Thirteen
“God, what did he do to himself?” Tony asked quietly next to Ziva.
She just shook her head as she looked at the pitiful figure on the bed.
Next to her, in a chair and staring at the unconscious McGee just as Tony and Ziva were, Gibbs answered. “He just ran himself down, DiNozzo. He let everything take him over. I've seen it before. It happens to the best of us.”
“But....this?” Tony waved a hand toward the bed. “I mean.....how? It's only been barely over a week.”
“Apparently that is all it takes,” Ziva replied softly.
The three agents seemed at a loss now that they had McGee in their custody. It wasn't as if there wasn't anything more for them to do, because they still had Sara to recover. But that would require planning and maybe a bit of reconnaissance, which would come soon, but not yet. And until then, they'd suddenly found that all their rushing and intensity had calmed. The adrenaline was fading. They had McGee now, which had been their main purpose for the past week and couple days.
The three of them found themselves simply sitting and watching McGee lie in the bed, unconscious and unaware.
And a pitiful sight he is, Ziva thought. Gibbs had already threatened that the first one of them to send a picture of him to Abby in his current state would regret it deeply, no matter how much Abby begged for one to see for himself that McGee was okay.
The only word to describe McGee was gaunt. It awed Ziva that a man could become that way in a week or less, but apparently he'd been so driven that he simply hadn't taken care of himself properly. That, combined with his constant flight, had not done him any good at all.
McGee's cheeks were sunken, his eyes shadowed with dark circles underneath. Even his closed eyelids looked darkened, unhealthy. His face sported a several days growth of hair a shade darker than that on his head. The fresh and older healing bruises and abrasions didn't improve his appearance at all and the bright scratches from the woods gave him an almost frightening appearance.
His hair was sticking up at odd angles, stiff with dirt, sweat and grime days old. Debris clotted it into tangles. Ziva wondered if he'd be able to fix it without a pair of scissors.
His clothing was no better. His thin shirt was nothing more than hanging strips of material held together by the shirt collar. That allowed them to see the deep bruising that colored his stomach, chest and sides. No doubt many of them had been administered by the two men still handcuffed to the table. More bright red scratches and gouges lined his stomach and sides.
His pants were plagued with tears large and small. They were so dirty they were stiff in places, dirt and grime ground in as dark stains.
McGee's shoes and clothing left the bedding he was lying on dirty, clumps of dirt falling from his shoes and pants and hair, the random leaf or small twig.
Tim McGee was a sorry sight to see and it wasn't easy for his friends to see him like that.
“He's waking up,” Ziva observed as the prone figure on the bed began to stir.
“It's about time, Ziva,” Tony quipped as the trio watched the bed intently. “I was starting to wonder if you'd killed him.”
He was rewarded by a sharp smack to the back of his head.
“Thanks, Boss,” Tony responded sheepishly, the admonishment, as always, understood.
The first thing Tim became aware of as he began to come to was not any outside influence. Rather, it was his own body.
His whole body was in pain in varying degrees. No one thing was unbearable, but all the smaller and moderate grievances worked together to make Tim a very unhappy person upon awakening.
Stiffness was the next thing he recognized. Tim's joints and muscles rebelled the smallest movement, and he couldn't suppress a groan of pain when he turned his head.
Exhaustion pervaded him though he'd just opened his eyes, and when he slowly and awkwardly pushed himself to a sitting position, his body was impossibly heavy.
He felt a strong desire to simply curl up and sleep, but something in the back of his mind wouldn't let him relax. There was something he was supposed to be doing, some driving need he was supposed to be meeting, but exactly what it was evaded his wool-stuffed mind at the the moment.
Tim couldn't figure out where he was or what had happened, but it didn't take long to figure out how it had happened when his bleary eyes finally came to rest on the five people watching him closely. He felt no surprise to see them, however; he'd known, deep down, that they would catch up to him eventually.
Strangely, however, what fueled his next emotion was not brought out by the sight of his three colleagues- former colleagues, he reminded himself- but by the two large men sitting at the small table behind his his friends, against the wall.
Rage welled up inside and in one move that belied his physical condition to those watching, Tim simultaneously reached down and pulled his knife from his ankle and pushed himself to his feet from what he vaguely realized was a bed he'd been laid out on.
