Disclaimer : I own nothing, but the typos.

Warnings : Rated T for language,

Author's Note : Thanks to all of the favorites, follows, and reads. You have no idea how much that means to me. Extra thanks for all of the reviews. Your words keep me writing.

One more chapter and the epilogue will finish this up.

Enjoy.

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The only way out of the woods is on foot, five miles–give or take a bunch–down through the trees back to the main road. For me and Tim, it might as well five hundred.

Tightening my hold on his waist, I urge him forward. He slumps against me, letting me work as a crutch to carry the brunt of his weight. Too bad, it isn't helping. His body still shakes violently from the effort and his breath comes slow and labored. Every time I ask how he's doing, he adamantly says that he's fine, that everything's fine, that the whole fucking world is fine.

But the breaks become more frequent, the limping steps smaller and slower. My nerves shred as the world around us falls into darkness.

We cover less than a mile in an hour and he's fading faster than the daylight. At this rate, we won't make it to the main road before nightfall. Hell, we won't make it at all.

Ominous black clouds snuck over the sun to plunge the day into near darkness and our shadows are swept out from underneath us. Every blast of the wind drives the temperatures below freezing. I inhale deeply, not surprised that the air is heavy with the threat of rain. With our luck today, it'll be sleet or some nasty shit like that. Because that would just fucking perfect.

Tim goes limp against me. I hoist him back up, shake him until his eyes blink open. He raises his head enough to give me a far off look.

"Wha…what?" he asks.

"Hey, McGee," I say, "do you think we'll run into the Blair Witch out here?"

"Of…course. Right after we…find Big Foot."

"I always knew you were a closet believer, McSasquatch." I chuckle. "Speaking of Big Foot, did you ever see Harry and the Hendersons?"

"No, but…but, I'm sure you'll tell me…about it. Even though…they don't exist."

If it keeps him awake, I'll do anything at this point, even recite the plot to the Sex and the City movie Zoe made me watch. But I'll never admit how much I enjoyed it. No one should ever find out how thrilled I was to watch Carrie and Mr. Big get hitched. I'm taking that movie MOAS to my grave.

I crack a smile. " 'I'm gonna say this once, gonna say it simple. And I hope to G-d for your sakes you all listen. There are no Abominable Snowmen. There are no Sasquatches. There are no Big Feet.' "

Tim struggles to focus his eyes. "That's exactly what…I…just said."

"I was quoting the movie, McSkeptic." I genuinely laugh despite our situation. "The great Don Amache played Dr. Wallace Wrightwood."

"Oh, okay." He gives a long pause before he says: "Tell me about it?"

"John Lithgow runs a guy over with his car while on a family vacation. Thinking the guy's dead, the family take the body home with them – "

"Wow…that's morbid."

I half-smile. "Well, it turns out that he ran over Big Foot. The whole move is about Big Foot trying to fit in with a modern 80s family and how they interact with each other. It's a great classic comedy about family. Although, I think if we run into Big Foot out here – " I scan the trees for signs of life " – he might not be as well behaved."

"I bet…I bet…he'll get…along with you." Before I have a chance to protest, I catch Tim's cheeky smile that barely hides the panic and pain.

"Yeah, even living in the woods his entire life he probably has still seen more movies than you."

His back stiffens. "Hey, I've seen – "

"No matter how many times you say it, the Star Wars trilogies still don't count. It's like a nerd rite of passage to watch it over a hundred times."

"I was going…to say…The Breakfast Club and….Sixteen Candles."

"Those doesn't count either because everyone's seen them." I tilt my head, pretend to consider his idea. "Even though you can't go wrong with Molly Ringwald, I still prefer Audrey Hepburn."

Tim vehemently shakes his head. "Carrie Fisher."

"What?"

"Star Wars slave…outfit, try…to top…that, Tony."

I press my lips together; I hate to admit that Tim has a point. No matter how much I wrack my addled brain, I can't come up with a better bikini scene than that one. I hiss through my teeth, shake my head.

"Okay, McGee, you win for now. But I'll think of something better eventually."

Tim's glazed eyes wander around the empty road. "We got…nothing but time."

But I think we both know how quickly the minutes tick against us. I glance at his pale face. Some time when I wasn't paying attention, his lips turned a pale blue that blends into the stark grey of his cheeks. Sweat rolls down his chin, dripping onto his shirt, my shoulder, the ground, everywhere.

When he loses his balance again, I catch him and struggle to hold him upright. I feel his legs tremble to hold his weight. His head lolls against my shoulder. Oh Christ, if he's grown too weak to go on….

"Tim?" I shake him until his glassy eyes meet mine. "Come on, buddy, it isn't much further."

His chuckle is quiet, far-off. "That's what…you said before."

"But we're really close to the main road this time."

We still have miles and miles to go and at this pace, we should be there by midnight. His muscles tighten as he tries to put weight on his good leg again, but his knees just buckle. He glances up at me, helpless and exhausted and defeated.

