A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who alerted, reviewed, and read this story!

It sounded like a television was on someplace, and he absently wondered if he'd forgotten to turn it off before heading down to the basement. Yet that didn't quite feel right. The voices mumbled in the background… just outside of the point of recognition… but he heard the cadences and rising and falling of individual voices.

Gibbs moved toward them. He couldn't explain it, but they were comforting somehow. The darkness beckoned him, but he resisted… fighting against the pull of slumber… moving away from the fog and towards the light…

"…so childish, Tony."

"Am not, Zee-vah."

His body felt weak and heavy, and he couldn't seem to open his eyes. He held on to vague memories of a black house and trees and an ambulance ride, yet it all seemed disjointed and not his own. Gibbs could feel himself drifting away again, and so he clung to the voices like a preserver.

"Would you please sit down, Tony!"

He heard the shuffling of feet and the creak of a chair nearby.

"Fine. Happy?"

"No, I am not happy."

"Me neither."

"He looks terrible."

"What he and McGee went through was no day on the sand."

"Day at the beach, Ziva."

Something horrible had happened… and the mention of McGee's name brought all of the pieces into place. The abduction. The torture. The escape. Gibbs now remembered the forest, and waking up to Ziva kneeling in front of him with a full team of Marshals at her side. Next came the realization that McGee was no longer with him, and the sudden surge of adrenaline that spurred his insistence that Ziva help him back to the house.

That final, horrible image of finding his agent down was the catalyst Gibbs needed to open his eyes.

His eyes felt heavy, but he managed to peel them open for a moment, barely getting a glimpse of his two agents before the harsh brightness of the room forced him to pinch his eyes shut again. There was quick movement around him, and through his closed lids, he sensed a change. Trying again, Gibbs found that the lights had been turned off. Muted rays of sunshine from a singular window left streaks of light across the room, falling on Ziva's blurry form standing at the foot of his bed.

"Boss! You're awake!"

Gibbs' eyes shifted to see Tony walking away from the light switch on the wall.

"How are you feeling?"

The room around him began to clear, and Gibbs began to feel each injury he'd suffered. Breathing, although easier than it had been previously, still felt like a chore. His face felt hot and swollen. His arms and legs ached together in a symphony of pain, and he could feel his heartbeat pulse down through his fingertips.

He tried to speak, but he wasn't sure anything coherent came out as Tony strode over to his bed and hovered into his personal space.

"What was that, boss?"

"McGee…?"

Tony gave a scrutinizing frown and at the foot of the bed, Ziva tensed. Pain… immediate and sharp… pierced through his chest, compressing his heart with a deathly grip as panic seized him.

"Probie? He, uh… well, he's…"

Gibbs closed his eyes as his vision shorted out. He couldn't understand what was happening as his body began shaking. He barely registered Ziva's announcement that she was going to find a doctor as his mind was consumed with images of his young agent bleeding out on the floor in front of him, and his blood boiled in anger.

Anger at Guerrero and his crazy vendetta against a woman who was only doing the right thing. Anger at the men who had dragged Tim into the middle of it all. Anger at Tim for going back to that house alone instead of staying put, where Gibbs could have kept an eye on him.

And it was at that moment that Gibbs finally realized that he wasn't angry.

He was scared.

Despite everything that Gibbs had experienced in that place… isolation, torture, lack of food and water… he had never been truly afraid. He was a Marine. He'd been in dangerous situations in the past, and he had resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he could most likely die while out in the field. Yet he would never accept that inevitability for any of the agents on his team. Gibbs worried about Tony and Ziva plenty of times, but they were experienced agents and knew how to take care of themselves.

But McGee was a different story.

Everyone liked McGee, and had since his first day on the team. Agents from other teams would often approach McGee with questions about a case, seeking his advice on stalled searches or electronic trails gone cold. The geeks down in Cybercrimes still called him 'boss' when they crossed paths. Even Vance took an immediate liking to the kid once he took the post as Director. Gibbs knew he was protective of the young man… grumbling each time he agreed to help a fellow agent with their case load or when he'd sneak off to the basement to assist with a new program… but he never stopped it from happening. He was fully aware of how happy McGee was in his work, and the look of pride he carried each time he'd lend a hand to another team was something Gibbs swore he'd never quash.