The aggressive move prompted a flurry of quick but mostly controlled activity from the others in the room.
The men at the table pulled against their cuffs as Tim advanced two steps toward them, and one of them might have given a panicked screech, though neither would admit to it later.
But Tim didn't get further than those two steps because the other three agents had jumped to their feet, and it took Gibbs only seconds to grab Tim's knife hand, relieve him of his weapon, and hold him in place.
Tim was breathing heavily from the exertion on his run down body and the strong, unexplainable anger that had surged through him at the sight of Mutt and Jeff, but the second Gibbs relieved him of his weapon, all the fight went out of him.
Gibbs' tight hold on Tim reversed from holding him back to holding him up as Tim sagged with the lack of adrenaline. Tim shuffled around, following Gibbs' lead as the older man shifted Tim back to the bed and lowered him down to sit on it.
Gibbs stood but kept a hand on Tim's shoulder.
Looking over his own shoulder, Gibbs said, “Ziva, go to the check in office and get the room next to us. The one with the connecting door.” He gestured at the door in the wall on the other side of the room. “If that room's already occupied, insist. But no violence. Use your badge.”
Ziva nodded and left the room quickly.
“Tony,” Gibbs continued. “Go out to the car and bring in the duffel from the trunk-” Gibbs tossed the other agent the keys to his car “- then go find us all some dinner.”
“Got it, Boss,” Tony said, his reluctance to leave the room showing on his face but not in his words.
“Dinner for all of us, DiNozzo,” Gibbs called after the exiting man. “They need to eat, too,” he reminded him with a wave at the prisoners.
Tim gave a wry snort. It would be just like DiNozzo to conveniently 'forget' to bring food for the two thugs.
“What are they doing here, Gibbs?” Tim asked.
“They're under arrest.”
“In a motel room?” It had become quickly obvious to Tim that that was indeed where they were. No matter how different they might be cosmetically, all motel rooms were just alike. There was no mistaking it.
“Yeah, well. The jail's not available.” He squatted down to peer into Tim's face. “How you doin', McGee?”
That question, those words- the same ones Gibbs had asked over the phone when Tim was in the truck, snapped in Tim's mind and the whole situation, the past week, rushed back into his memory. Infused once again with urgency, Tim's mind dealt with his pain and exhaustion the same way he had been for days......he pushed it aside.
His body stiffened in determination.
Gibbs saw the change in Tim's demeanor and sat back on his heels. “McGee?”
Neither of the men reacted when the motel room door opened and Tony deposited a familiar duffel bag on the floor and left again.
“Do you know what the hell you guys did?” Tim asked coldly. “I was this close to getting Sara back until you guys rushed in and interfered. You ruined everything!”
Tim rose to his feet in anger and began to pace the room furiously while Gibbs and Mutt and Jeff watched.
“Now my sister is still with those bastards going through God knows what, and I'm here in rattrap motel. It'll be dawn soon......my plan depended on it being dark, the element of surprise. Damn it, damn it, damn it!”
Tim whirled and gave the duffel bag a might kick that sent it across the floor, then he leaned against the door, tired all over again.
What the hell is the matter with me? He thought as he tried to slow breathing that had become labored once again. His physical condition had long since ceased to be one of his concerns, therefore his quick deterioration from his recent lack of self-care was not in the realm of his reality. It made no impact on his consciousness except confusion when he couldn't deny the effect on his body.
“This guy's gone round the bend”, one of the men at the table muttered.
Tim glared at both men. He debated on whether to take the time to decide which of them had made the comment or to just pop both of them, but before the thought fully formed Gibbs spoke, pulling his attention from the two thugs.
“Are you finished?” Tim's former boss asked.
“No,” Tim snapped in a way he never would have dared any other time. “You guys have no place here. I started out after Sara on my own to keep you people safe, but you followed me anyway. So that's on you. But Sara's the one that matters now and I'm going after her. Just go home, Gibbs. Or stay. Whatever. But I'm going for Sara.”
Tim pushed himself from the door, whirled around and pulled it open. Behind him, Gibbs strode forward to stop him from leaving. Instead of stopping him, however, Gibbs caught the other man as Tim stumbled dizzily and his knees gave out.
