I randomly sat down tonight and just wrote this drabble out. I'll continue it if I get any good reviews on it, but we'll see! Enjoy:)
Disclaimer: I own nothing, save for the plot and any random characters.
At first, when it actually happened, he didn't remember seeing anybody else in the room. God knows he would always remember the feeling; it was like he was flying upward, totally weightless, while being smothered with the taste of ash. But he couldn't remember what the room had looked like when he entered. Only now, after three surgeries and month-long coma, did he remember the scene.
Hardwood. He remembered that first. The floors were a darkly stained hardwood, soft and slippery beneath his shoes. The walls were painted a deep blue that reminded him of the ocean at night, which probably explained why during his month of unconsciousness he'd had nightmares about drowning. There was no furniture, save for a dirty, cream-colored loveseat. The killer they had sent him to arrest, Brian Dayson, was lying next to the seat, his wrists cut. But none of that made his way into his brain.
The real reason he hadn't remembered the sight probably had something to do with a small bomb on the seat of the couch.
Two ticks. That was all he heard before it happened. The walls fell into themselves, while fire flew up around him, smoke filling his lungs. Blackness covered his eyes as he dove behind the open door. After that, he remembered nothing. He just felt himself floating, trying to get away from the fire, trying to advoid the water, and trying to claw his way back into consciousness.
He pried his eyelids open, his vision blurry. The first thing he saw was a woman with long black hair thrown up into messy ponytails, wearing a short black dress and red plaid jewelry, smiling at him broadly. She looked alarmingly out of place in the bright hospital room.
"Hey, Timmy," she whispered fondly. Tim closed his eyes, and opened them again. She was still there . . . so he was definitely not hallucinating. He felt torn between asking her what happened to him after he blacked out and whether or not anyone else was hurt. She seemed to sense his dilemma.
"Tony and Ziva are fine. Gibbs is a little pissed that you got yourself blown up, but now that you're awake, I doubt he'll be too sore with you. You are kind of stuck here for a few days, though, the nurses are totally in love with you," she said with a grin. "And they'll have to watch you for awhile to make sure you don't go back into that stupid coma. You took a pretty hard beating, too, and you're all cut up. But don't worry, you'll be fine,"
Tim nodded. He looked around the hospital room. The walls were yellow, flowery, and disgustingly vivid. There was that sterile smell that accompanied all hospitals, but this particular room in Bethesda smelled especially of cleansing products; he scrunched his nose up at it. She noticed, and chuckled softly.
"Yeah, it's pretty harsh in here, huh? Well, Ziva had a cold and sneezed on the chair over there. One of the nurses freaked out and started spraying everything in arms distance with Lysol . . . or it could have been bleach. I'm not sure exactly; it sure smelled strong, but I'm not sure-"
Tim sighed, interrupting her rant.
"Are Tony or Ziva here?" he asked softly. She smiled.
"Sure, Timmy, I'll go get one of them." She said, kissing him on the cheek. He flinched at the touch, but she didn't seem to notice. She left the room, letting Tony and Ziva enter, grins on both of their faces. Tony was the first to speak.
"Nice to see you awake, Probie. We practically had to pry her from your side every time we needed forensic help!" he exclaimed, jerking his head to the doorway. Tim frowned subconsciously, but Ziva noticed.
"What is it, Tim?" she asked.
"Who was that woman?" he asked, curious. Tony looked to Ziva, who shared his worried look. He elaborated, thinking they were confused. "That woman with the pigtails that just left- she seemed to know me,"
"That's Abby, Probie!" Tony exclaimed. "Wow, you must have really hit your head really hard!"
"You do remember Abby, McGee?" Ziva asked, concern rising.
"No, not at all." He muttered. All amusement leaving his face, alarm rose in Tony's gut. He held up a finger to Tim and pulled Ziva off to the side.
"What do we do, Ziva?" he whispered.
"I am not sure, Tony," she said quietly. "But I really do not want to be the one to tell Abby."
Tony turned to look at Tim, who was looking curiously at the two of them. The doctor entered then, determined on checking out his patient. Tony and Ziva left the room, running straight into a bone-crushing hug from Abby.
"Isn't this amazing, you guys?" she said, blissful. "We've finally got our Tim back,"
Tony caught Ziva's eye. She nodded as they pulled themselves from the forensic scientist's embrace. Abby's eyes darkened as she noticed the glances the two agents were exchanging.
"What," she demanded, concern evident in her voice. "What is it? What's wrong with Tim?"
Tony looked down, refusing to crush her hopes. Ziva took Abby's hands in hers, inhaling deeply.
"Abby, he seems to be having some memory problems," she said quietly.
"Like, what? The past few days, months, what?"
Ziva looked to Tony, but he refused to meet her eyes.
"He doesn't remember who you are, Abby,"
So. . . should I continue? Should I write one more chpter, or just leave it be? Should I just totally shut up by now?
Tell me what you think:)