Disclaimer: Yeah, you guess it - NCIS still isn't mine.
And we're back to out boys in this chapter again and it's starting to get a little depressing for them. And I'm starting to bring a bit of pairing into this now. That is - Abby/McGee and Tony/Ziva. I may expand on that later, too. Anyway I hope you enjoy. :)
Eleven
"Damn!" Tony swore as his cell gave one last final bleep before switching itself off.
"What?"
"Cell just died," Tony answered, before withdrawing the cell from dirt and struggling to wind up the window for a moment. He turned to McGee when he was done. "Do you think Abby would have got a trace?"
"I dunno, it's hard to say."
"Yeah, I figured."
Again they sat in silence for a while before Tony asked after McGee's leg and offered him more painkillers. McGee accepted them gratefully.
"Do you think the air's getting a bit thin?"
McGee hadn't noticed, but at Tony's question he instantly felt as though his lungs weren't getting enough oxygen. "Yeah... maybe."
"You think it's time we puncture that spare?"
"Now?"
"Now. Later. Is it really going to matter?"
"Probably not," McGee agreed and he shifted slightly to allow Tony access to the carved hole and the tyre. A pop was heard and then the hissing of air. McGee breathed deeply.
"How long has it been?"
"Four hours."
"So, seven more to go with that extra hour." McGee said. "Can you pass me that notepad and paper?"
Tony frowned but did as asked. "What's that for?"
"If we don't make it, I want to-"
"What? Write a death note? A will?" Tony reached forward to snatch the pen and pad back, outraged that his friend was speaking so pessimistically. "I'm not allowing you to write that, McGee. We're going to get through this."
They scuffled for a brief moment, McGee managing to keep a hold on the two items, mainly because of the cramped room and of Tony's fear of hurting him.
"It's not a death note or a will, Tony," McGee said wearily as the older agent retreated again, leaning back against the other side of the car. "It's... a letter."
"A letter? Who to?" Tony demanded an answer.
McGee looked down at his hands for a few moments before looking back up at Tony's expectant face. "Abby," he muttered quietly.
"Abby? Our Abby?"
"Yeah, Tony. Abby. Happy now?"
Tony was silent.
"And I'm not being pessimistic or giving up hope," McGee continued. "I still have faith in Gibbs in finding us. I just want to be prepared and to write this now, while I have a clear head and while... while I can still breath."
The other nodded, finally understanding. He didn't ask what the letter would be about, he somehow already knew the sort of thing it would contain. "Sorry, Tim," he muttered and watched as McGee shot him a grim smile and nodded before beginning to write. "Can I have that after you?"
"Sure, Tony. Of course."
Silence ensued, as McGee wrote. Then after tearing the pages off, he handed it to Tony without a word. If the older agent noticed the tears in his Probie's eyes he said nothing. He knew better than to. Roughly ten minutes later, Tony finished and ripped the pages off, placing them in his pocket. Involuntary tears shone in his own eyes.
"Who'd you write to?" McGee asked. It was only fair, Tony knew who he'd written to.
"Who do you think, McGee?"
"Gibbs?"
"You think I'd write to Gibbs?"
"Well..."
"Ziva."
"Oh."
Tony simply nodded.
"You two are kinda close," McGee observed, shyly.
"As are you and Abby."
McGee smiled. "Yeah..."
"D'you ever regret breaking it off with her, McGee?" Tony asked, his voice, was not teasing, but serious and somehow supportive.
"Sometimes," McGee admitted. When Tony raised a sceptical eyebrow at him, he changed his answer. "Yeah."
"Figured," Tony nodded.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I've seen that jealousy between you two when the other starts even talking to someone of the opposite sex."
"You noticed that too, aye?"
"I'm pretty sure the whole building knows, McGoo."
McGee nodded again and silence fell between them again. Tony had the feeling his partner wanted to say something else, but didn't prod him for it. This had to be one of the most serious conversations with McGee he'd ever had. It had to take being buried alive with only seven hours left to live for them to open up to each other.
"I never told her, you know," McGee said quietly.
"What?"
"How much she means to me and..." he paused, to collect himself, whether against the pain or the emotion, Tony didn't know. Perhaps a combination of the two. "... and how much I still love her."
Tony was silent. In a different situation he would have teased the younger agent; perhaps telling how he never knew the Probie was capable of such feelings. But not today, not now and not in this situation.
"I know how you feel," Tony muttered after a while. McGee looked up at him, questioning.
"Ziva?"
Again, in a different set of circumstances, Tony would have scoffed and laughed and denied it. Instead he nodded, making sure McGee saw it.
"Yeah, Tony. I know."