For the second time, Tim allowed Gibbs to shuffle him over to the bed and sit him down.
“McGee, how you think you're gonna rescue Sara in your condition? We're here to help now, but I'm not letting you go out there alone.”
“I can't leave her with those people, Gibbs,” Tim insisted, but his firm words belied the sudden despair that welled up inside. He could feel himself giving in to his body's demands. How could he get to his sister if he couldn't even manage to get himself going?
It was their fault. All of them. He'd have had Sara by now if they hadn't interfered. If they hadn't stopped him. His friends, his former colleagues and boss, had betrayed him. They'd jumped him in the darkness, knocked him out and dragged him away from his rescue mission. He'd have had Sara by now, she'd be free. With or without Tim, depending on the outcome of the inevitable fire fight, but she would be safely away from her captors and on her way home. But they'd stopped him, just like he knew they would if they'd caught up to him.
He didn't have much time. It wasn't long before dawn, and he couldn't stand the thought of being so close, yet leaving Sara with them for one more day. And besides that, Tim's body was coming very close to shutting down, he could feel it. He had to do it now before he was useless.
Tim gathered himself. He took a deep, calming breath. He looked up at Gibbs.
“Okay, Gibbs. Okay. You're right. I know I'm going off half-cocked, but she's my sister. But......I guess I do need your help, Gibbs.”
Gibbs frowned down at Tim, though Tim wasn't sure what had prompted it. But Gibbs just nodded his head and said, “I”m glad you see that, McGee. This isn't a one man mission. We'll save Sara, but we'll do it together. I'm not about to let you run off and get yourself killed. That wouldn't be helping you or Sara.”
Tim bit back the words he wanted to say, the caustic remarks that Gibbs was not his boss anymore, that they'd betrayed him, that Sara was his sister and his mission and they couldn't help. Instead of saying the things that tried to push themselves from his mouth, New Tim let his face slip into a relieved and resigned expression, added a confident smile, and said, “Got it, Gibbs. I guess.....I guess there's nothing much for me to do right now but try to get some rest. I'm pretty tired.”
“You're more than tired, McGee,” Gibbs groused.
“Yeah,” New Tim slipped in a sheepish chuckle. “I think I'll freshen up a bit before I lay down, Gibbs.”
Gibbs stepped back and peered down at McGee. “Yeah. You do that, McGee.”
Tim stood and stepped past Gibbs, shooting the other man a quick smile. He fetched the duffel he'd kicked across the room- which did indeed prove to be his own, the one he'd had in his own car before he'd lost it to Gibbs- and he retreated into the bathroom with the bag. He closed and locked the door behind him.
Tim dropped the bag to the floor and glanced around the room.
Good. The window was plenty big enough, not a tiny thing like some crappy motel rooms had in their bathrooms. Tim was relieved; he was determined to get out and back to his mission in any way he could, but he'd been counting on being able to slip out the window. He'd been at a loss as to what he'd do if the window was inaccessible or too small. It would have wasted time for him to come up with another way out while in Gibbs' company.
Tim didn't bother to even change into fresh clothes. He reached over and slid the window up, wincing at the squeak and the effort it took, then he stepped onto the toilet seat, threw a leg over the window sill, and pushed the rest of his body out into the dark. His ribboned shirt flapped as he fell, landing hard on the ground, his stain-stiffened jeans picked up more grime, but it didn't matter. He was out, and back on his way.
It took effort to stand. His heart beating hard at the effort, his breathing coming hard at what should have been a small exertion. One hand stung badly and the weak light from the bathroom window revealed a gash on his palm with the piece of broken glass still embedded in it. Tim plucked it out, ignoring the flow of blood, and dropped the glass back to the ground of the dirty alley behind the motel.
Tim glanced one way and then the other, chose a direction and took a step forward.
Someone grabbed him from behind, whirled him around and pushed him up against the dirty brick wall and pulled an arm up behind him.
“Shit!” Tim hissed as he was held tightly against the wall, his head spinning from the quick movement that had been forced upon him. “Let me go,” he ground out angrily.
