim rolls himself to his back. He exhales forcefully, breath dispersing like a specter.
One of Tim's neighbors pounds on the front door, yelling expletives that even Tony hasn't learned yet. By the time the alarm's done screaming, Tony has peeked through the door at the angry man. It takes Tony one large step to slide through both the door and the man. Silent for once, the neighbor blinks slowly and pulls his bathrobe tighter. The man shudders and wanders to his home, completely stunned.
Tony smiles tightly, passing back into his partner's apartment. Settling into the desk chair all over again, he continues to watch over Tim's sleep.
He realizes there are still so many things that he's left unfinished and unsaid.
Tim's body suddenly jumps. He bolts upright, blinking owlishly at the bright light filtering through his window. When he checks his watch, he mumbles a curse. Jumping to his feet, he stumbles to the window and slams it closed. Not bothering to even change or eat, Tim starts to rush out of his apartment.
When he hits the door, he pushes his hand against the door frame and stares back to the window.
"Thank you, Tony," he murmurs, wiping a tear that materializes on his cheek.
Without another word, Tim hurries down the stairs onto the street. Under the mid-morning sun, he heads to the bus stop to wait for one. Tony trails behind him, knowing full well that Tim's heading to work in the middle of the day. A pretty blonde slides next to them a few minutes later. She looks through Tony, smiling at the junior agent. For a split second, he forgets and starts to ask her name.
When he sees the blush that creeps on Tim's cheeks, Tony remembers what is now normal.
"Go for it, Tim!" Tony advises, the tone of his voice betraying his words' meaning. He playfully taps through Tim's shoulder.
The junior agent suddenly stiffens, pulling his coat closer to his chest. His eyes widen in disbelief and he swivels to the spot where Tony stands. For a second, he believes he's visible again. But when the junior agent sighs quietly, his shoulders slouching, Tony knows that Tim still can't see him.
"Hey, I don't usually do this, but I'm Emma," the blonde grins, extending her hand to Tim.
"Tim," he nods.
They wait in an uncomfortable silence for several minutes, each of them checking the directions they expect to travel. The bus pulls up and Tim embarks, waving politely to Emma. By the stricken look on his face when he turns away from her, Tony knows that's all he's capable of at the moment. Tim slides into one of the seats and Tony plops down next to him.
Tim watches the world pass them by.
"You know, you could have at least gotten her phone number, Probie," Tony rambles. "She was cute, not quite my league, but she'd have done okay for you."
Tony knows that Tim can't hear him, but he doesn't care. He finds the solace in his words, even if he's the only one who can listen. By the time they reach NCIS, Tony has given Tim play-by-play advice on how to court the most attractive woman. The junior agent takes the elevator to their familiar floor, completely oblivious to the newest tirade on how to survive Ziva's mood swings and how to interact with Gibbs when there's no coffee.
The doors to the elevator swing open and Tony watches Tim head into the bullpen. With every step that he takes, Tim seems to discover his way again. His back straightens, his motions becomes more fluid. Even though the area is empty, he still heads to his desk.
Before he drops into his chair, Tim glances over at Tony's empty desk.
"Sorry, Probie, you can't have it. It's still mine," Tony states, almost surprised by Tim's miraculous transformation.
The junior agent places his backpack to the floor and steps over to Tony's desk, mesmerized by something. When he follows Tim over, Tony frowns at how the top of his desk still looks exactly the way he left it. There's nothing particularly special about the cup of pens, the loose papers, that spitball straw half-hidden under his keyboard or the copy of last week's reports ripped into shreds for said spitballs.
Tony crosses his arms and sighs. Seeing his desk as an outsider, he realizes there was nothing great about the space that was once his refuge, his oasis to the monotony of the real world. Even though it was part of NCIS property, Tony thought of it as one of the few items that truly belonged to him.
Tim slides into Tony's desk chair, pulling open the top drawer.
"Et tu, Probie? I'm still here. I haven't even been gone a week and you're already after my stuff. I'd expect this from Ziva and Ducky. Maybe Abby and quite possibly even Gibbs. But you? Come on."
Tony glides behind Tim, watching him rifle through the drawer. Past the inkless pens and loose papers, boundless candy bars and never-ending spitball straws, Tim reaches into the back-most corner. Buried deep under the flotsam of Tony's work life, Tim pulls out a tarnished silver medal on a chain.
When Tim holds it up, Tony recognizes it as the St. Anthony medal that his mother gave him the day before she died. With its surface rubbed almost smooth, the relief of the saint is nothing more than a faceless smear. She always told him that if he ever lost his way all he had to do was run his finger over his father's namesake and he'd point Tony home.
Tony rubs his thumb against his fingers like he always did when the medal was in his hands.
"St. Anthony," Tim says, turning it over. "Patron Saint of Lost Things. Do you think I count, Tony?"
"Lost things, Probie, not hopeless cases," Tony retorts, partially out of habit.
"I hope you don't mind. I just - ," Tim pauses, slipping the medal around his neck. "I know how you use to look at this when you thought we didn't see you."
Tony's chest clenches again.
"Just take care of it," he murmurs.
Tim presses the medal against his heart.
"I promise I'll take care of it."
Tim closes his eyes, face contorting with pain before he breathes deeply and it vanishes. Without another word, Tim moves back to his desk and starts to unpack his bag.
Gibbs marches into the bullpen, gaze fixed on the threadbare carpet beneath his feet. Eyes red and resolve broken, he glances dully over at the younger man. Simultaneously, Tim looks at him and leaps out of his chair.
