Part 8
Vernon shook his head. Tony turned and headed for the shotgun he'd seen Vernon prop near the front door. His heart raced and his head hurt. The injustice of making it this far and finding a doctor, albeit a washed-up, arthritis-twisted, bitter old doctor, but still, someone who could help McGee, only to be felled by the men chasing them, was too unfair to consider. A fierce determination to get rid of this threat so something could be done to save Tim rose in him. He grabbed the gun and backed up against the nearest wall.
Vernon hurried toward the door, but Tony stopped him with a hand to his chest. "Call out and see who it is."
Nodding, the old doctor cleared his throat and swallowed hard. "Who's there?"
"It's me, you old coot - open up before I float away!"
The immediate frown and snarl that curled Vernon's lip convinced Tony that whoever stood on the other side of that door may not have been Michaels and his men, but they sure weren't friends of the Doc, either. Vernon pushed Tony's hand away and stomped to the door. He slung it open, snapping out his greeting: "What the hell do you want?"
"I was making my rounds and got stuck in the mud, so I came to check on you, you ungrateful old man." The new arrival pushed forward, but his gaze drifted to Tony and his gun and he froze, one hand on Vernon's shoulder.
Tony lowered the barrel, but didn't put the gun down. There were too many surprises happening and his nerves were strung too tight. The feeling that kept stabbing at him to keep alert and guard McGee wouldn't let him go.
"Vernon? Are you all right?" Eyes wide with undisguised fear, the tall, bespectacled young man still hadn't moved from his position just inside the door.
"Of course I'm fine, Mansfield. I don't need anyone checking on me - certainly not some still wet behind the ears kid who doesn't know the difference between peritoneum and perineum."
Tony took a step toward them. He noticed that Mansfield flinched, but didn't back away. "I'm a Federal Agent. My partner and I were involved in an accident and we found Dr. Stanley -"
"What accident?" Fear melted away and concern took its place. Mansfield stepped into the entranceway and shut the door behind him. He seemed to notice the cut on Tony's head for the first time. "Are you hurt? Let me look at that laceration - I'm a doctor."
Tony brushed his hand aside but reached instead for his elbow. "I'm fine, but my partner - if you wouldn't mind taking a look at him."
Mansfield glanced into the living room. He turned briefly to glare at Vernon before removing his slicker and tossing it near the front door. "Why didn't you tell me a man was hurt, Vernon?" He hurried to the couch and sat carefully on the edge. Tony followed him. Vernon ignored them both and left for the kitchen.
A pink flush dusted McGee's cheeks. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. Tony sagged against the couch, watching. When Dr. Mansfield pulled the afghan open, Tim's head turned toward him and his eyes opened. Mansfield smiled reassuringly at him. "It's okay - I'm a doctor. I'm just going to take a look here." He placed both palms against McGee's abdomen, one on top of the other. Palpating gently, he worked across Tim's body, moving from the apparently uninjured area, to the discoloring bruises. Tim's eyes closed and his head rolled away, as if he were trying to escape his pain. He moaned and his body tensed. One hand lifted and Tony caught it, holding on as Tim's fingers tightened and clutched around his hand. The doctor finished his exam. He caught Tony's eye, lips rolled in tight against his lips, then stood and left to join Vernon in the kitchen. Their voices immediately began a terse conversation, but Tony didn't try to hear them. Instead, still grasping Tim's hand, he shifted around the corner and sat on the edge of the couch.
"Hey, Probie, how you doing?" Tony smiled when Tim opened his eyes and turned to look at him.
Weakness watered down Tim's voice to a whisper. " - been better -"
"Yeah, we've certainly had better days, haven't we? But it could be worse – " Tony made a show of thinking for a second, then shook his head. "No, actually, I don't think it could be worse. Being stuck here with Gonzo Gates and Marcus Welby, M.D. is bad enough."
His humor was lost on McGee. Tim's eyes closed briefly as he swallowed hard, then he blinked them open and squinted at Tony. " - you need to - go find help - not safe - don't stay here -"
"I'm not leaving you, McGee. And that's final."
McGee abruptly curled off the couch; his teeth snapped together as he groaned in pain. Alarmed, Tony slid off the couch to his knees and caught McGee against his chest. He slipped his arm under Tim, supporting him. McGee trembled against him, body locked in a rigid curl of pain. As suddenly as it hit, it released him and he collapsed, breathless, in Tony's arms. Slowly, carefully, Tony lowered him back to the cushions. He waited a moment, watching Tim breath. Helplessness pushed at him until he wanted to scream. He walked quickly into the kitchen.
"We've got to do something - he's getting worse." Both men stared at him. The feeling that a decision had been made sat heavy in the air. Tony turned to Mansfield. "So? What are you going to do?"
Mansfield looked at Vernon. As if he'd received a signal, he straightened from where he'd been slouched against the counter. Pushing his glasses up with one finger, he seemed to gather his courage. "We operate."
