Thanatopsis Chapter 19

McGee opened his eyes, only to have them assaulted by the bright sunlight. He blinked, and then looked around; the scene laid out before him was surely one to behold. A multitude of people stood around a scene of pure dread. Gibbs stood off to one side, a stunned look on his face as he stared at the three people in front of him. Ziva and Tony knelt on either side of a man. A tall, lanky man with light brown….

McGee stepped around from behind Ziva and came to a standstill as he came face to face with himself. Ziva tilted his head to the side and he watched blood pour out of his mouth. So much blood. They didn't speak to each other. Tony kept his hands on McGee's chest, and Ziva continued to breathe for him-God, he wasn't breathing-she almost had as much blood on her face as Tony had on his hands. McGee stepped forward and attempted to place his hand on Ziva. She was solid to his touch, but it was clear that she couldn't feel him. She ducked down to give him another breath of air, her braid flopping down above his head, glanced to where Tony's hands were and said, breathlessly, "Tony, push harder!"

Was he dead? That seemed like the only possible explanation for what he was seeing. There was another man about fifteen feet away from where he lay. Two shots to the head. McGee's eyes widened. That was the man from his vision, which was what must have happened. It came true. But… wasn't it supposed to be Tony on the ground? Unless…. Why couldn't he remember? McGee must have found a way to keep Tony from dying; unfortunately, it appeared to have been a choice between the two of them. Of course it had to be a choice.

Sirens sounded in the distance. McGee saw three officers from the mass surrounding them take off towards the street. It would likely take a while for them to navigate their way through the winding alleys that they appeared to be in the middle of. He looked back down at himself. His friends seemed to be fighting a losing battle.

His eyes found their way back to Gibbs. He must know that he set the man off and got him shot. McGee could see it in his eyes. The guilt, the pain. But still an unbelieving side. He thought that it was supposed to be Tony. McGee could almost see an anger in his face as well, likely at himself, but probably at McGee as well.

The paramedics soon arrived and gathered him into the ambulance. Gibbs stepped up and put Tony into the back with McGee's body. McGee hoped against hope that they would make it in time. Even if he was willing to die in place of his friend, he'd still like to avoid it if at all possible. They drove off and he turned back to the scene.

Gibbs was still staring at where the vehicle had disappeared. Ziva was standing, but just barely. Her face had gone an impressive shade of white under all the red, and she was close to hyperventilating. "Gibbs," she said weakly, as she became aware that her knees were shaking. He turned and hurried back to her. The other officers didn't dare stop them as he led her back through the alleys and towards their car. McGee followed.

Ziva seemed to get some of her strength back as they walked, but Gibbs still placed her in the front seat and went to the trunk and grabbed a bottle of water and a old NCIS sweatshirt. He got in next to her and poured half the bottle on one sleeve and proceeded to clean her face. McGee somehow managed to phase through the metal and settle in the back seat as he watched, feeling like an intruder; but where else could he go?

They didn't say a word to each other, but soon, the blood on the sweatshirt was mixed with tears, and Gibbs abandoned his task and held her in his arms as she wept. McGee had a feeling that if he could cry in his current state, he'd be much worse off than she. He hated seeing his friends hurting so much, and to know that it was because of him….

He closed his eyes, but when he opened them, he found himself in a different place. God, this whole spirit thing is disorienting. He appeared to be standing in front of a hospital. It didn't look familiar, but the sign said Norfolk. At first, he didn't realize why he was here, until he noticed the open doors of an ambulance near the emergency entrance. He had a gut feeling that that was where he was supposed to be.

He closed the distance quickly-he wasn't completely sure that he wasn't gliding-and looked in the back. Tony was sitting there, head in his blood covered hands. He looked awful, but he was alive and McGee didn't think that he'd want it any other way. He was whispering things like, "That idiot," and "Why did he have to do that?" and, "It was supposed to be me." McGee understood how helpless Tony was feeling, knowing that there was nothing he could do for his partner, but he knew beyond doubt that he preferred that Tony feel it, rather than him.