He had simply passed the feeling of protectiveness off as a side effect of having a rookie on the team. But that was just it…

McGee was no longer a rookie.

Yet, Gibbs discovered, he still treated him like one.

He knew he had expressed doubts to McGee during their time together. Doubts that indisputably led to McGee's question about Gibbs' desire to be with Tony or Ziva instead of him. Yet, despite it all, McGee still overcame everything that was thrown at him and led himself, and Gibbs, to safety.

He had to tell McGee how he felt. Gibbs had to remind him of how proud he was.

But now he was scared that he'd never get that chance.

"Agent Gibbs! You need to calm down."

Senses returned and Gibbs could feel hands pressing down on his shoulders, attempting to pin him to the bed. A man in scrubs loomed above him with a nurse at his side, and he seemed to be threatening him with some sort of syringe.

"Agent Gibbs, if you cannot calm yourself, I will have to sedate you."

Gibbs looked over the doctor's shoulder at Tony and Ziva, who were casting worried glances his way.

"Is he dead, Tony?"

His voice shook, but he was past the point of caring. Gibbs would gladly lay his life down for his agents, but the other way around? Unacceptable.

"No," Tony said as he took a step towards the bed. His answer was calm, but Gibbs could see the fear. "He's in bad shape, but no. He's not dead."

"I want to see him."

"Now, Agent Gibbs, that is not going to happen," the doctor spoke up.

"I want to see my damn agent!"

Sighing, the doctor nodded.

"You can, and you will. But we have some tests to do first. I promise that as soon as those are done, I'll have you taken down to see your man."

~~~NCIS~~~

It had been several hours (too many, in Gibbs' opinion) since Gibbs had agreed to be examined in exchange for seeing McGee, and still he felt the tightness in his chest. He ignored it as he was poked, prodded and scanned, grumbling the entire time.

He took his mind off the procedures by interrogating Tony and Ziva for details on their rescue. He smiled when he learned that Tim's plan had worked perfectly. He had managed to effectively alert the Marshals while in their system; his e-mail to Tony simply serving as a confirmation of their whereabouts.

He tried not to cringe upon hearing that Ziva's discovery of Gibbs' unconscious body had been pure, dumb luck. Guerrero's third man had been trudging through the woods, searching for Gibbs and McGee, while his boss hid back in the house. This prompted the group of officers to split up, and Ziva had literally tripped over Gibbs' sprawled legs after tackling the suspect to the ground.

With Gibbs in no position to save himself, and McGee in a battle of his own back in the house, there was no way telling how long it would have taken for Gibbs' body to have been found in the woods. It was a thought that led to several contemplative silences among the group during these long hours in the hospital.

His two agents spent most of their time in his room, but there were moments when they disappeared, and Gibbs knew they were slipping away to visit McGee. He was told that Abby had hardly left Tim's side during his recovery from surgery, and had only voluntarily left when she demanded to be in charge of all of the evidence collected at the house.

Ducky, and even Vance, had stopped by, both of them assuring Gibbs that McGee was recovering as expected, but he refused to accept anything until he could see the young man with his own eyes.

It felt like an eternity had passed before Gibbs found himself in a wheelchair, being wheeled by his senior field agent through the maze of halls to McGee's room. Tony maneuvered the chair close to the head of the bed, locked the chair's brakes, and stepped back.

"You know, I told anyone who would listen that you guys would be okay."

Gibbs looked over at Tony as he sat down on the opposite side of the bed.

"I knew you'd get him out of there, boss."

Gibbs shook his head as he reached out and grasped the slumbering man's wrist.

"Wasn't me, Tony."

"You mean, Probie…?" Tony grinned sheepishly as he shook his head. "Didn't know he had it in him."

"Neither did I," Gibbs replied quietly. "That was our first mistake. We gotta change that."

Tony smiled as he looked from his boss to McGee. He lingered only for a few more minutes before he stood and left, declaring a need for a coffee run. Gibbs didn't move as he studied McGee's still form. One arm was wrapped and strapped to his chest. The bruising on his face had deepened, although the healing process had clearly begun. Gibbs didn't need to see the bandages on the younger man's abdomen to know they were there… covering the terrible gunshot wound.

His agent looked worn and pale, but he was alive, and finally something in Gibbs' chest loosened. He gave McGee's wrist a small squeeze before leaning back in his chair. For the next three days, he only left McGee's bedside to sleep.

