Chapter Eight: Sounds in the Dark
"Penny for your thoughts."
"My thoughts aren't worth a penny, Tony," McGee said wearily.
"Come on, entertain me." Tony insisted.
"Ok, fine, Tony. I was thinking about all the explosions we've been involved in or with."
"Well, that's cheerful, Probie. There haven't been that many, have there?"
"There's this one, of course. The one that nearly killed Gibbs. Oh, and the car bomb. I never…I never thanked you for that," he said, realizing it was true.
"Thanked me?" Tony asked blankly.
"Yes, thanked you. You took the key away from me, and Kate and I ran away."
"Because I told you to."
"Yes, that's my point. So, thank you."
Tony knocked his shoulder against McGee's gently. "So, your welcome. Now, think about something more cheerful, or I'm going to smack you."
"And how are you going to find my head in the dark?"
"Echolocation."
McGee smiled, but stopped short of chuckling. There wasn't much to chuckle about. They had been trapped here for twenty-six hours, more or less, and the last several with a corpse. In addition to the headache and pain in his arm, he was now feeling light-headed, although that could have just as easily been from hunger as from oxygen deprivation.
There was a muffled crash from above. McGee flinched and Tony jumped. It was the first sound from outside they had heard, and it probably either meant rescue or the vault caving in on them. Possibly both. McGee and Tony scrambled to their feet, both wobbly from sitting for so long in one position. Tony flipped on his phone and they surveyed the walls in the dim light. No new cracks, and no dust sifting down. Rescue, then.
McGee took a breath to call for help, when Tony's hand on his arm stopped him. "Save your breath, Probie. There's no way they could hear us."
"But we heard them," McGee protested.
"Yeah, just barely. And whatever that noise was, it was a lot louder than us yelling would be."
"So, what, Tony? We just sit here and wait? I'm really, really tired of doing that."
There was another sound above them. "Good point," Tony said. Then, "Hey! HELP!" shouted as loudly as he could.
McGee, after getting over his initial startlement, joined in. They yelled their lungs out for several minutes, then stopped to listen. There was pretty much as steady series of thumps and bumps above them, but no indication that they had been heard. "Like I said," Tony commented, voice sounding a little strained and hoarse, "they can't hear us."
If it wasn't for Tony's hand, still on his arm, McGee would have slid back to the floor in despair. As it was, he pressed against the wall, breathing deeply. "They will find us, won't they?" he asked finally.
Tony loosened his grip and turned it into a comforting pat. "Of course they'll find us. If nothing else, we know they're getting closer. And we also know they're still looking."
"Yeah." McGee was wondering if their radios or phones would start working when enough of the debris had been removed from above them. It was unlikely. The vault was steel-enforced concrete, several feet thick. That was why they were still alive, but it also meant that there was no way communication could reach them.
They stood for a few more minutes, listening. The appearance of noises above them could mean that rescue was imminent. On the other hand, it could also mean that the rescue workers had decided they were dead, and had begun to take less care in shifting rubble. It could mean a lot of things. Finally, neither man having the energy to stand anymore, then slid back down the wall to sit in the floor, shoulders still touching. It was nice, in the absence of light (Tony having shut his phone off again), to have the physical contact.
"So we wait," McGee said.
"We wait," Tony confirmed. "How you doing?"
McGee considered telling him he was fine, but didn't really see the point. "I feel pretty lousy, actually. You?"
He felt Tony sigh. "Yeah, me too. It would be pretty ironic if we asphyxiated right before they found us, huh?"
"God, Tony. And you thought my thoughts were morbid!"
"Sorry, sorry. It's just that this really sucks, you know?"
"Yes, yes it does."
"You going to write this into your next book?"
"You're assuming there'll be a next—"
"Probie! None of that kind of talk!"
It was McGee's turn to sigh. "Right. Happy thoughts. No, Tony, I don't think this will make it into my next book. At this point I'm not even sure if there will BE a next book."
"Why not?" Tony asked, sounding surprised. "The first one was best-seller, wasn't it?"
"And the second one almost got Abby killed," McGee pointed out.
"That was not your fault, McGee."
"Took a lot of the fun out of writing, though," McGee said. In fact, he had missed his deadline to complete the last book. His publisher, considering the circumstances, had given him an extension, but he hadn't written a word since his ideas had caused a madman to go on a killing spree.
"I guess I can see how it would. But I hope you keep writing."
"Really? Why?" McGee asked blankly.
"Because you enjoy it, and you're good at it, idiot."
"Thanks," McGee said. He was vacillating between enjoying a kinder, gentler Tony and being freaked out by it. Either way, though, he was starting to feel better. "What do you suppose Ziva and Gibbs are doing right now?" he wondered aloud.
"You mean, together?" Tony asked with a chuckle.
"Ew, Tony. That's not what I meant," McGee laughed as well.
"I know, I know," Tony said. "I guess they're probably home by now. Work day's over, right?"
"You think they're up there?" McGee asked, pointing over their heads, forgetting Tony couldn't see the gesture.'
"You mean like in hard-hats and everything, digging us out?" Tony asked, and both men cracked up.
"Oh God," Tony said, sobering suddenly. "This is the next stage of asphyxia, isn't it?"
"What?" McGee asked, sobering.
"Headaches, light-headedness, and euphoria, right?" Tony asked, sounding scared now, no longer amused.
"All that yelling must have used up a lot of air," McGee said. The nice thing about euphoria as a symptom, though, was that he didn't care quite so much about dying, now.
"I guess we should try to sleep to save oxygen," Tony said pragmatically.
"Yeah, right. Are you sleepy?"
"I'm too scared to be sleepy," Tony said, yawning.
"Me too," McGee said, although like Tony, he was yawning now too. Oxygen deprivation. At least that should make it easier to sleep until help arrived. Assuming they were still alive. On that thought, both men lapsed into silence. If they couldn't sleep, at least they could rest quietly and try to conserve oxygen that way.
A/N: Sorry this chapter's so short. I'm running out of things for Tony and McGee to say to each other. Thanks as always for the reviews. Tony Fan, you raise many good points. Fact is, I forgot to continue the thread with Tony's injured lungs, so sorry about that. I could go back and retrofix it, but I'm too lazy. As for the character reactions, I'm writing it as I personally see the character relationships. I understand that not everybody sees it the way I do.
