McGee

I watched Tony pace for nearly half an hour. Perhaps he was trying to keep up with how fast his mind was racing, but I'd never quite seen that level of panic from him; this intense anxiety that played out in every muscle in his body and every contour of his face.

Sure, I've seen him nervous. Even anxious. This was different, though. This was somehow...more than that, and there was nothing I could do or say that would pull him from that place in his mind. So I watched him. I waited there and wouldn't leave; wouldn't even make a phone call.

I was worried about Gibbs, yes. The man is like a second father to me, in a way. The kind that's really hard to impress, but when you do it's one of the greatest feelings in the world. Losing him would be a tragedy. In fact, it'd be devastating...and I could see, then, a glimpse of what Tony must be feeling.

Gibbs is absolutely like a father to him; at least in his own mind. I have no idea what level that might be reciprocated, but I do know that losing Gibbs would undoubtedly destroy a big part of Tony. Especially since it's so soon after his actual father's death.

God... this is such a disaster... Gibbs had been trying so hard to make Christmas a bit less horrible for Tony. And now...well, now it was even worse than it would've been without intervention.

What will they find on that MRI? What's happening to him? Will he recover? Will he be permanently damaged and unable to work again? Would he come out of this without a noticeable scratch, or would he come out of it at all...?

I looked up when I noticed Tony's stopped pacing, and he's looking directly at me where I'm sitting. He looks conflicted; pained in a way I can't really describe. Then he sinks down into the chair beside mine without looking away from me, puts a hand on my arm, which I realize then is clinging to the armrest, and he gives it a reassuring squeeze before he looks back over at the door and resumes the wait in silence.

That's when I realize that I must have outwardly shown my own fears, and he'd sucked up whatever he'd been feeling in order to be a good friend and comfort me in whatever way he was capable of at that moment.

I felt a twinge of guilt and cringed at just how pathetic I am. Here was this man, my mentor and best friend, suffering and spiraling into his own pit of despair, and all I can do is sit here... And he ends up being the one trying to make me feel better.

God...why do I suck at this?

11 00 11 00 11

It's been hours.

Tony feels slightly akin to a zombie as he tries to ignore the pain in his skull and the burning in his eyes. McGee drifted off a while ago in the chair beside him, just after they'd seen the sunrise begin. He'd told Tony, "Merry Christmas," with a sad smile.

Once the younger agent had drifted off, it had allowed Tony to sneak out of the room and up the hall toward radiology. He'd had to duck a corner when he saw Ducky and another doctor speaking, so that he could listen in on the conversation.

The doctors' words replayed in his head, over and over...even now...

"What have you found?" Ducky's voice was clear.

The other doctor sighed. "What we didn't see in the CT we originally didn't have time to complete, was the beginning stages of cerebral edema. There are also contusions, and the fact that he went into respiratory and cardiac arrest suggests there was more damage to the brain stem than we'd anticipated. His regaining of consciousness after the initial surgery to drain fluids caused us to believe that it wasn't severe."

"Clearly you were mistaken," Ducky sounded frustrated. "There should have been another CT at least once the emergency surgery was completed. I find it difficult to believe that it wasn't ordered immediately."

"We had planned to do it, Dr. Mallard," the doctor defended. "We wanted to give him some time to recover; see if he'd wake up. He was scheduled for another CT this morning. Obviously we'd been too optimistic about how well he was coming along."

"Yes. Obviously. And now? What is his prognosis?"

"Well," the doctor said as he sighed again. "I see a lot more cases like this than I'll ever be willing to accept. But it happens, nonetheless. This type of brain injury, as I'm sure you are well aware...it's very difficult to know until the patient wakes up. Ifthe patient wakes up," he clarified.

Tony flinched at the doctor's lack of bedside manner. Though the truth was clear, they were harsh words to hear. It was, however, the next words that hurt worst of all...

"You may want to call any close friends and family," the doctor told him. "We're doing what we can, right now. He'll be back in the same recovery room once he's out, but I think it'd be wise to contact them; let them say their goodbyes. Just in case..."

Like every other time the words played over in his head, the renewed tears moistened Tony's eyes. He quickly blinked them back and stood as Gibbs was wheeled into the room. The swarm of staff and machinery overwhelmed him a bit; he just wanted to see his boss. But he stood, quietly awaiting their departure.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered where Ducky was. But most likely, he was making those 'calls'. McGee stirred beside him in the chair, he could hear, and suddenly he was standing next to him.

"I...I uh..." he stuttered, "I should get Jackson, right?" he asked Tony quietly.

He nodded. "He's probably up by now." They'd not bothered to wake the others about what had happened the previous night. Let the ones who could sleep, sleep. They'd call them in the morning with an update; McGee would get Jackson and Abby. As far as anyone knew, aside from Tony and Ducky, that's exactly what they were doing...

Not the reality, which unfortunately was that they were coming to say their goodbyes...

Tbc...