McGee got up into the ambulance and tried again to touch his partner. He knew that it would be fruitless, but it hurt to see Tony in so much pain. If he could offer any kind of-well, anything. Tony, unsurprisingly didn't respond to his touch. McGee sat down next to him and stayed still for a while, uncertain of what to do. At length, he spoke, even though he knew he couldn't be heard. "I am so sorry, Tony. I didn't mean to cause you so much pain, but," Tony drew in a long, ragged breath, "but, it was me or you, and I just couldn't let it be you. I think that I was sent that vision, so that I could do exactly what I just did." McGee sighed, and place his ethereal hand on Tony's knee. "And, yes, I know that you think of fate as a completely ridiculous concept, but it's kind of the only word that I can think of for this situation."

A noise from outside the vehicle made both McGee and Tony look up and the female medic that had treated him earlier stepped close to Tony. "Come on, babe. Let's get you inside."

Tony stayed, almost rebelliously, where he was. "He's in surgery, I guess?"

She gave a worried glance at her partner, behind her and nodded.

Tony looked back at the floor. "Why'd he have to do it?" he said, dejectedly. "It was supposed to be me."

The woman looked confused. "What did he do?"

Tony's head fell into his hands again. He said, "He took my bullet. It was meant for me. It always was."

The woman rolled her eyes and pulled Tony up by the arm with a strong grasp. Her partner did not looked surprised by her abruptness, his face only showed respect. Tony, however didn't really seem to notice the way she was handling him. His eyes were downcast as he let her lead him through the corridors of the hospital. McGee wasn't completely sure he was paying attention to where he was being taken.

When they reached the correct floor, they stopped and the male paramedic told the nurses that Tony was the first to know anything. As he turned back, something beeped on his radio. He looked up at his partner, "We gotta hurry back, Grace."

She nodded, and then led Tony into the waiting room and shoved him, none to lightly onto a couch. She dropped to one knee and forced Tony to face her. She pointed meaningfully toward the door. "Your partner, in there," she said, sternly, "he's a hero. Don't belittle his sacrifice by shutting yourself off. He has absolutely no chance of making it through this if you can't be there for him." Tony watched her, eyes wide as she stood and left without another word. He then sat back and closed his eyes, seemingly to try and reign in his emotions.

McGee sat beside him again and mirrored the pose. How he wished he could just close his eyes and have it be yesterday again. Yesterday was a good day. They had everything in the case worked out, the raid was all planned, save for a few minor details, and they had nothing left to do but wait. Tensions were practically nonexistent, and thoughts of the vision weren't hanging quite so low over his head. The calm before the metaphorical storm.

He looked at Tony, who hadn't moved. He had admitted to McGee that he was scared. Something that McGee didn't ever expect to happen, at least not for his own ears. Of course Tony was scared about dying. McGee couldn't have agreed more, at least prior, to his current predicament. It was funny, now that he actually was dead, it didn't seem all that scary. Wait, he wasn't dead, was he? As far as he knew, his body was still alive. So then why was he currently masquerading as a spirit? And if he was dead, would he really even be here anymore? It didn't seem right.

He was suddenly interrupted from his musings as Gibbs and Ziva entered the room, hightailing it over to Tony.

He gave them a deadpan look, which caused the otherwise impenetrable Ziva to cover her mouth in shock. Tony shook his head quickly as if to rid himself of what he was thinking and spoke clearly, "He's in surgery. I haven't heard anything other than that yet." He cleared his throat, roughly and rubbed his hand over his face. "His heart stopped just as we pulled up, but the medics were really fast and I'm pretty sure that we got here in time."

McGee had to jump out of the way before Ziva practically knocked the couch backwards as she jumped into Tony's arms. Tony had told him about Ziva and Abby switching personalities the last time he was shot. Abby…

McGee didn't know if she could handle another one. She'd never been good at dealing with her friends being in danger, but it was the waiting that really killed her. He just hoped that she wouldn't be told until there was news; one way or another.

