I apologize for my long absence. But I'm back for a while!
So, this is just something I thought up, I hope you enjoy it!
Please tell me if you want me to continue it!
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN NCIS
Timothy McGee sat in the park, leaning against a tree. He hadn't been to work in three days. He hadn't been home in three days. He hadn't left the park in three days. He looked odd, laying out in a forest in his nice work cloths. But then again, no one would've noticed. He hadn't seen another person in days. He was starving and thirsty. All he'd had for nourishment in three days was a granola bar and a small water bottle. He desperately wanted to leave, but he couldn't. It was physically impossible; his jacket was draped over a broken leg and a broken hand. His whole body ached, and it felt like a thousand knifes were stabbing him every time he moved. It hurt even to breath. His chest felt tight and he hand to take in shallow ragged breaths to keep the pain at bay. He felt sick and wanted nothing more than to lay down, but two broken ribs plainly forbade that.
And yet, at that moment, McGee wasn't thinking about the physical pain. He was focused on the horrible, crushing emotional pain he felt. He could've sworn he was dying, and thought it odd that his whole life wasn't flashing before his eyes. No, only one name came up. Jasmine Murray.
The girl he'd been dating for a little over a year.
The girl who'd broken up with him three days earlier.
The scene replayed itself inside McGee's head over and over and was the primary cause of his distress. It was all he could think about. And thinking about it made him feel sick. Made him want to cry. It bothered him. It bothered him that he asked her to meet him in the park that day and found her making out with some other guy in the spot he asked her to meet him. It bothered him that when he confronted her about it, the man broke his hand. It bothered him that she broke up with him, saying that she'd been married to "Chad" for five years. It bothered him that when he asked why she deceived him, Chad kicked him down so hard it broke two ribs. It bothered him that before the two left, Chad stepped on his leg and snapped the bone. It bothered him when she helped Chad beat him, kick, punch, slam him into the ground over and over until his eyes swelled shut. It bothered him that she just left him there, to drag himself a half a mile before passing out from exhaustion.
But what bothered McGee most, was the ring box that he had in his pocket the whole time.
And how stupid he was as to let himself believe that there was actually someone out there who loved him.
McGee grit his teeth and cried out. The pain was unbearable. He opened and closed his mouth, gasping like a fish. Like a pathetic trout. A pathetic trout who almost proposed to a psycho, who was already married to another psycho. An icy wind blew that made him shiver. It was going to rain. The nearly black sky promise him his own personal, wet, Hell tonight.
McGee opened his mouth and let out a sob, accidentally spitting as he did so. A little bit of drool ran down his chin. He didn't even have the strength to lift his arm to wipe it away. The horrible feeling in his stomach returned and it wasn't long before he retched. He had no idea what he could possibly be throwing up, simply because he hadn't eaten a thing in days.
The worst part was, the retching wasn't like a flu. No, it was much, much worse. It was agony. Pure agony. McGee thought for sure that he was retching up his insides. With every heave, it felt as if white hot knifes were being drug up his throat. And that wasn't even the worst part. When finally he was able to catch a breath, the dry heaving started. Every lurching spasm jostled his esophagus until it tore open. Blood trickled into his stomach, upsetting it, and the retching began again. It agitated his windpipe, causing it to tear. Blood slipped into his lungs and panic set in, for fear he'd drown. He couldn't stop heaving long enough to cough up the blood. He grew hysterical. Finally, the heaving stopped and he coughed up the blood. And there he was left, sobbing and quaking.
And this happened to McGee almost every other hour throughout the course of his stay in the woods.
McGee was covered in blood and vomit. He was quaking violently and emotionally compromised. He was sure it was the end of him. He was ready to let himself fall asleep, knowing he'd never wake up again, when he heard the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard in all of his life:
"McGee? McGee! Tim, where are you?"
The frantic, worried voice of Ziva David, to him was a chorus of angles. Like a symphony of the most angelic of music, it almost made Tim weep when he heard it.
"Z-Ziva… I'm-m… here…" He managed to croak.
"N-no…! C-come… back…" He moaned.
Then the frantic footsteps. Joyous tears streaked Tim's face when he heard the crunching of leaves as Ziva ran through the forest.
Then, her face came into view. When she saw him, she stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide in disbelief. Her eyes were read and puffy: Tim could've sworn she'd been crying.
