Fixing McGee's Problem

By Shellie Williams

Disclaimer: The characters and places of NCIS do not belong to me. No money or profit was made from this snippet.

VIII

Tony walked quietly down the hospital hallway. It'd been nearly five hours since he'd left McGee's room, and he'd managed to have at least a hundred conversations with McGee in his head, clearly stating his guilt and humbly accepting McGee's forgiveness. The little McGee in his head completely understood where he was coming from. The magnitude of what he'd attempted to do for his friend far outweighed the injury that had resulted in Tony's meddling. McGee saw that and absolved him from any wrong doing. At least, the McGee in his head did. The real McGee lying in the hospital bed with a bullet wound in his gut was a completely different matter.

The atmosphere was subdued, as was the lighting. Even the voices over the intercom system seemed quieter. Shades were drawn over dark windows, shutting out the night. He'd barely managed to sneak past the night crew, but finally, his patience had paid off and everyone seemed to be looking the other way.

He looked up, surprised to find himself in front of McGee's door. The trip hadn't taken as long as it had earlier today. Or maybe he'd been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed the floor passing away beneath his feet. Tony took a deep breath that lifted his shoulders, then quietly pushed through the door.

McGee lay sleeping, facing the door. The light above his bed was focused on the ceiling, rather than McGee's face. Tony watched him for a moment, running through his imagined conversations again.

"I'm sorry, McGee. It's my fault you're hurt."

McGee smiled. "It's OK, Tony. I forgive you. I know you didn't intend for me to get hurt."

Disbelief forced a huff of breath from Tony's mouth. He froze, waiting to see if the small noise had disturbed McGee. When McGee showed no sign of stirring, Tony walked quietly across the room to the window. Darkness turned the glass to mirror, and he stood staring forlornly at his reflection.

"You're an idiot, DiNozzo." He hadn't meant to start talking to himself, but once he started, he quickly warmed to his subject. "Tim would have eventually figured out that he couldn't keep up with Gibbs, and what Gibbs was trying to teach him. He would have stopped trying to pay back something he never even owed and everything would have gone back to normal."

A soft groan whispered through the room, lifting the hair on the back of Tony's neck. Turning, he saw McGee's body shift. Thinking he'd been overheard, Tony quickly moved to the bed. But instead of the irritated expression he'd imagine he'd find on McGee's face, he found a furrowed brow, closed eyes, and mouth twisted in fright. A nightmare; McGee was having a nightmare.

He reached out to touch McGee's shoulder, but arrested his movements when McGee spoke his name.

"Tony."

Such a small sound, so full of hurt and worry. Frowning, Tony leaned closer.

"Tony?"

Aware McGee was still sleeping, Tony answered. "I'm here, McGee."

McGee's head turned on the pillow. His breathing quickened. He drew his arms around himself. "Tony, help me."

Alarmed, Tony grasped McGee's shoulders. Gently, he shook him, calling to him. "Wake up, McGee. McGee, wake up!"

McGee's eyes opened. He pulled back from Tony, gasping. "Tony?"

Tony released him and stepped back. "You were having a bad dream."

McGee slumped back to his bed. He lifted one hand and rubbed at his forehead.

"Are you okay?"

McGee nodded. "Water?"

A cup sat on the small table beside the bed. Tony handed it to McGee. McGee drank, then handed it back. His eyes opened and he looked around the room. Finally, his gaze centered on Tony.

"Why are you here?"

Tony shrugged, feeling as if he were standing in Square One all over again. "Just wanted to talk to you."

"In the middle of the night?"

"I couldn't sleep."

McGee shook his head. "Tony --"

"Wait a minute, Tim. Let me say this, okay? Just let me say what I came to say, then I'll leave."

McGee licked his lips. "Okay. I'm listening."

Tony took a deep breath and couldn't figure out where to start. He'd rehearsed this conversation so many times in his head, and now, with the opportunity to finally set things straight with McGee before him, he found himself at a loss for words. He cleared his throat to stall for time.

"What were you dreaming?" Now where did that come from?

Surprised by the question, McGee blinked and stared back at him for a second. "I – I don't remember."

"You called my name."

"I did?"

Tony nodded. "You asked me for help."

McGee turned his head to focus on the ceiling. He didn't answer.

"What were you dreaming, McGee?"

"I was dreaming – I was dreaming about Neilson."

Tony drew a blank for a second, then realized McGee was talking about the man who had shot him. Moving quietly, he drew closer to the bed.

"Everything was dark. He shot me, but you and Gibbs weren't there. The pain --" McGee's hand, resting on his belly, curled into a fist. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, then his eyes blinked open again, as if he didn't want to be in the dark. "There was so much blood, and I couldn't – I needed help."

"But we were there."

McGee's head turned and his eyes locked on Tony.

"We were there, and we helped you. Gibbs caught you, then he held his hands over your wound to keep you from bleeding to death." Tony leaned over, his voice strained, his eyes wide, watching McGee. "I talked to you, told you to hold on, that help was coming. And you --" Tony stopped, afraid of stepping too far and breaking the spell.

"What did I do?"

Tony smiled. "You thanked me for trying to help you. I told you that's what friends do – we meddle in each other's business."

"Yeah, you did. I think I remember you saying that."

Tony's smile faded. "I was scared to death, Tim. I thought you were going – I was afraid we were going to lose you." He straightened up and took a step back. "So, I just wanted to tell you again how sorry I am that all this happened." He waited, but McGee didn't say anything. Resigned that he wouldn't find forgiveness tonight, Tony opened his mouth to take his exit.

"I know you are, Tony. I know you didn't mean for me to get shot, and you didn't mean for me to almost shoot you. But did you really believe your plan would work?"

Tony shook his head. "I don't know."

"Listen, I know I take things much more seriously than you do. I knew I was getting carried away, believing I owed Gibbs for saving my life. That's what I do. That's why I depend on you and Ziva to balance me out and keep me in line." He didn't wait for Tony to answer. "But if you'd given me a little more time, Tony, I would have figured that out for myself, and I wouldn't be laying here in this hospital bed."

Tony nodded.

"So next time, don't be so quick to meddle, okay?" When Tony smiled, McGee settled more deeply into his pillow. "If you're not in a big hurry to leave, you could pull up a chair and sit awhile."

Recognizing the request for company, Tony reached for a nearby chair and dragged it closer. "Did I ever tell you about the time I got stabbed by a hooker?"

McGee shook his head. Tony started in on his story. Forgiveness made him feel good and loosened his tongue. McGee was asleep long before he'd finished his story, but that didn't stop Tony. He talked far into the night, encouraged by McGee's gentle snore.

THE END