“Hey, McGeek!” Tony called in greeting as the other man exited the elevator.

“Morning, Tony,” Tim nodded in greeting. “Ziva.”

She smiled in reply. “Good morning, McGee.”

Tony didn’t wait for Tim to set his things down before launching into what he had apparently been waiting all morning to say. “I have a problem.”

“Does it involve anything technological?”

Crossing his arms, Tony leaned forward. “Yes. It does. And don’t roll your eyes at me!”

“It’s no secret that you’re always coming to me for help with your computer, Tony,” the other man informed him. He switched on his own machine as he spoke, tapping his fingers in slight impatience as it booted up.

“Anyway,” Tony continued, “I’ve got this issue where --”

“There’s a Marine with issues of his own,” Gibbs replied, striding over to his desk. “Yours can wait, Dinozzo.”

“But, boss, my computer makes this odd sound when I …” Tony paused at the look on the older man’s face. “You know what? I should probably grab my gear and worry about it later.”

“That would be the idea. Come on. Let’s go!” Gibbs ordered.

The team snatched up their various bags and hurried to catch up before the elevator doors dinged shut.

It all happened in a moment.

Tony rounded the corner, sprinting after the fleeing murder suspect. He was met with a metal pipe, most likely picked up from the discarded materials in the warehouse. It connected with his stomach, and the air left his lungs in one painful blow.

The pipe clanged as it hit the floor, the suspect bolting for the door at the far end of the room.

There was nothing Tony could do to stop him, and he gasped in pain and desperation as he dropped to one knee. Through the haze blurring his vision, he could see the man reaching the door, and he knew he needed to take him down, but his arms were rebelling. They wrapped around his abdomen, trying to ease the pain that was shooting through his stomach and squeezing the contents out of his lungs.

Breathe … Breathe … He couldn’t breathe!

The shouts and following shots barely registered with his oxygen-starved mind; he was only focused on attempting to breathe.

His gasping intensified, and he fell further to the ground, managing to stretch out an arm to steady himself somewhat. Someone was calling his name in the distance.

They sounded worried.

Tony didn’t care. All he wanted was to breathe, for goodness sake. Why wasn’t it working? His mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water, and he didn’t respond when a hand touched his arm.

Air … He needed air … Why couldn’t he get any air?

Someone pushed on him, grabbing his shoulders and laying him on his back on the ground. It looked like Ziva, but he couldn’t be sure. Tony wasn’t sure of anything except that the darkness was much more inviting.

At least it didn’t demand him to breathe.

The voices calling his name seemed to rise in intensity as he slipped away, but he didn’t care. It would all disappear in a moment …

He was suddenly aware of air pushing its way down his windpipe and into his lungs. Nothing had ever felt so amazing.

Another burst of air flooded his system, and his body finally realized it had been without the life-giving substance. It suddenly wanted to make up for the fact, and he began hacking as it strove for more.

Ah, oxygen. Wonderful, beautiful, amazing oxygen.

He would never take it for granted again.

The voices were back, prodding him to open his eyes, to tell them he was okay. Tony finally gave in, cracking his lids apart to see the faces gathered above.

Gibbs and McGee were standing over him, leaning forward with concern creasing their expressions. Ziva knelt beside him, her face slightly reddened, her brown eyes reflecting the worry in the others’.

His boss’ lips moved, but the sounds were still a little fuzzy. Tony just groaned in response, bringing a hand up to massage his forehead.

Ziva brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear and raised an eyebrow as she asked him a question, most likely repeating what Gibbs had just asked.

This time, the words registered, and Tony shook his head, offering a pained grin. He was fine right where he was for the time being. He was breathing again, and that was all he needed.

They were searching for clues around the site where the body had been found, out in the Virginia wilderness. Two campers had come across the slain officer while out on what was supposed to be a relaxing weekend away for them.

Tim and Tony were working their way around the south side of the crime scene when Tim came across a stray scrap of paper that appeared to be some sort of receipt. He had just bent forward to photograph it when a sudden gust of wind snatched the paper up. It whirled towards the edge of a deep gorge that dropped down at least twenty-five feet to a creek.

He took a few steps forward to grab it; it could very well be evidence, and they needed to make sure all items around the crime scene were well documented and brought back for Abby.

Just as his fingers touched the paper, the loose dirt near the edge of the drop off shifted, and he felt himself falling forward. His arms pinwheeled for a moment as he tried to regain his balance. He heard Tony’s shout of “McGee!” as he toppled forwards.

There was a split second where he felt the weightless sensation of a free fall, then his body slammed into the side of the gorge. His left side connected with what felt like a sharp rock, and pain shot through his abdomen. Almost without thinking, he grabbed onto the first hold with which his hands came into contact. He felt splinters digging into his palms as the scraggly tree bent under his weight, cracking slightly.

“McGee!”

The shout came from above, and Tim squinted up. Tony was leaning over the side, his right arm outstretched.

“Come on; grab my hand,” Tony instructed.

His arms were already starting to ache from both the quick stop they had provided and from supporting all of his weight. Tim reached up as far as he could, straining to grasp the other agent’s hand, but there was still at least six inches between them.

