Author's note: Thank you again for the reviews, favorites, alerts, and messages! Please enjoy Chapter 4.
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Chapter 4: Stuck
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McGee woke up in increments, first coughing and then gagging on what tasted and smelled very much like rusty chalk mixed with ammonia. His ears rang and buzzed strangely, but he noticed the sound of dripping water. He licked his dry lips and spat out as much of the foul taste in his mouth as he could, feeling revoltingly nauseated. It registered that his head and back hurt. Something had him pinned down in a big puddle of cold water. He couldn't really get a full breath, and he could only lift his head an inch or two. Where was he again? What on earth? Why was he lying face down in a half inch of water under something heavy? He attempted a mental inventory of events.
Memories flooded back in a rush.
Danielle.
The hatch. Basement.
Bomb!
Tony . . . .
Just as McGee thought the name, he realized he wasn't on stairs any more. He seemed to be on a flat surface. Something very cold, wet, hard, and most unforgiving.
Concrete.
The basement floor. And the weight pinning him to the floor felt warm and kind of soft. Somewhat wet.
Ew.
Tony.
He remembered Tony plowing into him, shielding him from the blast. Tony had yelled for him to get down, but it had been too late. A classic Tony tackle. It seemed Tony was still protecting him, even though the explosions had apparently stopped. McGee remembered that there had been another explosion from above them; it seemed the whole barn had collapsed, but the immediate threat seemed to be over. Wow. I almost blew up today. Unreal. Tony probably just saved my life. Crap. I'll never live that down .
"Good tackle, Tony," McGee grunted with effort. "You can get off me now," he said aloud as he imagined all the 'saving McGee's ass' comments he would be hearing for the next month. Or year. Maybe forever.
The ringing in McGee's ears had subsided, but the roaring in his head remained. Water dripped from various places, and the tons of settling rubble surrounding them crackled and popped ominously, but there was no answer from Tony, who grew heavier by the minute.
Already feeling claustrophobic in their now very cramped pocket of the basement, McGee felt doubly oppressed by Tony's weight pushing down on him—squeezing the air from his lungs. The whole barn had essentially descended to the basement. Crushing him. Smothering him. The relative darkness didn't help, but at least McGee's eyes were adjusting. Shards of dim light filtered in through the wreckage above him, and some of the swirling grit in the air had settled on the debris surrounding them.
The warm blanket of weight that was Tony didn't move. "Uh, DiNozzo? Do you mind? Ha, ha, you can get up now." McGee began to squirm, his movements hindered by the dead weight. He felt the slow tickle of water running down his cheek and swiped at it with the back of his hand, smearing a sticky wetness.
"Uh, Tony, seriously. I . . . I think I'm bleeding. I don't know how bad it is. Man, you ever think of losing a couple pounds?"
He felt more blood run down his cheek and drip off his chin to land with a delicate splash in the water on the floor. His stomach did a quick flip. Stark red liquid smeared across the dusty white of his right hand. "Quit the clowning around. Seriously." He was rewarded with a thin cough and moan near his right ear.
"Tony?" McGee's pitch rose as his heart leapt into his throat.
No answer.
His volume grew louder as panic crept in. "DiNozzo, answer me!"
The next moan triggered a louder cough, followed by a hoarse whisper. "'Gee?"
"Jeez, Tony, you scared the crap out of me," McGee blurted. "Get off me, will you?" Then, softer, "You are okay, aren't you?"
"Think so . . . . Maybe . . . ." Tony began, but as soon as he tried to move, he choked back a yell. "Oh shit," he spat between clenched teeth. "Maybe not . . . . Not."
"Tony?"
"McGee . . . , give me a minute," Tony growled, his voice tight with a tone McGee had never heard before. Fear? He felt his partner move slightly, followed by a gasp. He heard a hitch in Tony's breathing. "We . . . I . . . we got a problem . . . ."
McGee felt the tickle of another drop of blood hit him in the back of the head, tracing its way down his scalp, and the realization hit him. That's Tony's blood. "Yeah, I guess it's you that's bleeding. Can . . . can you maybe slide, you know, off me so I can take a look? Get help if we need it?"
"You . . . you okay, McGee?"
"Yeah, fine. You, uh, you know . . . . You kind of saw to that . . . , but now you're kind of squishing me. C-can you let me up?"
Tony shifted his weight again slightly, but cried out sharply in pain, "No can do, . . . Tim." He panted heavily before continuing. "I'm stuck."
He called me Tim. Bad sign. Really bad. McGee tried twisting to get a glimpse of Tony, but a drop of blood trickled into his eye. "Oh, Jeez . . . ." Tony's breathing sounded heavy so close to McGee's ear and he felt another wave of concern for his friend.
"Stuck? Stuck how?"
