Author's Note: Thank you again for the reviews, alerts, favorites, and messages! Please enjoy and offer feedback! I realize this chapter is a bit short, but the next chapter is much longer!

.

.

Chapter 5: Blood

McGee had been unprepared for the arterial blood spray when what turned out to be a piece of rebar came free from the back of Tony's lower leg. The area was already severely swollen and deformed. Thankful to at least have his necktie handy, he propped his flashlight against some boards and applied pressure to slow down the flow of blood as Tony's breaths came in what amounted to sobs of agony. McGee felt a scraping and shifting under his hands as he applied pressure, which instantly made his own insides twist further. He turned his head and leaned back as his stomach violently emptied, but McGee never let his hands ease up on the pressure to the deep wound. He wiped his mouth and chin on his shoulder and continued his attempts to stop Tony's life from leaking out between his fingers.

After several minutes, Tony's breathing quieted, but the blood soaked through the tie and began to flow through McGee's fingers. McGee's eyes had adjusted to the light, and he saw that Tony's back was covered with scrapes and lacerations, visible through multiple rips in his pale blue shirt. McGee couldn't be sure in the poor lighting, but some of them appeared to be bleeding steadily. He didn't dare move his hands from the larger wound. He felt his heartbeat quicken.

"Tony? This isn't really working. I, uh, I think you've got some some-uh, broken bones in there—"

"Yeah," Tony whispered through his tightly clenched teeth, his entire body trembling from pain. "I felt them scraping. Tim—"

"Tony, the bleeding—it just won't stop. Your back's bleeding too. And your head or nose or something is still—"

"Tourniquet, McGee."

Tourniquet? The word hit McGee like a physical blow to his gut.

"No way, Tony. I stayed conscious long enough in first aid class that I know you doNOT put tourniquets on anymore. You do something with the something in the, uh, the uh, groin area . . . to, you know, slow the flow of blood and all that." Inwardly, he cringed at the thought of placing his hand part in that region of his friend's anatomy, but of course he would do it to save Tony's life.

"Tourniquet, McGee. Above my knee—not on the break. Then . . . go. Get help."

"Tony . . . no . . . they don't do that anymore," McGee pleaded.

Tony smiled wanly. "Tim, did they teach you how to do transfusions and surgery at MIT . . . or Cub Scouts?"

"Weebelos . . . ." McGee's voice caught in his throat.

"Last resort, McGee. I'm bleeding out of more holes than you can plug. Help's not on the way, and I may pass out. Phys. Ed. major, 'member?" Tony mustered as much strength as he could to continue. "I'm going into shock, and it's last resort time, Tim, or I'm going to bleed to death. You . . . you need to get help.

"But a tourniquet could mean . . . ." Tim fought the nausea that again threatened its way up into his throat at the thought of Tony losing his leg.

"It means I might not die today," Tony spoke with firm conviction.

Tim bit his lip, trying to think of a way around the inevitable decision that he knew could cost Tony his leg. "Where should I put the tourniquet—a couple inches above your knee?"

"Yeah. You're going to need my tie, too. Move fast . . . just cut it. And find a stick or something to tighten it."

McGee surveyed the debris around him, moving as little as possible. "I see something. I'll grab it when . . . when . . . you know . . . when it's time."

"Hey, Tim?" Tony added tentatively, his breaths coming more rapidly.

"Yeah, Tony?"

"If things . . . go south, you know about CPR, right?"

McGee squirmed inwardly, balking at the thought of needing to perform CPR on his partner. He stammered nervously, "Well, I . . . yes . . . well, I've never actually done it, but I know the basic—"

"You left yourself . . . wide open for a joke there, but I'm just too tired," Tony jested weakly. "CPR doesn't work if the person bled to death, okay? If things shut down, just . . . just let me be, okay? I don't want to be brain dead on machines." The exchange had taken its toll, and Tony's voice lost strength again, his final reserves dwindling. "Promise me?"

McGee licked his lips nervously and nodded tentatively. "Y-yeah."

Tony snorted quietly. "Again, with confidence."

McGee straightened his back and nodded. "I won't let you down."

"Tim?"

"Yeah, Tony?"

"Just know . . . that if you can't do it, it can't be done."

"This can't be harder than hacking into the CIA's case files without getting caught, right? Or . . . or getting Ziva out of Somalia, right?" He swallowed back his queasiness as he prepared to apply the tourniquet. He needed another set of hands. Tony's artery would resume the heavy bleeding while McGee positioned the tie.

"Ready?"

"Mark your way, McGee."

"What?"

"When you go for help. Mark your way with your knife . . . so you can get back with help. Get my keys. Front right pocket."

"Good idea, Tony. Real good." He held the pressure as steady as he could with one hand and reached into Tony's front pants pocket for the keys.

"Hey . . . no funny stuff," Tony said, trying to lighten the gravity of the situation.

"Ha, ha." McGee got the keys.

"Tim . . . you're a good agent."

"Thanks, Tony, but we're not going to do this right now. Tell me once you're all patched up and it will mean more."

"Well, you are."

"Okay. So . . . are you ready?"

Tony grunted, "No . . . but yes . . . ." He steeled himself and took a deep breath.

McGee lifted his hands from the injured leg. Tony immediately cried out and gulped for air as the bones in his lower leg shifted again. His torn up back arched as his body tried instinctively to escape the newest assault. Seconds later, blood began to spurt from Tony's calf, as it had when he had first been freed from the rebar. Despite his shaking hands, McGee deftly tied the long cloth above Tony's knee, away from both the wound and broken bones.

McGee ignored Tony's erratic gasping and tensing as well as he could and tied the stick to the secured necktie. He began to turn the stick, cinching the strap tighter around his partner's leg, just above the knee. He discovered he was holding his breath. "How tight?" he asked between his own tightly clenched teeth.

Tony couldn't answer: his whole world centered on surviving the mind-numbing pain as the strap slowly constricted his aching thigh muscles and pinched the large femoral artery against the intact upper leg bone. His fists balled up so tightly that his knuckles turned white and his well-kept fingernails dug into his palms, drawing blood.

McGee gave the stick another twist. Tony growled an almost inhuman sound and McGee knew his partner had to be on the verge of passing out. Finally the bleeding slowed dramatically. McGee gave it another half turn, and the bleeding essentially stopped. Now to secure it. McGee held the stick in place with his left hand and used his knife with his right to remove Tony's necktie as fast as he could. He wrapped the tie around the ends of the stick to keep it in place at the back of Tony's thigh.

McGee looked at his watch. 4:13 pm. 16:13 military time. The clock was ticking.

Tony still lay prone, head turned to the side, eyes closed, breathing rapidly and intermittently shivering. His hands slowly unclenched, his fingers gradually going slack.

Tim removed his own filthy suit jacket and covered Tony's back as well as he could, wishing he could get Tony up off the wet floor. He moved several feet away from Tony and vomited one more time. The light filtering through the wreckage had all but disappeared as night fell. He would need his flashlight, and that would leave Tony in nearly complete darkness.

"I'll be back, Tony," he said as he began to carefully climb his way to the surface to call for help, but he knew Tony was beyond hearing him. Tony DiNozzo had finally, mercifully, passed out.