Tony honestly doesn't remember a thing between bandaging Probie's head and sneaking out of the emergency room. In fact, his memory doesn't start getting truly clear until McGee practically pushes him out of the taxi and orders him to check them into a motel a few miles from the hospital. McGee had already made reservations and even paid for the room over the phone or something. All Tony had to do was pick up the keycard.
The forced interaction with other people in the hotel lobby brings Tony back to reality some more, and when he slips back outside toward the bushes McGee is not-quite hiding behind, he's ready to take back a little bit of normal and bitch McGee out for making him go in by himself. That's when he sees the blood all over Probie's shirt.
"Kate's dead," he hears himself say, standing stock still.
Probie looks down between them, his Adam's apple jerks up and down, and he looks Tony right in the eye. "I know."
"And you were…you were—"
"I know, Tony," Probie moves closer and grabs Tony's arm. "But we have to get inside right now."
Tony looks away and nods.
"What room are we in?" Probie asks.
Tony shakes his head, squinting in effort but unable to recall what the clerk said. "I'm not—"
McGee offers a sympathetic smile and takes the keycard, with the room number written on its envelope, out of Tony's hand. "It's okay," he squeezes Tony's hand when he speaks. He lets go of it quickly, but Tony almost wishes he hadn't, needing something to ground him when nothing makes sense.
McGee leads Tony to a room on the ground floor. He lets Tony go in first upon opening the door. He latches both locks the second they're inside, then Probie removes a bag from his shoulder that Tony hadn't even realized he was carrying.
"Hospital scrubs," Probie says when he sees Tony staring. "Gonna have to wear something after I trash this," he opens both palms towards his ruined shirt and pants.
He seems like he wants Tony to make some sort of joke or comment, but Tony just nods, unsure of what he could say.
McGee drops his eyes to the space between them. "I'm going to go take a shower," he points a thumb behind him. He takes a step towards Tony. "Are you gonna be alright?" he speaks softly, as if to a child.
"I think I can handle being alone for five minutes, Probie," he injects as much vitriol into the statement as he can.
McGee just furrows his brow like he's not sure if he believes him.
"Go!" Tony shoos McGee into the other room.
McGee takes his cue this time, and Tony hears the shower start up a bare fifteen seconds later. Of course, Probie must be dying to get all that sticky dried blood off himself. Head wounds get really nasty for the way they matte up your hair. Probie must be dying, the phrase repeats in Tony's head on a loop. No, Tony reminds himself, He did die, but apparently he got over it.
Tony sits down heavily onto the edge of the bed nearest the window, rubs his face with both hands, then lets his fingers dangle between his knees. For a few seconds, he can almost believe it was all a dream—every bit of it. The unreal quality of everything that happened once Probie woke up lends to the idea, and for a minute, there's a running theory in Tony's head, that it's not just McGee, but Kate that's alive, too. If one death isn't real, then why can't both of them be fake? It seems a realistic consideration in Tony's mind for a full five seconds.
He takes a ragged breath as he remembers the sound of that bullet and watching Kate fall right afterward, remembers how he stood there, paralyzed, just looking at her open eyes—her dead eyes—until Boss said Probie's name. Tony feels his breathing speed up, tries to slow it down before he hyperventilates, tries to clear his mind. He was a cop for six years, been a federal agent for four, he can fucking handle this. Except the truth is, he doesn't think he can.
The shower turns off in the next room. The quiet clicks and shuffles of movement confirm what he knows to be true—Probie's alive. Tony doesn't know how, felt that hole eating Tim's head himself, but somehow McGee's still kicking.
But Kate—he closes his eyes, tries to close off the thought, but the image comes back, and seeing that hole in the back of Kate's head mixes with the memory of feeling the chunk missing from Probie's. Tony doesn't even realize he's moving until he's already puking in the sink on the other side of the room. He notices, but doesn't pay attention to, the way the soft sounds from inside the bathroom stop, then start again at twice their previous pace. The door doesn't open until Tony stops retching and rinses his mouth out with a swig or two from the faucet. He splashes a little water on his face, and that's when he realizes Kate's blood is still spritzed all over his skin like an errant squirt of spray paint.
Tony lifts his head slowly, trying to prepare himself for what he'll see in the mirror. But when he finally pulls his eyes up to look, his face is clear, unblemished by Kate's blood. He raises a finger to his right cheek, remembering how he'd felt the warm rush of liquid spray his face while he watched Kate's body hit the ground.
Probie clears his throat the way he does when he wants to say something but is worried about how he'll be received. Tony glances to his left in the mirror, finding Probie's eyes at once. "The blood," Probie stutters. "W-we w-washed it off at the h-hospital Tony, remember?" And there's something pleading beneath his tone, begging him to remember, and so Tony nods.
"Right," he says like he means it, like he knows one way or the other. Tony's not sure if he's that good a liar or if McGee just wants to believe it that badly, but Probie nods back with a small, almost-smile slowly crossing over his lips.