Tony was holding onto Ziva like a lifeline and Gibbs sat on Tony's right, arm around his Senior Field Agent and hand on Ziva's leg. Huddled together against the uncertainty of having one less to their number. McGee really was touched that his team cared for him so much; in reality, it was a little hard to tell sometimes.

They all sat for a little while longer, enough time for McGee to really start contemplating why he was here. He had taken to speaking to his team, whether they could hear him or not. He tended to solve problems better by saying them out loud. "I think I might have a choice," he said aloud to Ziva, who was now curled up in a chair, hair covering her face. "I mean, that's why I'm here right now. If I was dead, then I would be, you know, gone."

If only Ziva knew what was happening right now. She had told him about her first experience with the supernatural, something that she probably didn't tell a lot of people. She said she would be honored to let him try and psychically connect with her, like it was important. She was the only one who wasn't afraid of his gift. In all honesty, he regretted not telling her sooner. He touched her knee and then ran his hand over her hair and in front of her face. He sighed and sat back. Regardless of the fact that she strongly believed in the supernatural, she couldn't see it when it was literally right in front of her face.

The idea of a choice seemed like a legitimate explanation for why he hadn't moved on. But that, however, gave him a little more to think about. "What do you think, Ziver? Should I stay or should I go?"

He moved to Gibbs. "You know, it's funny, of all of your rules to live by, none of them have anything to do with death. Death is a big part of living, you know. The next big adventure." He moved his arms in front of him, as if giving 'The Next Big Adventure.' a title. "Should I really have to-I don't know-wait? When the door is wide open, practically begging me to come through? I have the opportunity of a lifetime here, Boss," he said forcefully, like he was trying to convince him. McGee was sitting horizontally in a chair that was facing Gibbs, his back against an armrest and his feet up on the other. He felt like he was in a therapist's office. None of them talking back just made it seem more realistic, if he were to compare it to the one he had gone to when he was twelve who thought that talking back only hindered the flow. McGee shuddered; those were the worst three weeks of his childhood.

Not that Gibbs would talk back anyway. Their conversation before the raid was clear proof of that. Death wasn't really something that the general population thought about often. It wasn't easy to think about quite that level of unknown. Guilt, on the other hand, came much more easily to Gibbs than talking. He always took the blame for things that he had absolutely no hand in. It made him a great leader, but a weak man. All that on one person's shoulders was enough to break a man-even one such as Gibbs.

And back to Tony. While Ziva and Gibbs had both associated themselves to opposite sides of the room, Tony was the only one who still had yet to move without someone else having to do it for him. Tony wouldn't have been given a choice of whether to live or die. No matter how many times McGee had relived the vision, in his head, in his dreams, each time, Tony was dead on impact. Straight to the heart, gone before he hit the ground.

From what McGee could tell the bullet had missed his own heart, but not by much. Though, even that close, the prognosis was not in his favor. If he did chose to stay, it would take him weeks if not months to fully recover. Was living really worth all that pain?

Tony's face was contorting, more than a couple of emotions could be seen fighting each other. Guilt, fear, anger, worry. Helplessness. McGee sat on the table in front of him and leaned forward. "Turns out death really isn't that bad, Tony. I don't remember the bullet. I don't even remember the last hour." McGee sighed and lowered his head for a moment. When he looked up again, Tony's eyes were closed, and a look of pure sadness had taken over his features. "Do you think I'm being selfish? I don't want to leave you guys, but what if it's just my time? I mean, this is so much bigger than me, and whatever in the hell is out there either thought it would be funny to watch me squirm or figured that I needed to learn something about death. Or living. Or whatever."

McGee got up and sat beside Tony yet again. "I'd ask you what you would chose, but I already know the answer. You may seem childish, and maybe even a little bit self-centered at times, but I don't think that you would leave us in a crisis. Though God knows I've never been as strong as you." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Is it really so bad to want something for myself. I've been giving to other people all my life, isn't death supposed to be some kind of reward?" he asked. "I just don't know what to do. I'm literally at death's door and I'm afraid that if I wait too long that the decision just may be taken out of my hands."

AN: Yes, I admit, McGee's thoughts are a little bit all over the place, but what do you expect? He's dead.