"I can't…Tony. I…I'm slowing us down." His eyes closed momentarily before they flutter back open. "Go ahead and…come back…for me."

My heart tightens in my chest. If I leave him here, we'll come back for his body. A rescue mission will return into a recovery and Ducky doesn't deserve to do an autopsy on another one of us. Kate was more than enough for this lifetime.

"You know I can't do that, Tim."

His eyes flutter open. "Wha...why?"

"Never leave a man behind. What do you think Gibbs will to do if we split up?"

Tim's ever-so slight smile fills me with hope. "Fire us…head-slap us silly."

I grin back. "So we keep going together."

He nods tightly before he tries to stand again.

But suddenly, his eyes roll back in his head and he goes completely slack in my grasp. Unable to hold his weight any longer, I ease him to the ground. Flat on his back, Tim quakes with every breath like each one is a struggle, like it could be his last. Against the blackened and muddied earth, his skin is as pale as porcelain and looks just as breakable.

Swallowing hard, I glance back down the road to where it cuts through the trees. If we stay, he'll die before help finds us. And if I leave him, he'll die before I get back.

Damned if I do and damned if I don't.

Carrying him is our only hope. It's oddly like Obi Wan Kenobi and Tim's beloved Princess Leia, but I'm no sage Jedi and my partner's got nothing on Carrie Fisher.

When I bend his knees up, a tiny gasp breaks through his lips, but he still doesn't move. Gritting my teeth, I slip one arm around his good thigh as I hoist him up with my other hand. After a couple of tries, I manage to sling Tim across my back in a fireman's carry. Even though there are layers of clothes between us, the intense heat radiates off Tim's body in waves. Sweat starts down my back.

My leg muscles scream and protest under the Tim's weight. I take a hesitant step forward, followed by another. It's slow-going, but it's the only chance we have.

"You know, McGee," I say, "I'd tell you that you're coming to the gym with me after this. But I already think you might be sneaking there in your free time."

I cock an eyebrow, half-grin to myself.

"Is that what you've been doing with all that extra energy since Delilah moved to Dubai?"

I wait for a response, but all I get is his soft, even breathing.

Son of a bitch.

A part of me expected him to rouse long enough for a snarky comeback. Maybe I even half-hoped he just pretended to be asleep to hitch a ride back to the main road. Those thoughts are terrible, but I don't want to think about my partner dying in my arms.

All I know is that his condition is bad. Really, really bad. If I had to guess, I would suspect he is in shock due to the amount of blood he lost earlier. But how could I forget about infection, sepsis, hypothermia and all of the other lovely things that could also be killing my friend?

I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw my own blood, rip myself out of my morose thoughts. None of the negativity is doing anything to help Tim. In fact, it only grates on my frayed nerves and gives me the mother of all headaches.

Sighing, I tighten my grip on his arm. I trudge down the road, my legs burning with effort. A knot already develops in the small of my back and my neck screams from Tim's weight.

But I won't put him down until I can't take another step.

To boost our morale, I recite the plots to all three Star Wars movies for Tim's benefit, complete with my own thoughts on George Lucas' directorial work. I don't bother to discuss the prequels because I know how much Tim hates Jar Jar Binx and Meesa thinks he might kill me if he discovers I liked the character.

I wax poetic about the only Star Trek movie I ever saw: Wrath of Khan. I point out the plot holes, character issues, and reasons on why it fell short of spectacular. From what I remember of that CafPow-induced nerd rant in Abby's lab, Tim spouted some techno-babble about the scientific inconsistences. I vaguely recall him talking about why protons – or pylons? or photons? or potatoes? – couldn't be turned into torpedoes. I add my thoughts on that too, but I'm pretty sure Tim will correct me when he wakes.

The words keep us company as I trudge further and further down the dirt road. I talk until my voice grows hoarse and my legs feel like they weigh thousands of pounds. The sky grows blacker. The world around us falls into shadows.

But I don't hit the main road.

Just a few more miles to go. Just a few more miles and we'll be safe.

"You know, McGoo, I never thought we'd end up like this." My gaze wanders through the forest. "Not you getting shot by hillbillies and me carrying you back to civilization...well, I didn't exactly expect that either. But I never thought we'd become friends."

I swallow hard, unable to fathom why it's easier to bare my soul to a bunch of random strangers at my men's group meeting and a captor than the closest person I have to a friend. If this is my last chance to be honest with him, I should probably take it.

"When you asked me about my father earlier, I shouldn't have dodged the question." I take a breath. "You have no idea how hard it's been trying to pretend that we have a relationship after all these years. Be thankful that your father cares enough to try to give you your space even though he's dying."

Resentment burns through me before I can stop it. The empty road in front of us stretches on forever. Right now feels like the right moment to say everything I never did to Tim.

"My father isn't anything like yours. Mine showed up long enough to turn my world upside down, screw my neighbor in my own bed, and hit me up for three grand to jet off to Paris. And you know, Tim? I gave him the money so he'd give me a break. The last thing I need is for him to show up in a couple of months to pretend like we're best friends again. Like he can fix everything that's wrong between us."