Tony shifted, sending a rain of dirt and loose gravel down. Tim’s vision watered as several particles hit his eyes, causing an itching, burning sensation. There was less of a gap now; Tony was hanging even further over the side, still holding out his hand. “Come on; you can do it,” he encouraged.

It seemed to take a monumental effort, but Tim managed to reach up just enough. Their hands touched, and they each grasped the other tightly.

Tony grunted, straining as he pulled backwards, exerting all his strength to haul the other man back up onto solid ground. A moment later, two more pairs of hands joined Tony’s, and Tim was soon lying on his side on the grass.

Ziva pulled the camera strap over Tim’s head, setting it to the side as she worriedly checked him over. He had managed to lose his cap in the fall. “Are you all right, McGee?” she inquired.

He nodded, pushing himself to sit up. “I’m fine.”

Gibbs gave him one of those raised eyebrow looks he always did when he was trying to decide if one of his agents was being honest about a certain situation. “You sure, Tim?”

“Yeah.” He nodded again, reaching for his camera. It had survived intact, with only a few scratches on its case.

“But you might want to stay away from steep edges from now on, McHumpty-Dumpty,” Tony offered with a grin.

Tim rolled his eyes and got to his feet. His palms were still stinging and his arms and side were aching, but it was nothing that wouldn’t wear off after a while. For now, they needed to get back to processing the scene. Murders weren’t going to solve themselves.

“Get down!” With one hand, Tony pushed Jimmy toward the cover of a nearby vehicle. His other pulled his gun from its holster under his jacket. He began firing in the direction of their assailants as he dove for cover beside Jimmy. The darkness and shifting shadows from the streetlight were doing a favor to the men shooting at them. Tony was having a hard time seeing where to fire and was having to strain to make out even the slightest silhouette of the gunmen.

Several bullets pinged as they hit the sides of the vehicle behind which he and Jimmy were crouching, and they ducked as the glass above them shattered. Tony leaped to his feet and fired several rounds over the roof of the car; he heard a groan as at least one hit its mark.

He crouched back beside Jimmy. “Call Gibbs!” he ordered. Jimmy scrambled to obey.

Several more shots found places in the car shielding Tony and Jimmy. As soon as there was a gap in the shots, Tony stood and fired off some of his own.

Before he could duck back down, however, another round of bullets came from the remaining assailant, one of which managed to find a landing place in his left shoulder. With a cry of pain, Tony dropped to a sitting position, instinctively cradling his injured limb against his body. Jimmy’s eyes were wide as he took in the bloodied shirt sleeve.

“Well, did you call Gibbs?” Tony demanded, gritting his teeth against the pain shooting through his arm.

In response, Jimmy held up his phone, the screen of which was dark and blank. “It’s dead.”

Tony grunted and yanked his phone from his belt. “Here. Use mine, but hurry up, Palmer!” He forced himself to his feet and used the rest of his ammunition.

Jimmy was crouched with the cell phone pressed to one ear and his left hand over the other as more bullets slammed into the car. “Agent Gibbs! It’s Palmer, sir. Tony said to call you for back up.” He paused. “We’re at the -”

The pinging of more shots obscured the sound of Jimmy’s words from Tony. His gun now empty, Tony was fumbling one-handed to replace the ammunition clip.

The clip slipped from his hands and he moved for it, just as running footsteps sounded from the other side of the car. A large figure in a ski mask rounded one side of the vehicle, his weapon held at the ready in front of him.

“Drop your weapons. Hands in the air,” he growled menacingly.

Tony froze, slowly lifting his hands when the gun swung towards Jimmy. The younger man’s hands quickly shot up in front of him and he gave Tony a worried look. For his part, Tony’s gaze never left their assailant, even as he dropped his empty handgun to the ground.

“You, up,” the man demanded, waving his gun in Tony’s direction.

With a grunt, Tony slowly pushed himself to his feet. Jimmy began to rise as well but froze as the weapon moved again in his direction.

“Did I ask you to move? No; stay there.”

Tony was on his feet now, arms still to the sides. The masked man turned back to face him. “Now we will take a ride, yes?”

His tone left no room for argument so Tony just nodded. He opened his mouth, but any questions were silenced by the gun that was pointed at Jimmy’s head.

“Let’s go, then. And do not try anything funny or I will be forced to injure your friend here.”

Jimmy swallowed. Tony’s face hardened and he nodded again. “Leave him alone. I’ll go with you.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Let’s go.” The man motioned with his gun towards the waiting Suburban. He turned to Jimmy one last time, noting with satisfaction the empty gun lying apart from the clip. “You stay put or I will shoot you.”

The man gave Tony a nudge and they started for the vehicle. Tony was about to say something when a shot suddenly rang out.

Tony’s captor swayed on his feet for a split second before collapsing to the ground with a soft moan. Instinctively, Tony ducked as he spun to look back at the source of the gunshot.

Jimmy was just lowering Tony’s weapon, the flickering shadows revealing a look of both relief and horror on his face.

Tony gave him a small nod before allowing the darkness to take over and collapsing beside the still form next to him.