~~~NCIS~~~

McGee wasn't sure if he was awake or dreaming. It felt familiar… as if he'd been here before. Lying on his back, looking up as the sunlight danced through the forest canopy, he felt tired, but content. And though he couldn't really remember where he had been previously, he was certain that he was happier now than he had been then. Blue sky peeked through the branches as they swayed in the breeze. At times the wind would carry voices to him, and he'd close his eyes and listen as their sweet whispers brought him peace.

C'mon, Probie… teasing you isn't as fun when you are asleep…

McGee, please wake up soon. Tony is driving me catty…

Oh, Timmy, you aren't supposed to get hurt! I brought Bert for you…

Timothy, did I ever tell you about the time…

And always, the most constant… You're doing great, McGee... Take your time, Tim... We'll be here when you wake up...

Time passed. The light and warmth faded, and though he was certain that he'd slept, he felt more tired… not less. He struggled when the darkness came, sensing a presence with him that he thought he'd escaped. Shadowy fingers crept from the gloom and grabbed at him, pulling him further and further away from the voices. He fought against it, but with waning strength, he was unable to do much. He needed help.

Desperately, he called out to the voices, praying they were still with him. At first, there was nothing, and Tim panicked. He lashed out against the vice which gripped him, dragging him further down. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. He was giving up…

… until a firm voice called out to him. He stopped struggling to listen. Again the voice called out for him, and Tim reached out, grasping at air until it latched onto something solid, and he pulled himself out of the panic and disorientation.

"Easy, Tim."

Tim's eyes popped open to a view of a blurred, pale ceiling. Weak, confused, and in pain, a stifled sob of a breath escaped and he clenched his hands into fists to ride out the agony he was feeling.

"I'm gonna need that hand, Tim."

Tim blinked away the tears and fog as his view of the ceiling was blocked by Gibbs' face as it appeared above him. He blinked a few more times, thinking it would wipe the rare look of fear off his boss' face.

"B'ss?"

There was a small squeeze to his right hand, it was only then that he realized his fist was closed around another hand. He lessened his grip, but not too much… desperate for the contact that kept the darkness away.

"It's good to see you, Tim. But you need to rest more."

Tim tried to shake his head, but was only able to pull off a slight look of panic. He tried to breathe through the pain, not wanting it to carry him away to the darkness and nightmare that had plagued him before. He was vaguely aware that his body was shaking and there was a new flurry of activity around him.