And suddenly this moment in time, the two of them alive and well together in this hotel room, clicks into place for Tony like a bullet entering the chamber of his old back-up .38: and it's the fresh, sweet scent of the soap Tim just bathed with; the stale, soft water still lingering in Tony's mouth and mixing with the acrid burn of fresh vomit; the small, dried flakes of blood he couldn't (or maybe Probie couldn't?) quite clean off his neck; and Probie standing in front of him, brow furrowed and eyes wide, hopeful and scared but above all, relieved that Tony's slowly turning the lights back on in his brain.
McGee hadn't quite taken the time to dry his hair, and little droplets of water fall in pairs and triplets from the tips of his hair down to the towel around his shoulders. Tony zeros in on the origin of that drip. He raises his hand without thinking, only stopping it a couple inches from McGee's neck when he realizes what it's trying to do. He looks Tim right in the eye. Tim drops his gaze, and tilts his head just a little closer, granting permission. Tony lifts his hand just a little bit more, just enough to rest his fingers against the back of Probie's head at that exact point where Tony had tried so hard to put Probie back together again—his own Humpty Dumpty.
Tony digs his fingers into McGee's hair, feels around for the blood and slimy matter mixed with bone fragments that Tony's still trying not to remember too clearly. He extends his fingers, expands their search area and criteria. There's not a bump or a crack or even a missing tuft of hair. Tony steps closer so to look, to make sure, but his eyes don't see a single blemish either.
Tony steps back, mission accomplished, but it isn't until McGee's face comes back into view—his eyes soft with understanding even as his lips are pursed from nerves—that Tony honestly believes that Tim is really okay.
Tony clenches his fingers into a fist, drops his hand from where it's still extended to McGee's neck. "Fuck, Probie, I'm practically feeling you up," Tony chuffs, a quick smile teasing itself onto his lips.
McGee laughs, no, he damn near giggles, and nods his head, maybe a little too much. "Gotta get your thrills somewhere, I guess, DiNozzo." But the laugh doesn't stay long before Probie descends into that lip biting nervousness again.
When the younger man steps back, would've stepped away, Tony grabs onto his shoulder and yanks him into a hug. "Good job on the not staying dead thing," he claps McGee on the back as he keeps him in place.
"Hey, I try," McGee shrugs from inside the circle where Tony's holding onto him fiercely, but he still manages to squeeze Tony just as tightly in return.
Tony smacks McGee's back one more time before letting him go.
"Now what the hell was that?" Tony presses, slapping McGee on the back of his completely intact head before walking back over to his chosen bed and sitting down on shaky legs.
"M-maybe we should w-wait for Gibbs," Probie stammers.
"You have got to be kidding me!" Tony explodes. "He doesn't even know where we are yet, and I need to know what the hell happened right now."
McGee's face seizes up immediately, and Tony can see right away he said something wrong. The senior agent squints at his Probie. No, not so much wrong, he decides, as completely and utterly off.
"I called Gibbs in the taxi, Tony," those baby fresh features Tim's trying to blank out manage to plead with Tony despite Tim's best efforts. "Remember?"
Tony grasps for the memory and feels like he can maybe recall Probie stuttering into the phone. "Yeah, of course," he poses, but McGee's face falls, and his hands start shaking, both of the motions writing fear straight into Probie's posture.
"I shouldn't have taken you away from the hospital," McGee laments, guilt soaking him up like a paper towel inside a waterfall. "Maybe we should go back."
Tony shakes his head, overruling the idea. "What did Gibbs say?" DiNozzo demands.
McGee rolls his shoulders, and drops his chin. "He said to wait here."
"Then that's what we'll do," Tony commands, crossing his arms.
McGee shifts his feet, eyes glancing anywhere except to Tony. Ultimately though, Probie sits down on the bed beside the one Tony's claimed. He lies back atop the covers, arms crossed under his head.
"I've never told anyone about it before," McGee whispers, his posture stiff despite the reclining position.
"You didn't tell us today, either," Tony points out, stretching back on his own bed, mirroring Probie's pose. Despite his words, a shock of gratitude trickles across Tony's nervous system at the inclusion, no matter the impetus behind it.
"I wish I knew what caused it. I wish I could have saved Kate, too," McGee pleads for understanding, voice high in his throat like he's fighting back tears.
Tony licks his lips and blinks. He'd been doing his best to push Kate to the back of his mind. "I know, kid."
An empty silence envelopes the room, fills and widens the space between the Probie and his teacher. The first sound to echo inside is a low keen from Tim's side of the room, escaping before Probie can stop it. McGee sucks in a gulp of air, and harsh, measured breaths fill the room. Tony closes his eyes against the noise, but then it's like he can't focus on anything else. He doesn't open his eyes though, feeling Tim's mourning through his bones, and it feels every bit like it's his own. It's easier to let McGee cry for them both, so Tony doesn't say a word.
"I'm sorry," McGee finally gasps out, as if it's necessary to have between them.
Tony opens his eyes, grinds his teeth. "Don't apologize."
Probie sniffles, "Right," he clears his throat, "sign of weakness."
"No," Tony corrects, "don't apologize because," he can't help a sniff himself, "don't be sorry because no matter who dies, I'll always be grateful that you're still here."
Tony feels McGee look at him but doesn't look back, not prepared for whatever he might read in the younger man's face.
The words dry up between them again, but this time they share the burden of silence together.