Chapter 26

Tim found himself pacing outside the interrogation room trying to get a grip on his emotions. Five minutes after leaving the observation room he started to wonder if Gibbs was going to come out and slap him upside the head.

As he continued to pace, however, the door didn't open in his wake. He supposed his boss figured he was gathering himself and preparing a game plan after he left the room and so he continued.

He had to ready his mind for whatever was to come. He found he was mentally slapping himself for the momentary self doubt as he got his mind set on the tactic he would be using once he walked through those doors.

He thought back over what the boy had said with a fresh mind set. What his participation level with the two drug runners was.

Tim found that there was a familiar ache of anger burning in the pit of his stomach as he contemplated it in a fresh light. All he felt was anger, where moments ago there had only been guilt.

He shouldn't feel guilt when Dominic was not the one who had sat back and done nothing to save Trevor Macey, to stop the flow of drugs, to protect Tim's partners.

With that thought swirling in his head, boiling the blood in his veins, he set his shoulders and grabbed the handle on the door.

The loud sound of metal chair legs scraping across the concrete floor of the interrogation room greeted Tim as he shut the door behind him. The boy had obviously recognized McGee as he scurried away to keep distance and the table between him and the crazy officer who had beat him earlier.

"Sit." McGee said, but the boy continued to stare at him as if not believing he was there.

"I said Sit!" McGee nearly shouted this time and the boy jumped before ever so slowly approaching the table.

"What are you doing here? You shouldn't be in here." but his fear soon melted to anger, "I'm going to sue your ass. Where's my lawyer?"

McGee just laughed in response, it was humorless and tight. "Dominic, has no one told you?"

"What?" the boy asked as he finally reached the chair and sat. "Told me what?"

"You won't need a lawyer."

The boy was obviously confused until McGee continued, "You see, the murder of Lieutenant Trevor Macey, attempted murder of Federal Officers and Police Officers, and drug smuggling, those are crime we won't really need to be charging you with. Per your statement it was all your friends and you didn't have a hand in any of it."

He saw the relief wash across the boy's face and waited for it all to sink in and settle him.

Tim waited what seemed an eternity before the boy finally stuttered, "S-so I'm free to go? Are you here to apologize to me?"

McGee laughed again. He was getting pretty good at that. It wasn't really an evil laugh in the classic sense of the word, but definitely nothing reassuring to the boy.

His laugh was hallow and humorless, actually bordering on slightly psychotic.

The unstable glint in his eye, he assumed, would be believable to the kid who had witnessed his violent snap a few hours before and was sporting the bruises to prove it.

The boys hands began to shake, "I don't understand. What's going on?"

Tim let his mouth curve up in a tiny little grin; one he hoped would reveal the sick satisfaction he was hoping to project towards the teen. "We actually just had our jurisdiction swiped out from under us and those guys outside got something special planned for you."

McGee winked and then continued, watching the color run out of the boy's face as he explained. "See, we linked that bomb on the boat to a terrorist cell from the middle east. Not just any terrorist cell, but one with confirmed ties to Al-Qeada. That makes this a matter of national security. And that, my dear boy, earns you a one way ticket to Gitmo."

"G-Gitmo?" Dominic stuttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

Tim just nodded and let him soak in that a while.

"You can't do this!" the boy was frantic.

Tim just shrugged as if indifferent. "I didn't." he responded coolly, "You did."

"I already told you!" the fear was clearing the way for anger to take its place. "I didn't have anything to do with what they were up to."

"Yep," he responded, calm and cool as he sat back in his chair. "That seems to be the problem right there."

"It's a problem that I'm innocent?"

McGee lay his arms on the table, giving the boy a sympathetic look, "Sometimes things are just screwed up like that." He shrugged and glanced pointedly at the navy blue cast on his arm as he shifted back to the jerk facade.

"If you were involved, you'd actually have something to trade and barter with. You could give up the supplier or the head of the Miami trafficking ring, or the real terrorist, but since you have no information. . ." He let his voice trail off and let the words sink in.

Dominic stared at him, apparently unable to speak, so McGee went on, "It really is a sad testament on the state of our existence that we reward material witnesses with new homes, new identities. Pretty much give lousy criminals whole new lives and here you are about to go away to a dark cell for the rest of yours and you've got nothing to save your skin with."

McGee shrugged as he stood up. He had watched the boy squirming, knew he was ready to break. For the first time since the interrogation started, McGee was certain the boy had something to add to the case. Something more than statements of his innocence.

"Homeland security will be in to collect you shortly."

As McGee opened the door leading out of the interrogation room he heard Dominic shifting behind him. McGee moved to step out when the boy turned a one syllable word into nearly two when his voice broke on a sob in the middle,

"Wait."

xoxo

Once the nurse was done checking their vitals and verifying they both knew that pain relief was just the push of a button away if things got too tough for them to handle, she turned to leave.

"Hang on." Tony called after her. "Could you, uh, you know, just," he trailed off, gesturing towards the bathroom on the other side of Ziva's bed as he carefully started sitting up.

"Oh, of course." she was at his bedside in a moment, but he waved her off while he let his head adjust to the movement. After another minute he braced himself with an arm on her shoulder and gingerly stood up, swaying slightly.

The nurse waited for him and when he started moving slowly towards the bathroom she followed his lead and helped him get around Ziva's bed.

When they finally reached the small bathroom he was barely using her for support and his head really wasn't so bad. Aside from the throbbing and vertigo. "I think I can handle it from here.

He caught Ziva's smile behind the nurse's back at the double meaning. "No jokes from the Peanut Gallery." and he shut the door.

