Occhiolism - The awareness of the smallness of your perspective.

He didn't realise how bad the nightmares would be. How real and twisted they could get. They were horrifying and always ensured that he woke up in a cold sweat and out of breath. He kept on expecting to feel the grittiness of the sand in his mouth and eyes but when he reached up to rub at them it was eerily never there. He hated the disorientation that came with them, expecting to be on a hard desert floor only to wake up in a soft warm bed really threw a person. There was always a moment of panic before his racing heart caught up with his brain and he stopped seeing people in the shadows. The drumming of his heart didn't stop at that point. It took a while to settle even with deep breaths. He'd managed to work himself into a panic attack several times before figuring that little technique out. Thank God for online self-help documents.

Still didn't stop the flashing images. Ziva falling to the floor, eyes glassy. An 'Oof' from Tony as his breath left him and he slumped to the table. Footsteps that were far too loud and appeared to come from everywhere, from behind him to above him.

Somalia. He still saw it sometimes, behind his closed eyelids. That dark, dusty cell with an interrogation table. The scene of battered chair and table legs in front of him, the wood worn down and scraped at. It had been odd, hearing more voices than seeing them. Voices took on an odd tone when they weren't level with you. He could still remember every threat directed at him.

"American scum."

"Let's see how well he bleeds."

"Pathetic."

"Not so big now, huh, white man?"

"Quick and easy or slow and fun?"

McGee couldn't help but shudder in remembrance of that last threat. It had been paired with the flat of a blade being trailed down his cheek, him catching the glint of it from the corner of his eyes. The terrifying sharpness of it haunted his nightmares. Sometimes he was sliced to pieces, other times he had to watch Tony get stabbed repeatedly. Both made him wake up feeling sick to his stomach.

As much as nightmares haunted him, McGee knew they were not as bad as Tony's and Ziva's got. He'd seen the deep, dark circles and the far-seeing zombie stares that spoke of endless sleepless nights. At least he could get back to sleep after staring at the ceiling with the light on, making sure he was in familiar surroundings. He knew that those two received no such mercy.

It made sense, he had spent most of the time in that cell on the floor, face cringing but ears alert. They'd easily figured out that Tony was the leader in the mess they'd got themselves in and focused most of their attention on the Senior Agent except to rough McGee up before throwing him on the floor. Discarding him. He very obviously wasn't a threat.

He couldn't imagine ever being considered a threat. That sort of thing tended to get you into trouble in ways he didn't really understand. McGee wasn't sure that he wanted that sort of understanding. A strange thing, coming from him from someone who loves to learn and expand his horizons. Nope, not in this case. He was quite happy being ignorant to certain things, not understanding. He didn't think he ever could.

Could he ever wrap his head around the intensity of whatever this thing is between his two best friends? Understand what drove people to revenge, to vengeance until blood was spilled? All of McGee's energy had gone into surviving on planning the next step after the cell. He knew that Tony had never let himself think that far, willing accepting the fact that they may never get that far.

Did that so McGee's innocence? His naivety? He supposed he never saw the bigger picture, not really. McGee just knew that Tony needed him and he was going to be right by his side (he was no sidekick, after all).

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The, now familiar, pictures played like an old black and white movie behind his closed eyelids. No sound, only big emotions. His eyes flew open with a gasp. They weren't real. They weren't real. Everyone was safe. It was over.

Except, it wasn't was it? It might be over for him, his day remained largely unaffected until a thousand-mile stare of Ziva's reminded him, until he caught Tony looking at Ziva with worry. And, they might be safe from terrorists, from physical harm but what about mental, emotional? His scars may not run deep but Tony's certainly did. Ziva was still recovering physically, she'd be wearing those scars for a long time to come. McGee couldn't even contemplate the emotional turmoil she was going through. He didn't think he could ever understand it. He wasn't an assassin (ex or otherwise) nor a person who relied greatly on his physical skills. Didn't think he ever would be. So, he could never know what it was like to lose a part of yourself like that. How could he even start to imagine what Ziva was going through, how she was dealing with the recovery process? What did you think when you were going through something like that? This was a case where sympathy came across as demeaning but there was no way he could empathise. What was taken from her - McGee shuddered. It just didn't bear thinking about.

What worried him is that he still didn't know the full story despite being a participant, Ziva being very competent in hiding her trauma and good luck in trying to get anything out of Tony. To be honest, he wasn't sure he wanted to. He didn't think he had the strength to cope with that. Not that that meant anything, it wasn't like he had any prior experience to base this on. Maybe that made him weaker, maybe that made him more sensible. He didn't know. He didn't know. It always came back to this, didn't it? His lack of experience. His 'greenness'.

At the end of the day, McGee was quiet, well happy wasn't exactly the right word, comfortable with his current the position. He scrunched up his nose, comfortable wasn't right either. Accepting was better, he accepted that this was the best he could know and understand. He knew his capabilities and subsequent weaknesses. If that meant that he'd never fully understand what was going on and only ever have his experiences muddling through his subconscious then he'd take it.

You didn't have to understand or experience something to be there for people. He was good at being there for people.