“Don't think so,” a voice said in his ear as the person held Tim's tired body immobile.
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She just shook her head as she looked at the pitiful figure on the bed.
Next to her, in a chair and staring at the unconscious McGee just as Tony and Ziva were, Gibbs answered. “He just ran himself down, DiNozzo. He let everything take him over. I've seen it before. It happens to the best of us.”
“But....this?” Tony waved a hand toward the bed. “I mean.....how? It's only been barely over a week.”
“Apparently that is all it takes,” Ziva replied softly.
The three agents seemed at a loss now that they had McGee in their custody. It wasn't as if there wasn't anything more for them to do, because they still had Sara to recover. But that would require planning and maybe a bit of reconnaissance, which would come soon, but not yet. And until then, they'd suddenly found that all their rushing and intensity had calmed. The adrenaline was fading. They had McGee now, which had been their main purpose for the past week and couple days.
The three of them found themselves simply sitting and watching McGee lie in the bed, unconscious and unaware.
And a pitiful sight he is, Ziva thought. Gibbs had already threatened that the first one of them to send a picture of him to Abby in his current state would regret it deeply, no matter how much Abby begged for one to see for himself that McGee was okay.
The only word to describe McGee was gaunt. It awed Ziva that a man could become that way in a week or less, but apparently he'd been so driven that he simply hadn't taken care of himself properly. That, combined with his constant flight, had not done him any good at all.
McGee's cheeks were sunken, his eyes shadowed with dark circles underneath. Even his closed eyelids looked darkened, unhealthy. His face sported a several days growth of hair a shade darker than that on his head. The fresh and older healing bruises and abrasions didn't improve his appearance at all and the bright scratches from the woods gave him an almost frightening appearance.
His hair was sticking up at odd angles, stiff with dirt, sweat and grime days old. Debris clotted it into tangles. Ziva wondered if he'd be able to fix it without a pair of scissors.
His clothing was no better. His thin shirt was nothing more than hanging strips of material held together by the shirt collar. That allowed them to see the deep bruising that colored his stomach, chest and sides. No doubt many of them had been administered by the two men still handcuffed to the table. More bright red scratches and gouges lined his stomach and sides.
His pants were plagued with tears large and small. They were so dirty they were stiff in places, dirt and grime ground in as dark stains.
McGee's shoes and clothing left the bedding he was lying on dirty, clumps of dirt falling from his shoes and pants and hair, the random leaf or small twig.
Tim McGee was a sorry sight to see and it wasn't easy for his friends to see him like that.
“He's waking up,” Ziva observed as the prone figure on the bed began to stir.
“It's about time, Ziva,” Tony quipped as the trio watched the bed intently. “I was starting to wonder if you'd killed him.”
He was rewarded by a sharp smack to the back of his head.
“Thanks, Boss,” Tony responded sheepishly, the admonishment, as always, understood.
The first thing Tim became aware of as he began to come to was not any outside influence. Rather, it was his own body.
His whole body was in pain in varying degrees. No one thing was unbearable, but all the smaller and moderate grievances worked together to make Tim a very unhappy person upon awakening.
Stiffness was the next thing he recognized. Tim's joints and muscles rebelled the smallest movement, and he couldn't suppress a groan of pain when he turned his head.
Exhaustion pervaded him though he'd just opened his eyes, and when he slowly and awkwardly pushed himself to a sitting position, his body was impossibly heavy.
He felt a strong desire to simply curl up and sleep, but something in the back of his mind wouldn't let him relax. There was something he was supposed to be doing, some driving need he was supposed to be meeting, but exactly what it was evaded his wool-stuffed mind at the the moment.
Tim couldn't figure out where he was or what had happened, but it didn't take long to figure out how it had happened when his bleary eyes finally came to rest on the five people watching him closely. He felt no surprise to see them, however; he'd known, deep down, that they would catch up to him eventually.
Strangely, however, what fueled his next emotion was not brought out by the sight of his three colleagues- former colleagues, he reminded himself- but by the two large men sitting at the small table behind his his friends, against the wall.
Rage welled up inside and in one move that belied his physical condition to those watching, Tim simultaneously reached down and pulled his knife from his ankle and pushed himself to his feet from what he vaguely realized was a bed he'd been laid out on.