He knew he could do this. It was something he did everyday. This whole concussion thing wasn't that big of a deal. It was kind of like waking up on the fraternity house floor after a toga party. He had made it relatively unscathed to the restroom all through college and he could do this too.

Not letting go of the railing the entire way, all three short shuffled steps of it, he finally reached his destination. Bending to lift the toilet seat was a courtesy he probably shouldn't have employed. The motion of bending and standing caused a fresh wave of pain to wash over him.

It felt as if his brain were free floating in his skull, tethered only to the nerves that ran through his entire body. His sloshing brain must be pulling on every single nerve sensor as his entire body tensed under the wave rolling through him.

He managed to focus enough to get the job done, though, much like those nights in the frat house, he was not putting too much stake on his sense of direction.

Finished he checked the damn hospital gown to make sure he hadn't gotten any on himself. It wasn't the first time he found himself wondering why he was stuck in a gown and Ziva got to wear scrubs.

As he leaned against the railing to regain his balance, he felt his mind detoured from the thought of her scrubs to the thought of just her.

Perhaps they would have been better off in separate rooms. She was acting very strange. Saying things she would probably deny once the medication wore off. Gentle calming tones, soft feminine looks. Ziva was acting, strangely, like a woman.

It wasn't the wrinkled clothes, tattered hair, morning after kind of look, though he had to admit that she was pulling that one off pretty damn well. It was the unusual mood swings. Unusual for her, not unusual for women in general.

She was being sweet and shy, and he felt himself hoping it wasn't just an act for his benefit. Something to distract him and keep the gray away for a few more hours until he met his fate.

Aside from the frightening aspects of their hospitalization, he could actually get used to her saying things to him that weren't followed with death threats.

Saying things like, "You won't lose me." on a voice soft as silk.

It had stopped him dead in his mental down spiral. Watching her lips move slowly as if choosing each word very carefully. Brow furrowed as if in deep concentration, not wanting to say the wrong thing. But perhaps she had anyway.

Now he was standing in the bathroom, entirely too long, pondering what she may have meant by those softly spoken words. He had almost asked her. Almost broken the silent agreement they seemed to have for just having some lighthearted fun and not pushing each other.

Neither was a healthy mate for anyone else, but they damn sure weren't healthy for each other. He wasn't about to make her a notch on his bed post and one or both would end up dead within a week if they ever. . . Whoa hold up. This has to stop. He told his foggy brain, not a road we're going down.

Is it the sex that would kill you? He tried to shut his brain up, moving to the sink and methodically washing his hands.

It did not help, as his brain went further astray. He tried to picture her strangling him or him strangling her, but instead his mind put the image of them naked and breathless. Killed by a passion more intense than any the world had ever know.

Seriously. Enough! He shouted silently, and shook his head which didn't seem too terribly smart as his heed began spinning with the pain of the motion.

Regardless of the pain it seemed to be effective as he grabbed the sink in a death grip. It successfully forced his brain away from the thoughts, as pleasant as they were in comparison to this moment.

As his eyes settled on his knuckles, white from the grip on the ledge of the sink, his mind drifted from her eyes, dark and sensual, as she writhed over him to her hands. She was probably a scratcher. She would dig her nails into the flesh on his chest as she screamed out his name.

Damn the pain meds! He shook his head again and the sharp pain was instant, but he couldn't stop staring at his grip on the ledge, hoping that he wouldn't slip off the wet surface. His hands brought him back to hers, but this time, thankfully, not in the bedroom.

He thought about her reaching out to him at a particularly upsetting part in the movie and it actually made watching the rest of the flick more enjoyable. She had a way about masking her features, not giving any hint of emotion on her face.

He had noticed she implored that entirely too often when they'd watch movies. It made it tough to tell if she was enjoying herself or planning strategy for a hostage situation in her head. But with her hand in his he could feel the way the movie played through her entire body. Her face may have been masked from years of practice, but her hands spoke volumes.

The tensing of her fingers during high intensity or action filled scenes. The way she loosened her digits so she could gently massage the skin on his palm during sentimental or emotional scenes. The way she tapped her finger against the side of his hand when not much of anything was going on as if willing the action on screen to hurry up and happen.

Yeah, she said a lot when she wasn't saying anything. He wasn't sure he wanted to watch another movie as they had before. Him chatting and telling her random facts while she sat stone faced and trying to focus on whatever he had been talking about.

If her hands were that expressive, maybe they could take to watching movies naked. He closed his eyes against his traitorous brain, splashed some cold water on his face and reached for the door handle, perhaps it was just the act of standing that had caused no more blood to be available for his brain.

Whatever it was, he had to stop it, because once they got outside the four walls of this hospital room things were going to go right back to normal and he didn't need anything lingering to torment him.

He was surprised at the scene that greeted him when the door opened. The nurse must have moved his bed to the other side, closest to the bathroom, while he was in there. The two beds were pushed together again with the rails down and one of the trays normally used to bring Dinner in was turned upside down laying a little over each bed in the middle. Ziva was shuffling a deck of cards.

He was unable to wrap his brain around the change at first. Before he realized it he was back at his bed. He hadn't even noticed the nurse had helped him over until she was getting him situated.

"You play poker, yes?"

He just nodded in response a little worried about how his voice might sound if he tried to speak.

xoxo

A/N: I thought I posted this yesterday. No wonder I didn't hear from anyone about what they thought of it. Sorry about that. Hopefully I'll have another one up tonight or tomorrow morning to make up for the delay.