Title: Desperate Measures
Chapter: 03
Author: Ceindreadh
Email: Ceindreadh@eircom.net
Website: n/a
Permission to archive: Yes to WWOMB, anybody else, please ask first.
Fandom(s): NCIS
Genre (general, hetero or slash): Slash/Action/Angst
Pairing/Characters: Tony DiNozzo/Tim McGee
Rating: FRT
Summary:
Warnings: Just the usual 'lets beat up Tony' warnings (I *do* like him...honest!)
Disclaimer. I don't own the NCIS characters, I'm only borrowing them, and I promise to return them in minty fresh condition when I'm finished.
Notes: Thanks to FatCat for her Beta'ing
Previously on NCIS. Tony followed a suspect into an abandoned building, only to get captured, handcuffed to a radiator, and the building set on fire around him. McGee showed up just as Tony was about to do something drastic, and Tony ordered him to cut his hand off to free him. McGee left to retrieve a fire axe to do the deed.
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"Come on, McGee," Tony said to himself, even as the smoke started to sting his eyes and sear his throat. "Where are you?" He pulled at the handcuffs again, on the off chance that some small miracle might have occurred in the last few minutes and that the metal would have suddenly rusted through, but it was no use. Distracted by his vain efforts, he didn't hear the footsteps crossing the room until they were almost beside him. Even as he turned his head to look up, something struck him and everything went black.
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[Part 3]
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Tony could feel hands on his body, moving him. There were voices babbling all around him, yelling things about BP falling and typing and cross matching and would somebody page Ortho and Plastics before the poor sucker bled out on them. It was like one of those reality shows on Discovery, Tony thought; the ones that Tim watched when he was researching stuff for his novel. Sounded like some poor sap was in real trouble what with the beeping of the machines and the frantic yelling that he could hear in the background.
"Jesus, what sort of butcher did this?"
Tony strained to hear what was going on, but the noises were fading away again. He was vaguely aware that there was something he should be doing...something important...but it was too difficult to concentrate and eventually he just let himself fade out.
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When Tony came back to awareness, he wasn't sure at first where he was. There was a rhythmic beeping noise in the background...initially almost soothing, and at first Tony wasn't really inclined to do anything about it. But after a while, it was starting to annoy him a bit, so he forced his eyes open. White, was his first thought...everything was all white. This puzzled Tony for a bit...he could feel that he was lying on a bed, but his bedroom ceiling wasn't that shade of white. It confused him, because the bed was too comfortable for a hotel room and he couldn't think what other bed he'd be in. Thinking though was rather a strenuous activity for his energy levels, so Tony closed his eyes again and slept.
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It could have been a few minutes or a few hours later when Tony woke again. This time as well as the sound of the beeping, and the whiteness of the ceiling, he noticed something else...the familiar antiseptic smell. "Hospital?" he mumbled, not even sure if the words passed his lips or if he had just imagined saying them. Whichever it was, it tired him sufficiently to make him close his eyes again.
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Tony's next period of wakefulness must have been at night, because he noticed immediately that the lights were slightly dimmer than the previous time. His brain was still a bit foggy, and he was still feeling very weak, but this time he was determined to stay awake for long enough to figure out what was going on. "Hospital," he told himself, even as he tried to figure out what was wrong with him. He closed his eyes again, willing himself to remember what had happened to put him in hospital...the last thing he remembered was...the radiator...McGee going to get an axe...the memory hit him, as powerful as a physical blow.
Tony swallowed hard, not wanting to open his eyes to face reality. Maybe if he kept his eyes shut then this would turn out to have just been all a bad dream and his hand would still be there and he wouldn't have to quit his job because whoever heard of a one handed N.C.I.S. agent? But try as he might, Tony just couldn't shake the knowledge that this was all true and wasn't some horrible dream.
Slowly he opened his eyes and forced himself to look at where the stump of his wrist was going to be.
It was almost an anticlimax to realize that he couldn't actually see it. Some sort of sling, which concealed his wrist from view, supported Tony's right arm, and what Tony could see of the limb was swathed in bandages.
Tony let out a shaky breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It came out as more of a sob than he intended. He tried to tell himself that it wouldn't be *so* bad...he'd probably get some sort of compensation for being injured in the line of duty. Maybe a disability pension or something...and he still had one hand...and wasn't that all he needed anyway...and it was better than being a crispy critter with both hands, right?
"Oh my God, Tony, you're awake!"
Tony turned his head at the sound of McGee's voice, and quickly wiped his hand across his eyes, banishing the tears that had been threatening. "Tim!" he said, "You...you look terrible."
It wasn't an exaggeration. McGee looked as if he hardly slept in days, and as if what little sleep he had managed to get had been in the clothes he was wearing. He looked about as exhausted as Tony felt, and there were a bandage on one hand.
"You're hurt?" said Tony, trying to sit up.
McGee pushed him gently back against the bed. "It's nothing, just some minor scrapes and burns. I'm fine, I promise." He pushed Tony's hair back out of his face. "I've just been so worried about you."
Tony reached out and pulled McGee into a half hug. "You saved my life, Tim. I don't think I'll ever be able to repay you for what you did." Tony could feel McGee tense slightly and half pull away.
"Tony," said McGee, not meeting his eyes. "I'm really, really sorry about what happened."
Tony shrugged, and said with studied indifference, "You did what you had to do. I'd shake your hand but..." He jerked his head towards the sling, but even as he watched McGee's lip quiver slightly, Tony made himself a promise that neither by word nor action would he ever let Tim know how he felt about losing his hand. McGee had done what he had had to do to save his life, and Tony was determined to be grateful to *be* alive, no matter what the cost had been. "Hey Probie," he said. "You did what you had to do, and you saved my life. Just remember that. If you hadn't of cut my hand off, I'd be there on Ducky's Autopsy table right now and Ducky and Palmer tossing a coin as to who gets the first cut."
"Tony," McGee said in a shaky voice. "There's something I have to tell you..."
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To be continued
Author's Chapter Notes:
Tony is in a bad situation...how will he ever get out of it?