The aggressive move prompted a flurry of quick but mostly controlled activity from the others in the room.
The men at the table pulled against their cuffs as Tim advanced two steps toward them, and one of them might have given a panicked screech, though neither would admit to it later.
But Tim didn't get further than those two steps because the other three agents had jumped to their feet, and it took Gibbs only seconds to grab Tim's knife hand, relieve him of his weapon, and hold him in place.
Tim was breathing heavily from the exertion on his run down body and the strong, unexplainable anger that had surged through him at the sight of Mutt and Jeff, but the second Gibbs relieved him of his weapon, all the fight went out of him.
Gibbs' tight hold on Tim reversed from holding him back to holding him up as Tim sagged with the lack of adrenaline. Tim shuffled around, following Gibbs' lead as the older man shifted Tim back to the bed and lowered him down to sit on it.
Gibbs stood but kept a hand on Tim's shoulder.
Looking over his own shoulder, Gibbs said, “Ziva, go to the check in office and get the room next to us. The one with the connecting door.” He gestured at the door in the wall on the other side of the room. “If that room's already occupied, insist. But no violence. Use your badge.”
Ziva nodded and left the room quickly.
“Tony,” Gibbs continued. “Go out to the car and bring in the duffel from the trunk-” Gibbs tossed the other agent the keys to his car “- then go find us all some dinner.”
“Got it, Boss,” Tony said, his reluctance to leave the room showing on his face but not in his words.
“Dinner for all of us, DiNozzo,” Gibbs called after the exiting man. “They need to eat, too,” he reminded him with a wave at the prisoners.
Tim gave a wry snort. It would be just like DiNozzo to conveniently 'forget' to bring food for the two thugs.
“What are they doing here, Gibbs?” Tim asked.
“They're under arrest.”
“In a motel room?” It had become quickly obvious to Tim that that was indeed where they were. No matter how different they might be cosmetically, all motel rooms were just alike. There was no mistaking it.
“Yeah, well. The jail's not available.” He squatted down to peer into Tim's face. “How you doin', McGee?”
That question, those words- the same ones Gibbs had asked over the phone when Tim was in the truck, snapped in Tim's mind and the whole situation, the past week, rushed back into his memory. Infused once again with urgency, Tim's mind dealt with his pain and exhaustion the same way he had been for days......he pushed it aside.
His body stiffened in determination.
Gibbs saw the change in Tim's demeanor and sat back on his heels. “McGee?”
Neither of the men reacted when the motel room door opened and Tony deposited a familiar duffel bag on the floor and left again.
“Do you know what the hell you guys did?” Tim asked coldly. “I was this close to getting Sara back until you guys rushed in and interfered. You ruined everything!”
Tim rose to his feet in anger and began to pace the room furiously while Gibbs and Mutt and Jeff watched.
“Now my sister is still with those bastards going through God knows what, and I'm here in rattrap motel. It'll be dawn soon......my plan depended on it being dark, the element of surprise. Damn it, damn it, damn it!”
Tim whirled and gave the duffel bag a might kick that sent it across the floor, then he leaned against the door, tired all over again.
What the hell is the matter with me? He thought as he tried to slow breathing that had become labored once again. His physical condition had long since ceased to be one of his concerns, therefore his quick deterioration from his recent lack of self-care was not in the realm of his reality. It made no impact on his consciousness except confusion when he couldn't deny the effect on his body.
“This guy's gone round the bend”, one of the men at the table muttered.
Tim glared at both men. He debated on whether to take the time to decide which of them had made the comment or to just pop both of them, but before the thought fully formed Gibbs spoke, pulling his attention from the two thugs.
“Are you finished?” Tim's former boss asked.
“No,” Tim snapped in a way he never would have dared any other time. “You guys have no place here. I started out after Sara on my own to keep you people safe, but you followed me anyway. So that's on you. But Sara's the one that matters now and I'm going after her. Just go home, Gibbs. Or stay. Whatever. But I'm going for Sara.”
Tim pushed himself from the door, whirled around and pulled it open. Behind him, Gibbs strode forward to stop him from leaving. Instead of stopping him, however, Gibbs caught the other man as Tim stumbled dizzily and his knees gave out.