My feet sink into the ankle deep mud as I plod along. Birds sing somewhere deeper in the forest, lamenting over their choice to stay north for the winter and heralding the coming storm. Overhead, the sky twists into a vicious shade of black as angry clouds race against the waning sun.

"I know I shouldn't have gone through your stuff, Tim. But you didn't make it easy for any of us." Sighing, I hoist my partner higher. "You never talked to anyone about what was going on. You might not believe it, but we always know when something's bothering you. Even Gibbs..." I tilt my head, considering "...especially Gibbs."

Fat specks of sleet begin to fall, slow at first before they pick up in tempo. They splat against my forehead, slither their icy fingers down my neck. Thankfully, they cool Tim's burning skin.

"You wear your heart on your sleeve and I think it's admirable. I learned to bury things years ago. Sometime after my mom died, between the boarding schools and pathetic family holidays, I learned my father didn't really give a shit about what I was up to."

I roll my neck, trying to fight off the crick in it.

"Humor was the only way I learned to cope." Closing my eyes for a moment, I catch a flicker of the pivotal scene from my favorite film. "Oh, and movies, McGee. They were my mom's favorite. We used to watch all those old black and white ones together before she died."

I hadn't intended to turn our trek into a confessional, but it seems apt in case he – we – don't make it. He deserves to know everything I've wanted to say, but never had the courage to. The silence lingers like a third wheel as I trudge along. The sound of Tim's shallow, labored breathing fills my ears, clenches my chest, sends my stomach somersaulting. Time to talk again because there's nothing else I can do.

If he is going to die here, I want him to know that I never left his side.

"Did I tell you that Zoe says I'm about ten years overdue for another disappearing act, Tim?"

I pause for a moment like he could really answer.

"Yeah, I know. I think she's crazy too. It's just…"

Suddenly, Tim shivers so violently that I almost drop him. The sleet lets up a bit, but the sleeves of my suit are chalky and stiff from the ice. I slop through the frozen mud, trying to pick up the pace, but my strength reserves are dissipating as quickly as my hope that help is coming.

"Everywhere else, I got to a point where I knew I wasn't need anymore and I just bounced. I never left NCIS because I never thought I was finished."

I lick my lips, shake the water out of my hair.

"I always suspected you felt the same way too. Then I knew you did after you turned down that promotion to Okinawa. I was surprised because it was the job of a lifetime. Cushy pay, beach life, sushi whenever you wanted. I don't think I ever would've turned something like that down."

Tim's moan is so quiet I barely catch it.

"Okay, okay, so I turned down the team leader position in Rota, but that was different. I don't really like Spanish beaches or tacos." I half-laugh. "Plus, I wasn't really ready."

I let the silence linger for a long time.

"Hell, none of us were," I announce to the world. "You still had so much to learn, Gibbs would've shit a brick, and Ziva, well, who knows what would've happened to her. But…"

Shaking my head, I chase away the thoughts of the teammate who walked out on us. Now isn't the time or place to wallow on what could've been. Instead, I need to focus on getting Tim out of here.

At that moment, my legs give out. I topple down into the mud. Tim lands on top of me, flattening me. Groaning, I slip out from beneath my partner. I ease him onto his back before I tumble back into the slop. I try to force myself up, but I just don't have the strength anymore.

Every muscle in my body pounds with its own heartbeat and I shiver uncontrollably. I lie flat on my back and stare up at the sky as the heavy drops of sleet splat against my face.

It reminds me of a story Ducky told us once about how turkeys will stand in the field and look up whenever it rained. If they were really unlucky, they would drown on dry land.

As the tendrils of unconsciousness stretch after me, I wonder whether Tim and I will drown before we freeze to death. My body shivers violently against the frigid earth that steals my last bits of warmth.

I expect to pass out, but nature isn't that kind. Instead, I sink deeper in the ice-cold mud until I'm nearly buried in my own grave. I listen to the chirp of far-off birds, to Tim's ragged breathing, and to my own slowing heartrate. Underneath it all, I catch the roar of car engine somewhere nearby.

Knowing we were so close to the main road makes me laugh uncontrollably.

Great, Tim and I will end up as that tragic headline about a hiker who found the popsicled bodies of two agents only fifty feet from the main road or something ridiculous like that.

My laughter borders dangerously near a sob.

But the roar grows louder, closer.

I think it might be a hallucination brought about by death's grasp until a car screeches to a halt mere feet away. The driver's side door flings open and I struggle to raise my head, but I don't make it more than a few inches. It's enough for me to see the looming outline of a man against the pitch-dark sky.

"Tony! Tim!" Gibbs' voice comes strident and anxious.

His tone tells me that Tim and I are pretty much fucked. I want to tell him that I'm fine, that we're fine, that I'm sorry for the mess, that I kept my promise. But I don't have the energy.

I almost got Tim to safety. And for now, that needs to be enough.