A/N: I know, I just updated Monday, but it took me about a minute after yesterday's episode to decide to post this in celebration (I know, kind of odd to be happy about McGee and post angst about him, but still). I was so happy! He got a date! I'm a hardcore McAbby fan, but I don't think he's going to wait forever. By the way, did you see how jealous she was?
Anyway, I like this chapter. Not to brag, and I think it could have been written better, but I like the premise. I know, I have SO MUCH self esteem as a writer. Tell me what you think, not just of the chapter, but the episode too! Enjoy!
P.S. Thanks to Junee and anakinluvr for reviewing!
Disclaimer: Don't own, just borrowing, yadda yadda, plot and OC's are mine, purely for entertainment, no financial compensation is being received. Can I get on with the story now?
He still remembered the first time he met her. They had hit it off immediately, given their shared interests and her general outgoing nature. She had broken it off after a while. Being a member of Gibbs' team filled up his time, and before he knew it, years had flown by. She had become his best friend.
When they had gotten back together, it was different. She had made up her mind about what she wanted, but mostly it was he who had changed. He had lost weight, matured, put things in perspective.
But some things never changed.
When he had told her he loved her, he meant it. He always meant it. If anything, he grew to love her more.
But now she was gone.
He rubbed his shoulder where it ached, at the point of entry. He felt it often. When the bullet had hit him five years ago, it had torn through tissue and muscle, but mostly nerves.
In a way, that old injury was what kept him going.
He had seen it once or twice before. Attaching guilt, sadness, anger to an object or location kept it from overcoming you so you could complete a job or mission. He had purposely pinned his angst on that injury to stop from killing himself before justice was his.
The hard part was convincing yourself.
In a way, though, that wound was the reason he was in the current situation. Had he not been shot that night, the shooter would have been caught and confessed, and Karisky would have been thrown in jail or killed.
And Abby would be alive.
His mind sent out a silent scream. Sometimes it hurt like hell. Not just the loss, but the physical pain as well. Sometimes alchohol didn't even help. Sometimes all he could do was remember.
On nights like tonight, it was hell. His shoulder painful, his memories vivid.
He walked cautiously beside her, hand on his weapon, senses on high alert. He wouldn't be accompanying her after the Marshals had her in protective custody, but it was his job to get her to them. But of all the places they could have chosen, it had to be the abandoned pier. At one o'clock in the morning. This was so clich . Fog and everything.
A soft noise came from behind them, and he spun, drawing his service gun and stepping in front of Abby. The mist and shadows made it impossible to see clearly more than a few hundred yards.
"Relax, Tim." She touched his shoulder lightly, trying to hide the quaver in her voice. "It was probably just a seagull."
"In the middle of the night?" He responded, eyes searching the scene before him warily.
"Let's just go." He heard but didn't acknowledge her statement. Turning back around, he nudged her forward, walking faster than before until he saw three men in uniforms reading U.S. Marshals.
"Agent McGee?" The one in the middle asked.
"Yes." He was relieved.
"Run." Tim's eyes widened as one of the other two shot the man who had spoken, while the other drew his revolver and aimed for Abby, who looked shocked and confused.
"Abby, it's a trap, run!" His voice increased in urgency as he spoke. She sprinted back the way they had come. Tim fired at the impostors, and then followed.
Suddenly, ahead, a man jumped out and grabbed Abby, turning her towards Tim, who skidded to a halt 15 feet away. He put a gun to her head.
"Now, don't move. Drop the gun and nobody gets hurt."
It was a lie. They all knew it. Karisky had paid these men to make sure that Abby didn't make it out alive. However, given the Glock pushed against her temple, he didn't see much of a choice. He slowly began to lower his weapon.
Then he had an idea. Inwardly blessing Tony for making him watch that Indiana Jones movie, he raised one hand in a peaceful gesture.
"Alright." He then threw it to the ground, where it reacted as any recently fired gun naturally would.
It fired right into the man's foot.
As the man released Abby, Tim moved, snatching the Glock from the man's hand as he went, and grabbed Abby's hand, half-guiding, half-dragging her along until she caught up and ran with him. The two fake Marshals were chasing them still, firing at them as they fled. They turned a corner-
-and ran straight into the fourth and hopefully final member of this hit team from hell, a man with arms the width of Tim's head and a torso that, if hit, would probably feel something like cement or steel. His T-shirt reading "Built For Tough" barely fit him and showcased his muscles in a menacing yet somewhat impressive way. Tim and Abby backed away. He followed. Cocking the Glock, Tim prepared to use it.
Then he heard a gunshot from behind, and his head hit the pier, hard. Then, as the burning pain set in after the shock wore off, he realized he'd been shot.
He saw Abby's lips open, but all was silent. Only when she started moving in the shape of words he didn't understand did he notice that he couldn't hear the footsteps, the lapping of water, the creak of boats and rotten wood. He couldn't hear anything.
But he heard the next gunshot just fine. All of a sudden his ears began to work again, but he didn't care. All he knew was horror. It wasn't slow motion like you saw on TV, but the lines blurred as Abby fell to the pier beside him.
Then came the first of many moments of self-hatred that would continue over time. He had seen their intent, he had seen them pull the trigger, but he couldn't persuade his body to move.
He couldn't save her life.
The footsteps faded away, to be replaced what felt like (and could easily have been) hours later by more familiar ones. They called an ambulance for him.
Abby couldn't be saved, he heard one of them say.
That wasn't true. He could have saved her.
He should have saved her.
He flatlined on the way to the hospital, but they revived him when they got there.
But he wasn't the same when he woke up. He knew it. The team knew it. Everyone knew it.
He never allowed anyone in his room to see him. Only the nurse.
He disappeared a few days later.
He knew they though he was dead in the gutter somewhere, by his own hand.
Until he began killing people.
Yes, he had decided, time and time again. It's the injury's fault. Partially the man who shot me, partially the wound, partially the man who shot Abby.
Mostly Karisky.
He won't escape me forever, Tim thought. I will meet him. And he will die.
A/N: Thoughts? Opinions? Comments? I'll never know them if you don't tell me. Please?
By the way, I know a Glock is a gun, but I don't really know how to spell it. Slightly embarrassing. If I spelled it wrong, please tell me. Any typos or grammatical errors you see, feel free to report. It really helps. Thanks!
Next week: The hunt begins! It'll be a very short chapter next week, unless I can do some serious editing. Sorry!