"Relax, Tim. Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

There was new warmth that began in his arm and spread out through his body. Never one to disobey his boss, Tim closed his eyes and slept, not once relinquishing his hold on Gibbs.

~~~NCIS~~~

Tim slept. A lot. He found it quite frustrating, actually, to fall asleep while talking to Abby, only to wake up and find Tony in her place. It was disorientating, but he was reassured that it was all a part of the recovery process.

Gibbs was also a puzzling part of McGee's recovery. The man rarely left Tim's side, which he found both comforting and odd. Like their time spent together in the black house, the two men didn't speak much. Tim was past the point of feeling uncomfortable about it, but the new, constant, presence of his boss still took some adjustment.

Finally, one evening when everyone else had left and Gibbs had once again bucked the advice of his doctors and stayed behind, Tim asked the question Gibbs knew he would eventually asked… and had been waiting for.

"Why are you still here?"

Gibbs merely raised an eyebrow at the question.

"I mean, boss… it's great that you're here. I, uh… appreciate it. But wouldn't you feel better if you were in your own room? That chair can't be comfortable, and I know your ribs are still healing, and…"

"McGee?"

"Yes boss?"

"What are you really asking me?"

Tim looked away, blushing.

"I just… well, I uh…"

"Spit it out, Tim."

"Haven't you suffered enough already on my account?"

Gibbs narrowed his eyes a moment, but he didn't look surprised at all by the question. Leaning forward, he fixed McGee with a steely look.

"You think I'm suffering by sitting here with you?"

"Yes! Well, no. Maybe? It's just that…" Tim sighed and looked back at Gibbs. "I'm fine boss. You don't need to look out for me."

"I know that."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because we need to talk."

Tim tensed as scenarios ran wild in his head. Gibbs smiled as he sensed Tim's panic.

"Relax, McGee."

Tim blushed and smiled a little, but didn't ease up. He watched as Gibbs shifted position in his chair… still moving quite gingerly after their ordeal. He looked tired and more shaken than Tim had ever seen him before, and he felt irrationally guilty over any part of it he may have caused.

"I've had time to think about how I treated you while Guerrero had us."

Tim was confused.

"Boss, I don't…"

"I overreacted to everything you did. I… I doubted you, Tim."

Tim held his breath. He wasn't ready for this… whatever this was. He looked away again and the sadness crept back into his visage.

"It's okay, boss."

"No, it's not okay. And you're still a terrible liar, McGee."

"I know!" Tim shouted, and he was surprised at his own vehemence.

Silence spread between them, apart from the beeping and whirring of the monitors still attached to Tim. He was just so tired. Tired of the volleying of his emotions this past week. The lows had been hard on his self-confidence… so much so that he'd risked his life going back to that hellish home to make sure his initial plan had worked. Only to fall right in to Guerrero's cold arms for vengeance.

He was well aware of his weaknesses and shortcomings. He didn't need to be reminded of them.

But what of his strengths? Wasn't it he who alerted the Marshal's to their location? Didn't he send Guerrero off on a fool's errand while saving himself, and his boss?

"No, it's okay boss. I understand," McGee continued in a raspy voice. "You reacted like you should have."

"Maybe," Gibbs replied as he shook his head. "But I can't help but wonder if my reaction would have been different if it had been Tony or Ziva in that room with me."

"Probably," Tim mumbled.

"And why do you think that is, Tim?"

"Because you trust them more than you trust me!" Tim shouted. His eyes reflected that which he seemed so certain of. Even now, Gibbs caught the hurt that he'd caused him.

"That's not true."

"No?"

"No," Gibbs replied calmly.

"Then why do you treat me differently than Tony and Ziva?"

"Because I think of you differently than Tony and Ziva."

"But why?"

Gibbs sighed and leaned back in his chair. Tim's unassuming question was one that he'd been spending a lot of time over these past few days thinking about. And it wasn't a question that was easily answered. But he knew that wouldn't be good enough for Tim. He needed… and deserved… an explanation. Gibbs only hoped that the one he had to give was adequate to fix the rift that this ordeal had caused.

"You came to me as a rookie…"

"So did Ziva!"

"Do I look like I'm finished, McGee?"

Tim dropped his eyes.

"No."

"You were so young and wide-eyed and eager to please. And from the day that I met you, I've always felt more… protective of you. Much more than Tony and Ziva."

Tim opened his mouth to speak, but clicked it shut when Gibbs quickly moved forward and gave his head a slight head-tap. Tim rolled his eyes and frowned.

"Still not done, McGee. I know that was a long time ago, and you've grown so much as an agent, and as a man. You know it. And I know it. And now… I need to… let you go."

Tim gulped and the panic was back.

"Let me… go?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes.

"You're not fired, Tim. I mean let you go and be the agent you already are. My overprotectiveness has held you back for long enough."

There was a knock at the door and before Tim could acknowledge his boss' apology, it was flung open and the scent of takeout filled the air.

"Who's hungry? Oh, hey, boss," Tony acted surprised, as if Gibbs hadn't been in McGee's room more than he'd been in his own for the past three days. Plopping the bags down on a nearby chair, he paused when removing his coat, sensing the tension in the air.

"Is everything okay, boss?"

Gibbs turned to look at Tim.

"I don't know. McGee?"

Tim held his boss' gaze for a moment. The older man held it and a moment of understanding and forgiveness passed between them. Tim smiled and Gibbs nodded.

"Yeah, Tony. Everything is great."

"Good," Tony grinned before clapping his hands together. "I brought food!"

As Tony passed out the square, plastic containers, babbling the entire time about his day, Tim felt as though a huge weight had been lifted. He had no pie-in-the-sky expectations that things would change overnight between he and Gibbs. But something new had been acknowledged, and that had to count toward something.

Honestly, Thai food wasn't really Tim's favorite, but he was pretty sure that what Tony brought into his hospital room that evening was the best meal he'd eaten in his entire life.

END.