For the second time, Tim allowed Gibbs to shuffle him over to the bed and sit him down.
“McGee, how you think you're gonna rescue Sara in your condition? We're here to help now, but I'm not letting you go out there alone.”
“I can't leave her with those people, Gibbs,” Tim insisted, but his firm words belied the sudden despair that welled up inside. He could feel himself giving in to his body's demands. How could he get to his sister if he couldn't even manage to get himself going?
It was their fault. All of them. He'd have had Sara by now if they hadn't interfered. If they hadn't stopped him. His friends, his former colleagues and boss, had betrayed him. They'd jumped him in the darkness, knocked him out and dragged him away from his rescue mission. He'd have had Sara by now, she'd be free. With or without Tim, depending on the outcome of the inevitable fire fight, but she would be safely away from her captors and on her way home. But they'd stopped him, just like he knew they would if they'd caught up to him.
He didn't have much time. It wasn't long before dawn, and he couldn't stand the thought of being so close, yet leaving Sara with them for one more day. And besides that, Tim's body was coming very close to shutting down, he could feel it. He had to do it now before he was useless.
Tim gathered himself. He took a deep, calming breath. He looked up at Gibbs.
“Okay, Gibbs. Okay. You're right. I know I'm going off half-cocked, but she's my sister. But......I guess I do need your help, Gibbs.”
Gibbs frowned down at Tim, though Tim wasn't sure what had prompted it. But Gibbs just nodded his head and said, “I”m glad you see that, McGee. This isn't a one man mission. We'll save Sara, but we'll do it together. I'm not about to let you run off and get yourself killed. That wouldn't be helping you or Sara.”
Tim bit back the words he wanted to say, the caustic remarks that Gibbs was not his boss anymore, that they'd betrayed him, that Sara was his sister and his mission and they couldn't help. Instead of saying the things that tried to push themselves from his mouth, New Tim let his face slip into a relieved and resigned expression, added a confident smile, and said, “Got it, Gibbs. I guess.....I guess there's nothing much for me to do right now but try to get some rest. I'm pretty tired.”
“You're more than tired, McGee,” Gibbs groused.
“Yeah,” New Tim slipped in a sheepish chuckle. “I think I'll freshen up a bit before I lay down, Gibbs.”
Gibbs stepped back and peered down at McGee. “Yeah. You do that, McGee.”
Tim stood and stepped past Gibbs, shooting the other man a quick smile. He fetched the duffel he'd kicked across the room- which did indeed prove to be his own, the one he'd had in his own car before he'd lost it to Gibbs- and he retreated into the bathroom with the bag. He closed and locked the door behind him.
Tim dropped the bag to the floor and glanced around the room.
Good. The window was plenty big enough, not a tiny thing like some crappy motel rooms had in their bathrooms. Tim was relieved; he was determined to get out and back to his mission in any way he could, but he'd been counting on being able to slip out the window. He'd been at a loss as to what he'd do if the window was inaccessible or too small. It would have wasted time for him to come up with another way out while in Gibbs' company.
Tim didn't bother to even change into fresh clothes. He reached over and slid the window up, wincing at the squeak and the effort it took, then he stepped onto the toilet seat, threw a leg over the window sill, and pushed the rest of his body out into the dark. His ribboned shirt flapped as he fell, landing hard on the ground, his stain-stiffened jeans picked up more grime, but it didn't matter. He was out, and back on his way.
It took effort to stand. His heart beating hard at the effort, his breathing coming hard at what should have been a small exertion. One hand stung badly and the weak light from the bathroom window revealed a gash on his palm with the piece of broken glass still embedded in it. Tim plucked it out, ignoring the flow of blood, and dropped the glass back to the ground of the dirty alley behind the motel.
Tim glanced one way and then the other, chose a direction and took a step forward.
Someone grabbed him from behind, whirled him around and pushed him up against the dirty brick wall and pulled an arm up behind him.
“Shit!” Tim hissed as he was held tightly against the wall, his head spinning from the quick movement that had been forced upon him. “Let me go,” he ground out angrily.
“Don't think so,” a voice said in his ear as the person held Tim's tired body immobile.
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