Both of them stare at each other for several long seconds.
"Hey boss. I uh - ," Tim starts.
"You okay, McGee?"
Unable to actually answer the question, Tim nods slowly.
"How about you, boss?"
"Fine," Gibbs lies.
When he notices the pile of personnel folders on his desk, Gibbs retrieves his trashcan from the floor. Rage smolders dimly in his eyes as he sweeps the papers into the trashcan. While he thrusts the can back to the floor, Tony grins, knowing there's already a gifted agent to take his place.
Tony doesn't know that Gibbs can never truly replace him.
"Come on, McGee, we need you in MTAC," Gibbs orders, waving his hand over his shoulder.
Gibbs races out of the bullpen, heading for the stairs. Tim steps into the aisleway, pressing the medal to his chest as he does so.
"I will miss you, Tony," he whispers.
Blinking away the sting in his eyes again, Tony tries to smile as best he can.
"Me too, Tim, me too," he says.
By the look on Tim's shocked face, Tony knows his subordinate can see him again. He starts to speak, but a tiny orb of white light over Tim's shoulder distracts him. The light bobs and sways, growing steadily larger as it approaches Tim.
"Tony, you're back? Boss!? It's Tony! Boss!"
Tony tries to speak, acknowledge Tim and Gibbs, let them know that he is still here and has yet to move on. But the way the light twirls he just can't seem to pull his attention away. Tim begins to talk again, his mouth moving but producing no words. The light swells, swallowing Tim first before it encompasses the bullpen. Tony's eyes slam closed to prevent him from staring at its brilliance as the light burns through him. Even though it is merely energy, he swears that he can feel it makes its course through his entire body.
It grants him a serenity he never knew in life.
He struggles to finally open his eyes.
Before he can appreciate anything he sees, Tony melts away.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo
Tuesday, February 15, 2005 – 5:02pm - George Washington Hospital – Washington, DC –
Electricity shoots through Tony's body, firing its way through his muscles. His chest tightens, arching his back off a surface. He slams back down, the dull thud echoing through the cavernous room. The smell of burning hair assaults his nostrils. He can hear a flurry of activity around him. Someone's barking orders, a no-nonsense female voice commanding action in medical terms that he cannot bother himself to try to comprehend.
He tries to open his eyes, but the lids are too heavy to lift.
Tony hears the static hum of a machine close-by. The stern woman yells another order.
"Clear!"
Electricity snakes through his body again. His back arches and he collides with the table again. He feels plastic around his nose and mouth, forcing air into his lungs. Tony suddenly realizes it's his hair that's burning. He's ready to protest, to yell at the group of people to leave him alone, to beg whoever is pestering him to leave him alone.
He just wants to be left alone.
But when he hears a quiet thud, his words stop in his throat.
"Got a beat, but we lost it!"
"200 Joules again."
"If we - "
"Do it, now."
"Clear!"
When the third jolt of current flows through Tony's body, he gasps involuntarily. His eyes open and his gaze fixes on the white drop ceiling overhead. As soon as it arrives of its own volition, the air leaves his lungs, making way for another. There's a quiet thud that resounds within his chest, rapidly followed by another and another, then more still.
Tony inhales again, ignoring the noise around him to focus on the quiet march of his heartbeat.
There are the quiet congratulatory murmurs under the medical orders, the discreet sounds of success in a hospital room.
The only thing Tony can focus on is the steady thump of his heart. While its melody echoes in his ears, Tony realizes just how much he has taken the organ's clamor for granted. The comforting noise that signaled life, its response to stress and love, happiness and fear, always present and ignored until that first moment of consciousness without it.
"Nice steady rhythm. We got him back, good job everyone," the dark-haired doctor states, hands on hips and sweaty face triumphant.
Tony's eyelids fall closed, too heavy for him to hold open anymore. As he starts to drift away again, he hears the hospital staff breaking the room down for another patient. His bed starts to rock as he's whisked away, the air caressing his skin as they go.
A firm hand grasps his shoulder and he lolls his head, blinking barely enough to see the dark-haired doctor inches from his face. She smiles at him, squeezing his arm as they jog.
"I told you...you don't get to die during my code."
Before Tony can respond, exhaustion reaches after him and spirits him away.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo
Author's Note About What's Going On : I'd planned to explain everything in my final author's note, but since I've received a lot of questions/PMs/reviews about the subject. During the course of the story, Tony has experienced my take on a "near death experience."
NDEs frequently occur when the heart stops and blood flow to the brain decreases. It signals the first stages in body's process of dying. People have reported seeing everything from religious figures to "the light" to life reviews (like in the movies) to having an out of body experience, like Tony did. Most of these experiences are limited to the hospital room such as watching doctors run a code. There have been a few isolated reports about people experiencing an out of body experience outside of the hospital. In these cases, people have reported watching their families and loved ones mourn their loss through funerals, inside the hospital, in their homes, etc. For all intents and purposes, these people experience life as a ghost.
So for this story, everything Tony has experienced thus far (except for being shot) was a byproduct of his heart stopping. Even in the presence of clinical death (no heart rhythm), there is still life for a few minutes where the brain is active. So while Tony was clinically dead (no heart rhythm), he was still alive through the code. Few people are able to come back from the brink and report what they see in those minutes.
This story was my take on that. Everything I wrote is how Tony believed the team would react since it's going on in his head. When he went through the experience, it felt as real as life.
Whether or not, it would actually play out that way is open to debate.
Reunions will be up sometime.
Hope you've liked the story thus far.
