A trail of haphazardly discarded clothing formed a ragged path from the apartment door to the side of the bed. In that bed, one Special Agent Timothy McGee lay sleeping soundly, thoroughly exhausted from the vicious cycle of consciousness and unconsciousness to which his body had been subjected that day.
But then there was the sound.
In days gone by he would have arisen, gun at the ready and stalked through his apartment under the cover of darkness to defend his property and his life against whoever was currently trying to break in. Time had matured him, however, and instead he just reached over, jammed the adjacent pillow over his face and let out a small whimper.
"Hey," came Tony's cheerful voice in the darkness.
Tony did a scissor jump onto the vacant side of the bed, the resulting shock wave nearly throwing McGee out the other side. Then he wrestled the pillow from McGee to prop under his back. In response, McGee ripped his remaining pillow from under his own head and thumped it back down on top of his face.
"I thought I gave you a key," McGee's muffled voice still betrayed his exasperation.
"You did," Tony confirmed, "but that's no fun."
McGee whimpered some more and ground the pillow into his face with his fists.
"I have been thinking," Tony began.
"And that was such a momentous event that you had to rush on over?" grumbled McGee from under the pillow.
There was a pause. "Sarcasm doesn't become you, Probie", said Tony, hurt.
"No," he continued indignantly, "I was thinking about when you were 16, when you were a boy."
"How do you know I wasn't a cat when I was 16?" Interrupted sleep did not improve McGee's mood.
"Because you are allergic to cats, so that would be silly," Tony reasoned. "So I was thinking," he continued again, "about that smoking car your parents gave you."
"And 'the thing'?"
"Yes, the thing," Tony sighed morosely.
"Okay, I hit a bus," McGee admitted, "but that was almost half a lifetime ago." He peeled the pillow from his face and looked up at Tony, "why would it start affecting me now?"
"Well, let's go over recent events," said Tony sharpening his investigator tools.
McGee tucked the pillow under his head and propped himself up further with a hand under his head. "You mean like: when did it start?"
"Exactly", Tony nodded. "When did it start?"
"Well, today I suppose."
"Oh, no," Tony corrected him, "Ducky said you've been having nightmares for weeks."
McGee frowned, "you talked to Ducky about this?" he said warily.
"More he talked to me," Tony replied casually, "and Abby says you should keep a dream diary by your bed."
"What the hell's a dream diary?"
"It's like this book you keep on your bedside table to write down your dreams the moment you wake up. Abby believes in the power of dreams."
"How many people, Tony?"
"Small group," Tony assured him, "no more than thirty."
McGee sighed in defeat. What had ever made him think he even had a private life anyway?
"So how long?" Tony neatly redirected the conversation from the diversion to the topic at hand.
"Ok, the nightmares started about 4 weeks ago," said McGee precisely. "I checked all the cases we've been on since the last time I remember having no nightmares to the time I definitely started waking up: Nothing."
"You've already gone down this path, haven't you?"
"Oh yeah."
There was a pause while Tony considered how to approach the next topic.
"When you had, 'the thing'", he drew out the words, "what happened after?"
"No idea", said McGee, flatly, "the rest of the day is a total blank."
"OK", Tony angled around another way, "What would happen today if someone ploughed headlong into a bus?"
McGee winced momentarily and then recovered. He raised one knee under the covers and propped his head up higher on his arm thoughtfully, trying to work out where Tony was going with this.
"Ah, someone would call 911, and the ambulance would come, and.."
"Who else would come, Probie?" Tony prompted.
McGee frowned in the darkness, puzzled. Then it dawned on him.
"There's a police report," he started excitedly, "and since it was a bus company, I'd bet there were some photos for insurance. Tony, you're a genius!"
Tony sighed in frustration.
"What?"
"So I'm guessing you aren't the one who pulled the file then."
"What! No. The file's gone?"
"Not gone, so much, someone pulled it just before I got to it and I can't find out who. Maybe it's someone who wants to cover everything up!"
"Or maybe it's someone who wants to find out what happened just like you do," McGee pointed out.
"Damn," Tony swore softly, "I was sure it was you."
McGee sighed and rolled out of bed.
"Where are you going?" asked Tony in surprise, "records aren't even open now."
"I'm going to the bathroom."
The massive volumes of water he had consumed in a effort to protect his kidneys from the equally massive dosage of analgesics required to numb the pain in his head, had finally filled his bladder to a critical level
Tony looked down at McGee's feet and snorted. "You wear socks to bed?"
"I have poor circulation, OK?" He sighed wearily realising he had just unwittingly added yet another anecdote to Tony's repertoire.
Tony laughed again, "Admit it," he challenged, "you have mutant feet that you're afraid to show even when you're alone in your own home."
McGee stared at him in bewilderment, then shook his head and shuffled off.
Tomorrow he was getting a chain for the front door.