It was certainly not the best day in McGee's memory. Although Ducky had allowed him to roll over onto his back so he wasn't actually inhaling the carpet, he had then insisted that McGee stay there: on his back, on the floor, in the middle of a crime scene. Feet stomped precariously close to his face and he could have sworn Tony was deliberately collecting dirt in the tread of his shoes with the specific intent of showering it on his face.

From his rather obscure vantage point, he could see there were some women in skirts moving around the crime scene. Did they hurdle over his face? No, he noted ruefully, it wasn't that sort of day.

At least his teeth had stopped aching but he had the sort of headache he always got after a bad night's sleep. Well, after a bad night's sleep accompanied by a whack to the forehead with a blunt object. Like a floor for example. His nose was still a bit sore too but Ducky assured him it wasn't broken. It had bled for a few minutes when he had first woken up but at the time he was too preoccupied with dodging the outfall from Gibbs and Ducky's sniping to think about it.

He was bored. He wasn't sure how many hours he had been lying there but he had pretty much become part of the furniture. He was beginning to suspect they were all going to go home without him. It all seemed so unnecessary: one faint, two tops. What was the big deal? There was nothing wrong with him. Anger and frustration stabbed him in the stomach.

"Well now Timothy," Ducky said cordially crouching down to him, "how are you feeling?"

"Fine." He snapped a little harsher than he meant to and immediately regretted it.

"Tell me, Timothy," Ducky continued unperturbed, "have you been having any nightmares recently?"

The question took McGee completely by surprise. How could Ducky possibly know about that? His jaw worked up and down a little before he could speak again.

"Maybe," he said hesitantly.

"You couldn't be a trifle more precise, could you Timothy?" Ducky was polite but insistent.

"Well, um, I, ah, keep waking up at night," McGee offered.

"Suddenly?"

"Ah yeah, I suppose so."

"And you have no memory of whatever you are dreaming about?"

"Ah no, it, I ah, just wake up, suddenly…" He averted his eyes and Ducky could see there was a little more to this waking up than he was admitting.

"And how is your state of mind when you wake up?" he probed.

"Um, sort of panicky, I guess."

"Ummmm," Ducky pondered on the problem, "How long has this been going on?"

"Not long."

Ducky gave him a questioning stare, eyebrows raised in expectation of a quantified answer.

"About a month," McGee admitted.

"Every night?"

"Most nights."

"Hmmmm," said Ducky again.

"So you're saying I'm just tired from all the nightmares?" McGee tried hopefully.

"No," said Ducky firmly, "I am not."

"So…," McGee prompted.

"So I need to think about it," Ducky concluded.

He looked up at the few remaining agents, "Special Agent Gibbs," he called formally. "Do you think Timothy could ride back with you in the sedan?"

Gibbs wandered over with an amused glint in his eyes, "You sure that's such a good idea, Doctor Mallard?"

"Be nice," Ducky warned, indicating towards McGee with his head.

"Can I get up now?" asked McGee's voice from the floor in a tone measured to compensate for his previous rudeness.

"Oh, my word yes," Ducky chuckled, "I'd quite forgotten you'd been down there all this time."

McGee rose stiffly to his feet and shot a frustrated look at Ducky's retreating back.

McGee's day did not improve once they returned to the bullpen. Tony was taking great delight in inserting the word 'bus' into as many sentences as humanly possible. He was getting quite creative, though McGee was almost certain that no one at the crime scene bore even a fleeting resemblance to BUSter Keaton. Currently, Tony was slowly sounding the letters "b", "u", "s" to see if he could elicit a reaction from him.

"I got it!" said Abby cheerfully as she bounced into the room.

"Give it to Tony," Gibbs directed whipping off his glasses and rising from his desk in one fluid motion.

Tony took the small cartridge from Abby's hand and inserted it into the drive.

"What is it?" He asked casually.

"Footage from the onboard camera in the van," said Abby excitedly.

"You film the driving?" Ziva seemed decidedly nervous.

"It became a legal necessity," Gibbs eyed her pointedly.

"Oh."

They assembled in front of the plasma screen.

"Sure you don't want to sit down or something, Probie?" Tony teased.

"No." McGee could barely keep his annoyance in check.

Gibbs aimed the remote control and spun through the footage at high speed. "Tell me when I'm close," he said.

"OK," said Tony excitedly, turning his attention to providing running commentary, this is where we mount the median strip and head for the oncoming traffic.

Gibbs reverted to play and Tony and McGee's shrill screams on the tape nearly shattered every computer screen in the room. A multitude of eyes turned as one from their work to focus on the small group huddled in front of the plasma before Gibbs managed to lower the volume.

"And there's the…," Tony began.

A huge bus suddenly filled the screen and there was the now all too familiar thump of McGee's body hitting the floor.

Gibbs killed the playback and for a moment they all stood looking down on him in silence.

"Play it again, Boss," Tony urged.

"DiNozzo!"

"No, seriously Boss, this could be a great party trick."

"Owww," McGee held his hand up to the back of his head, "I'm gonna have to start wearing a helmet."