Chapter 4

"We need to stop the bleeding, McGee."

"Yeah..." Tim didn't move. She could see he was slipping into shock. That was dangerous. She was not willing to let Tim lie there and bleed to death. Since he seemed unable to help himself, she quickly took off Tim's jacket, then removed his shirt and ripped it into strips, methodically packing the wound and tying it off. Every time she pulled one of the strips tight, Tim moaned, squeezing his eyes closed. Every so often, a single tear escaped and left a grimy trail down his cheek.

For Tim, the world was a haze of agony, centered on the fire burning in his right shoulder. After Ziva finished tying off his wound, he opened his eyes and saw her leaning over him. At least, she was alive. He tried to smile and said softly, "Ow."

Ziva suppressed a smile. That was a bit underwhelming. "Welcome back. What were you thinking, McGee? Why didn't you just shoot him?"

Tim grimaced in pain, but didn't tell her the real reason. He just said quietly, "I couldn't think of anything else. Why didn't you? You had a gun, too."

Ziva didn't answer.

"Well? What do we do now?" Tim asked. "Do you have your phone?"

Ziva pulled it out. The screen was dark. "You must have broken it when you knocked me to the floor. What about yours?"

"Oh, right." Tim winced as he shifted position and pulled out his phone. "It's on, but there's no signal."

"Wonderful. I should have stayed on desk duty." Ziva stood impatiently and started to examine the room. "McGee... look at this." She shone her flashlight over at the corner of the room. It was full of maps, photos, and crates. One of the photos was Lieutenant Browne; another was Petty Officer Greshen. They were only two of a series of photos of military personnel. The maps were of the DC area with annotations around the military bases.

"What's in the crates?" Tim asked. He pushed himself up the wall to a standing position and joined Ziva as she wrestled the top off one. "What is that stuff? I've never seen armor like that before."

"Neither have I. It's not like any I know." She pulled out a vest and searched through it, trying to discern its composition. "Wait! McGee, look at this." She held it up and shone the flashlight on an inside pocket.

"It's wired," Tim said breathlessly. He put out his hand and touched the small electronic device embedded in the fabric. "Wired for what though?" He looked through it and found only the one piece. He looked in the crate and found only other vests. "What about the other crates?"

Ziva shrugged and opened another one. In this crate, there were gloves. Tim picked one up, almost reverently and looked at it. "Wow."

"What, McGee?"

"I've never seen anything like this. It's computerized. I'd guess GPS-enabled and controllable from these gloves."

"What would they control?"

"Do any of the crates have helmets?" he asked.

"I can check." Ziva started to open one of the crates, but stopped and looked back at Tim. His pallor was ashen and he was shaking. "Are you okay, McGee?"

Tim smiled wanly. "I got shot, Ziva. I'm not okay, but I'm upright. That's something, isn't it?"

"Not if you fall over."

Tim brushed aside her concern. "If I sit down, I'm not getting back up. Let's just look at these crates. We need to know what's going on."

"Okay." She opened three other crates. One had helmets, equipped with miniature transparent monitors that flipped down over the eye. Another was full of rifles that were fairly typical, but had a computer chip in the sites that Tim thought was probably connected to the monitor. The other had ammunition, also with computer chips. Tim had no idea what those were for. By the time they finished going through the crates, Tim was trembling with the effort of standing. Ziva noticed that the bandage she'd tied was stained with blood.

"McGee, lean on me. I don't want you to collapse."

"It's not that bad," Tim said, his lie obvious.

"Yes, it is, McGee. Lean on me. I'm going to need you to help us get out of here. Bravado is no good right now."

Tim gave in and sagged against Ziva. His weakness surprised her. "McGee, how bad is it, really?"

Tim sighed and said, "How bad do you think it is, Ziva?"

"Why are you answering my question with another question?"

Tim smiled. "Why not?"

