Shot To Hell by ceilidh
A/N:- Oooh, more lovely reviews! Thanks so much!
There's just a quick reference to Dead Man Walking here (well, more a certain piece of clothing from it) and also the 'plasma screen' scene from the episode itself, just to give Tony something to feel guilty about too. Well, it was a really mean thing to do - and you've got to spread the angst around a bit, right? ;o)
Okay, I promised you whumpage for poor Timmy, and all sorts of guilt-angst for Tony and Abby – and it starts here. So for all you sadists out there – enjoy!
Chapter Three – Point Of No Return
He'd forgiven her for countless things in the past, including breaking off their relationship, but this? Turning on him like that? Denying she even knew him? Putting a damn dog's welfare over his, and using his jacket to comfort it?
Scowling even more at that last part, Tim McGee then glared down at its thankfully undamaged, fur-free replacement. This wasn't the first jacket she'd ruined, of course. She'd wrecked his treasured Armani, too.
And yes, as he'd done then, he knew he could easily afford another to replace it, but – damn it, no! That wasn't the point, and… no, he was sick of this, he wasn't going to keep making excuses for her.
When he'd needed her comfort, Abby had turned on him, as viciously as that damn dog had done, and – no, whatever his stupidly lovestruck heart had ignored before, this was just too much for it to take.
She'd hurt him too deeply this time, and – no, he couldn't, he just couldn't, forgive her for that. Yet again, she'd broken his heart, and… damn it, no wonder it was hammering clear out of his chest.
And yes, he knew they still had to work together, but – no, he really couldn't think about that right now. At the moment, it was taking all his strength, all his concentration, to walk out of the elevator – his shakily weaving progress to his desk causing Ziva to call after him in puzzled concern.
"Are you alright, McGee?"
"Fine," Tim snapped back at her, for once uncaring to the Mossad agent's justly feared reputation. If she chose to kill him right now, just to put him out of his misery, he really wouldn't be sorry.
Instead, still oblivious to her genuine concern, he clicked his desktop's link to the main plasma screen – recoiling, in pure terror, as three massive Dobermans seemed to leap out of it, homing in on his throat. On a rush of adrenalin, a heart-rate that was already dangerously high now surged into triple figures. The room swam crazily around him.
And the sick, sadistic genius who'd arranged this little 'surprise' for him?' Hell, who else?
"Oh yeah, DiNozzo, real funny!" Tim finally managed, his voice shaking with both fear and anger – turning to glare at his tormentor, with such fury in his eyes that Tony's smirk faded in real dismay.
He'd gone too far this time – and Tim McGee's unnaturally coarse, deadly soft words confirmed it.
"Yeah, when some coked-up mutt uses you for its chew toy, I hope it goes for your damn throat!"
Everyone in the bullpen, not just Tony and Ziva, were staring at him now, stunned by his outburst. Tim McGee's sweet-natured calmness was legendary, so to see him lose it like this, so completely – hell, no wonder no-one in that room, not even Tony DiNozzo, knew how to handle it.
It was going to take a cool head to defuse the next eruption of a still dangerously simmering temper. In Jethro Gibbs' absence, that task eventually fell, with equal improbability, to a volatile Israeli assassin
"Tony, take a walk. A long one."
For once not daring to argue, or even breathe too loudly, Tony nodded and moved towards the elevator – something he couldn't place, something more than his conscience, prompting him to glance back again.
As he'd expected, Tim was now slumped in his chair, oblivious to the murmurs of worry around him. He was shaking, his face hidden behind equally jerky hands.
Tony couldn't hear what Ziva was saying to him as she sat, unthreateningly, on the edge of Tim's desk. But he could see the worry on her face turn to real alarm as she rested a hand on his forehead – the question which inevitably followed met with more, inexplicable fury as Tim pushed it away.
If he'd tried that stunt on her in normal time, she'd have tossed him clear across his desk, but now – no, Tony realized, running instinctively now towards them, there was absolutely nothing normal about this.
There was no reason in the world for Tim McGee to now rise, in such petulant rage, from his chair.
And there was no reason either, just pure and real alarm, for him to then crash back down beside it – oblivious to two desperate yells of his name as DiNozzo reached him, fractionally too late, to break his fall
"McGee!"
For the second time in as many minutes, the bullpen stared in silence, stunned at what they'd just seen. This time, though, Jethro Gibbs walked into it – his eyes instantly sizing up a scene of unnatural, rising panic.
Cradled in Tony's lap, Tim McGee lay beside his desk, violently shaking in his best friend's arms. And for once, there were no flippant wisecracks. His senior agent's eyes, and voice, held genuine fear.
"He – He just went, boss! I tried to get to him, but he – he just went, and - boss, he's burning up."
The whys and wherefores would have to wait. Right now, Tim McGee needed help, and fast.
Luckily, Ziva was already ensuring he'd get it – her voice as worried as Tony's, but still crucially calm.
"I've called an ambulance. Ducky's on his way."
Nodding terse approval, Gibbs strode on to where McGee lay, still shaking helplessly in Tony's arms. Even with his limited medical knowledge, Gibbs knew this was bad. Tim McGee was in serious trouble, and every instinct he had, professional and otherwise, was telling him to do something, anything, to help.
But until the experts arrived, until Ducky or one of the EMT's could explain what was happening – no, just like Tony, all he could do was offer Tim McGee comfort they both knew he couldn't hear.
"Easy, Tim. Hang on, McGee… help's coming, Tim, you're gonna be okay, just hang on."