Part 18

Excruciating agony gnawed and bored through him, scooping him out and leaving him empty of everything but mind-numbing pain. He arched, his body bowing hard until his spine creaked with strain, then curled in tight, whimpering like a child. Writhing, convulsing, rolling, he tried to escape.

Memory was a chain of linked events scrolling through his mind. Time bent and stretched, streaming images back and forth, focusing in and out. Layer after layer of remembered torment wrapped around him, until he couldn't break through, couldn't speak. He remembered dropping to his knees, rain drenched, his clothes clinging to his skin. Arms embraced him, holding him up. A heartbeat thumped beneath his cheek and he whispered tremulous words against warm skin. He remembered lying stretched out with someone pressed against him, holding him down. He wanted to escape, but couldn't. Piercing agony thrust through his body and his breath left him in a rush. He remembered darkness shielding him for a time, then waking up to more pain, his body hurting, pulled tight, a cold touch against the hollow of his throat. Something hard and unyielding exploded against his head, and inky blackness pulled him down again. He floated on the edge of consciousness, aware of bright agony stabbing through his abdomen, wanting to curl in and hold it, press against it, but being unable to do anything.

The tethers between soul and body lengthened, sending him floating high above his consciousness. Pain and fear grew distant, less real, less intense. He existed in the thrumming of his heartbeat. Soft mutterings whispered against his ear. Darkness slit open, revealing gray-edged images. Movement, touches and voices pulled at him, drawing him into wakefulness. His throat felt full and breath pumped in and out of his lungs in a steady rhythm that did not belong to him. Warm sleepiness spread through his body, carrying him softly back into dreams.

After awhile, sounds called to him again, dipping deep and pulling him out of the well he'd tumbled down. He opened his eyes and took a deep breath. His own breathing felt familiar rushing in and out of his lungs. Faces coalesced above him. Tony. Gibbs. He saw worry on their faces and struggled to speak, wanting to reassure them. Strength bled out of him until his eyelids were too heavy to hold open. Darkness welcomed him back.

He opened his eyes. Sunlight sparkled like tiny diamonds caught between the cracks of closed blinds. The lighting in the room was muted. Tony sat slumped in a chair near the bed, his chin tucked against his chest, his head tilted to the side at an uncomfortable looking angle. His hair stood up in unruly spikes. Charcoal gray shadows smudged beneath his closed eyes, suggesting long hours of waiting and sleepless nights. A smile tugged at the corners of McGee's lips.

"McGee." The whisper turned his head and he found Gibbs on the opposite side of the bed.

McGee's smile strengthened. He closed his eyes and opened them, feeling as if he were moving in slow motion. He licked his lips and swallowed. Gibbs reached out of his field of vision and a cup appeared in his hand. He dipped into it with two fingers and offered McGee a small piece of ice. McGee opened his mouth. The ice slipped inside and began melting immediately against his tongue. He swallowed again and attempted to speak.

"Thanks." His voice sounded raw and weak, even to his own ears.

Gibbs' eyes roamed over his face, as if he were studying him. He leaned closer and cupped McGee's cheek. McGee closed his eyes, sinking into the feeling of protection that opened in his chest and spread through him. Just before consciousness pulled away and set him adrift again, warm breath tickled his ear as he heard Gibbs whisper, "Welcome back, son."