"McGee, do not make me hurt you. There are obviously plenty of weapons in this room, and I am sure I could figure them out."

Tim smiled and then winced. "It's bad. I'm still bleeding, and my shoulder feels like someone jabbed me with a hot poker. I don't suppose you carry aspirin along with your extra weapons? Or maybe morphine? A mallet?"

"Sorry. Those are not on my list of important materials."

"Maybe you should consider adding drugs to the list." Tim paused. "Okay, I think I need to sit down now... or else, you're going to have to support all my weight."

"I'm not already?" Ziva asked, only half-joking.

"No, not yet." Tim started to sag heavily on Ziva's shoulders. "Now, we're getting closer."

"Okay, McGee. Here we go." Gently, Ziva eased Tim down onto the floor and helped him position himself against the wall. "Rest. I will see what we can do to get out of here."

Tim was sweating profusely and gritted his teeth. "I'm not having any brilliant ideas."

"Is there anything you could just put together?"

Tim laughed, but it sounded more like a gasp of pain. "I'm not MacGyver, Ziva."

While she continued to explore the limits of the room, Ziva asked idly, "Who?"

"MacGyver. He was a character on a TV show from the 80s." Tim paused for a deep breath. "He was famous for never carrying a gun and for being able to make anything with only a little Swiss Army knife and duct tape."

"He didn't carry a weapon? Was he stupid?"

"No. He was a genius, and he was a pacifist, although he ironically worked for some black ops kind of company. I always wanted to be him."

"A pacifist?"

"No, a genius." Tim was still shaking. "I'm feeling a little light-headed."

Ziva turned back to Tim. He was looking very pale and the bloodstain was larger than it had been before. The room was sealed, which was a problem since there didn't even appear to be any space for airflow. For now, there was not much to do except wait. Abby knew where they had gone, and when they didn't show up, Gibbs would come and find them. As much as it galled her to wait for rescue, with Tim in that state, they didn't have much chance of getting out on their own. She sighed quietly to herself and sat down next to Tim on the floor.

"This doesn't look good, does it," Tim said softly.

"It isn't that bad. Gibbs will come and find us. Tony may tease us for a few weeks, but at least we will be alive, and if he gets overly annoying, I can just kill him."

"What if that man put the wall back up?"

"You found it. Why would they not be able to?"

"You didn't."

"You're right. I did not." Ziva shone the flashlight over at Tim. His face was pale and sweaty. His arm was obviously still causing him great pain, and he was shivering. He couldn't just stay leaning against a concrete wall. She would never dream of doing this in the normal course of things, but it was a special occasion. Gently, she pulled Tim over until his head was resting in her lap. She was surprised at how natural it felt. He gave a small protest, but had no strength to fight her. "Is that better?"

"Yes, a little. How long do you think it will take Gibbs to get to us?"

"I would guess a couple of hours, but it will depend on when they begin to worry."

"For once, I hope they start worrying fast." Tim tried to shift position slightly and subsided as pain jabbed his shoulder again.

"As do I," Ziva admitted.

Silence descended between them, only broken on the occasions when Tim let out a moan or took a deep breath. Ziva was completely silent, her mind working on ideas to get them out. Tim was not doing well, and she worried that it might take too long to find them. As the time passed, Tim's breathing deepened and he fell asleep. He stirred restlessly, but didn't awaken. Ziva looked at him, shining the flashlight just to the side of his face in order to keep the beam out of his eyes. He was definitely not bad to look at. He looked young, yes, but he was well-built and, even damp with sweat, he had a handsome face. Ziva gave an exasperated smile and shook her head. Why was she even thinking about this? And why, why was she all of sudden wishing that they could be alone longer? A few hours earlier all she had wanted was to be out of Tim's presence, to be doing what she had considered real work. Now, she just wanted to be here with Tim. Although if she were honest, the present situation was less than ideal. She leaned back against the concrete and closed her eyes. She hadn't planned it, but she fell asleep.