McGee grinned weakly at her. Ziva's mouth opened a little and she ran madly towards him, dropping to her knees beside him. "McGee! T-Tim…!" He'd never heard her voice crack before.
Ziva wrapped her arms around him, hugging him, not even noticing the mess. She cupped his face in her hands, caressed it, even kissed it. Never, in all his life, had McGee EVER seen Ziva act like this. He was terrified he must be dead because never in a million years would she ever act like that.
Suddenly, she released her grip on him and glared daggers at him, looking as if she wished to slap him. "Timothy McGee, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" she practically screamed. "We have been worried sick about you. We have all thought that you were dead! Gibbs has been pissed off with worry, Tony won't speak anymore, and Abby is absolutely hysterical!" She yelled. "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"
Tim was too weak to flinch. "H-here…" He rasped.
"And why did you not call?" She snapped.
She looked him up and down. Her gaze softened, becoming almost sorrowful. She gently moved the jacket off him. Upon seeing the broken bones, her facial expression did not change, but there was a clear pained expression in her eyes. "What happened, McGee?" She asked calmly.
"Girlfriend… psycho… married… Husband… attacked… me" Was all he could manage to explain.
Ziva could clearly see the bulge of the ring box in his pocket and felt bad for him. She hugged him. "I am very sorry McGee…" She couldn't seem to find the right words.
"It's… okay…" He whimpered, feeling the humiliating tears burning the back of his throat.
Ziva didn't release the hg for a few moments, and Tim was grateful for that. He buried his dirty, bruised face in her shoulder. She watched his slumped shoulders heave as he tried to stop his tears. She felt a pang in her heart for him: He was very clearly in love with the girl. She knew he'd been planning to propose for about a month and was never able to find the right time to pop the question. It was a source of much entertainment for Tony, who made fun of "McProcratination" much for it.
McGee moaned softly, his whole body shook with exhaustion. It was at that point that Ziva released the hug. "McGee, what is wrong?" She asked softly.
"My chest…" He gasped. "It… feels… tight…"
She put a gentle hand on his forehead and found a worrying fever. "You should lay down, Tim. I think that you are showing signs of pneumonia," She commented. "You really should lay down,"
Tim smiled sadly. "Wish… I could… ribs… broken…"
"Here, I'll help you," She gingerly wrapped one arm around his chest, the other placed firmly on his back. She slowly eased him down on his side, letting him rest his head on her lap.
Tim didn't complain. In fact he was asleep almost the second Ziva laid him down. And the moment he was asleep, she whipped out her cell phone and made the joyous call to the Navy Yard that McGee had been found. Over the phone, Ziva could hear the relieved sighs of her coworkers, even the joyous sobbing of Abby. However, the mood became serious when she told them of McGee's condition. All they could do was call an ambulance and hope that McGee could hold on for a little longer.
Ziva hung up the phone and turned her attention back to Tim. A bitter wind blew. And while Ziva remained unfazed, Tim on the other hand, shivered and whimpered from the cold. Ziva took off her jacket and gently draped it over him. She felt his forehead again and willed the ambulance to hurry.
Even with the jacket, Tim still shivered. Ziva felt a pang of guilt and worry wash over her. When she first arrived to the Navy Yard, he was the only one who would talk to her. He was one of her best friends, part of her family, and she WOULD NOT LOOSE HIM.
Perhaps it was motherly instinct that over took her. She ran her fingered through his hair, and tenderly brushed the sweat drenched strands of brown hair from his face. She gently rubbed small circles on his back, getting a very sick feeling when she looked at his battered, pain twisted face, the short ragged breaths he could barely take in, his blue lips and pale complexion, the tremors that so cruelly shook his body, the soft, pain filled moans that escaped his lips, and his skyrocketing fever.
How could she have let this happen? How could she let Jasmine fool them all?
The more she thought about it, the more Ziva became convinced that there was something psychiatrically wrong with that woman. To beat and abuse a young man so sweet as McGee?
Another tremor racked the young man's body. His back arched in pain and he cried out a pitiful moan. Ziva's desire to comfort him suddenly became even more fierce.
"Hold on, McGee. Help will be here soon," she promised.
But surely not soon enough. Much to Ziva's horror, McGee began to seize. There was nothing she could do but hold down his limbs as best she could until the seizure was over.
Finally, the battered agent's body began to still. She pressed his weak, vulnerable form against herself protectively, as she prayed silently in Hebrew that the ambulance would hurry.