"Stuck . . . as in, stuck. You're going to have to crawl . . . out from under me," DiNozzo groaned between clenched teeth. "I . . . I seem to be pinned. I think the whole damn barn came down."
"Pinned? Ooookay . . . ." McGee took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice even. "Is there, like, a beam or something on your leg?"
DiNozzo's hesitation did not bode well.
"Tony?"
"McGee, you're not going to like this . . . . I think something's stuck in my leg . . . like. . . may. . . maybe a pipe? Hurts like a motherf—"
"A pipe? In-in-in your leg?" McGee stammered. "In—as in—you're-you're-you're . . . , like. . . , impaled?" McGee swallowed his nausea.
Tony inhaled a deep breath and exhaled slowly, scaring McGee more than any words could.
"Tony?" A Tony not talking was scary.
"I think . . . I think I'll never. . . never eat. . . a shish kabob a . . . again."
Oh, God . . . ."I'm going to try to get out from under you now." McGee began to scoot out from under his partner, but the scream of raw agony that Tony tried unsuccessfully to suppress made him freeze.
"Stop!" Tony begged as he gasped for air. "Please! Campfire . . . ," he wheezed out between ragged breaths.
"I'm sorry," McGee responded as calmly as possible. "I'm sorry—look, just, just tell me what to do!"
"Give me a minute." Tony tried to even out his breathing and still the shaking in his voice.
McGee felt the tremors coursing through his partner's entire body, and his own anxiety grew exponentially. He had seen Tony beaten, tortured, starved, drugged, and ill, but never had he heard him so close to desperation. He tried to slow his own breathing.
Tony began again, "I may not be much help here in a few minutes. I'm, uh, I'm kind of buzzing in, in, a not-fun way."
This so cannot be happening. "DiNozzos don't pass out, remember?"
"Here's the thing . . . ." Tony swallowed and took a shaky breath. "Whatever's in my leg is attached to something. Something above me, I think."
Oh, God . . . .
Tony continued, "When you get out from under me,"—Tony took a deep breath—"one of two things is going to happen."
McGee definitely didn't like the direction of this conversation.
"Whatever's jammed in my leg will either come out, leaving a big hole, or it won't come out, which means it will be holding me up in the air with most of my weight pulling down. I can't be sure, but I have a feeling I won't be much help either way . . . . I need you, Tim."
"Oh, God! Don't make me do this, Tony. Gibbs and Ducky will be here before too long. We'll just stay like this. You know. . . let's give this a few more minutes."
"Just . . . just how the hell do you figure that?"
"Gibbs has that sixth sense, you know?"
"Ducky's back in DC . . . . McGee, listen. I'm not feeling so good, so . . . unless you're set on wearing my puke on your head . . . you need you to do this. Soon." Another spasm of pain shot through his body, eliciting a choked groan. "Before I forget . . . , there's a tunnel. Back in the corner."
"A tunnel? That's how she got out? Okay, Tony. Got it. Tunnel in the corner. You would seriously puke on my head?"
"Seriously . . . , McGee, as soon as you're out from under me, you need to get me free of that pipe or spike or whatever the hell it is, and plug the hole. Pressure. Stop the bleeding."
"I'm sorry, DiNozzo—Tony—you know I'm not that great with blood and . . . ."
Tony interrupted him. "I need you to be good with it today, Tim. And if pulling me down from that spike starts to bring the whole rest of the barn down," Tony's body jolted with a sharp spasm. "Then—get out."
McGee pushed his nausea down.
"Take off your tie and have it ready, Tim, but try not to move too much yet. I'm going to try to get mine off too."
McGee slipped his hands up to his tie and began to undo the knot, a difficult task in their limited space. He pulled the loose tie free from around his neck.
He felt Tony try to do the same, but McGee felt a shudder run through DiNozzo's body, and heard a strangled cry in his ear.
"Screw it," Tony hissed. "Cut it off me if you need it. You have a knife, right?"
"Rule 9," McGee confirmed.
"You know what to do?"
McGee nodded. "Yeah, I'm going to get out from under you and-and-and control the bleeding."
"And if I'm hung up, you're going to pull me down off it, no matter what. You won't stop, no matter what I do, . . . even . . . even if I cry like a little girl."
McGee felt a cold sweat flash across his body as his stomach plummeted. He swallowed the foul taste in his mouth. "Right." He knew things could get much worse before they got any better.
Tony squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, bracing himself. "Let's just get it over with."
"I think I'm going to puke, Tony . . . ."
"Puke later. Get this thing out of me. Please, McGee."
The note of despair gave McGee more resolve. "Let me get my flashlight out. I need to be able to see better. There. On three?" he asked sickly.
"'Kay," DiNozzo answered, his voice tense with morbid anticipation.
"One . . . two . . . three!" McGee began to scramble his way out from under Tony. He tried to block out the gut-wrenching screams of excruciating pain from his partner that were mere inches from his ear.