Reaching into the Darkness
Rating: Very Strong PG-13
Pairings: Tony/McGee friendship
Warnings: Somewhat graphic depictions of rape and angst
Summary: McGee is kidnapped and tortured in the worst way, and Tony must figure out how to help him recover.
A/N: It is rated PG-13, but it is a VERY STRONG PG-13. There is heavily implied rape and torture, so if those things make you feel queasy or uneasy, I would politely suggest you not read this. Also, I am not (because some will think this) a homophobe. I refer to the act disgusting because it is a gross violation of a person, physically and mentally, NOT because of any homosexual implications. Rape is about power, not sex or orientation.
A/N 2: There are four chapters that come after this one. They can be found here on FanFiction.
“Dare to reach out into the darkness,
to pull another hand into the light.”
-Norman B. Rice
You are incensed. Outraged. Horrified. Disgusted. How could someone do this to another human being? They must be inhuman, soulless.
Timothy McGee was lying in a hospital bed on his stomach, staring blankly out the window. You and the rest of the team are outside, and you keep replaying the day’s events in your head.
McGee had been kidnapped off the street by a drug ring from DC, based out of Baltimore. They sent a live feed of the agent to his computer, and no one could turn it off to get rid of the horrible images; they could only silence the screams. At one point, you and Gibbs got the courage to go into Abby’s lab and listen to the sound. You lasted only fifteen minutes. Gibbs lasted twenty. Abby worked desperately to pinpoint a location while the gang tortured McGee, demanding to know what organization he was from (convinced it was the BATFE) and hitting/kicking/burning him when they claimed he lied about it. He was obviously in pain, often visibly crying and/or screaming. You offered to take up the watch, keeping track of what they did to your Probie. You felt responsible, although you know there’s no logical reason because there was nothing you could’ve done. At one point, they yank him to his feet and drag him just off screen. You reluctantly plug in some headphones to keep track of things, and you almost break down. His screams echoed in your ears, his cries for them to stop what they were doing ringing in your head. Realization, caused by the rhythmic movements you could barely see, caused you to squeeze your eyes shut, but the sounds still come through the headphones. You finally heard him collapse to the floor, sobbing and heaving. You nearly let out a shaky sigh when McGee spoke again, shakily begging for them to stop. There was laughter, derisive and cruel, and as a strange gagging sound filled your ears, you came the closest to ripping the earbuds out. The only thing stopping you was the idea of McGee taking all the pain alone. You force your eyes open, still upset by the movement of the images just on the edge of the screen.
McGee was finally dragged into view and right up to the camera, weakly clutching his tattered clothes to himself, trying to cover himself as best he could. One eye was completely swollen shut. His chin was covered in blood from his nose. Something white was dribbling from the corner of his mouth. His cheek shone with tears from his good eye. He was whimpering softly.
“You like your friends at the ATF seein’ you like this, pretty boy? You like them knowing what happened to you? You gonna tell me who you’re with now?!”
“I already told you,” he moaned, “I’m from NCIS. I wasn’t even investigat- ow!”
A swift punch to the gut cut off his words, causing him to cry out in pain, fresh tears leaking from his undamaged eye. Abby rushed in as the ringleader walked away, dropping McGee to the floor. She found him, directions in her hand. You snatched them from her unceremoniously and ran for the elevator. Your teeth were on edge the whole way there, your heart in your throat. Gibbs and Ziva didn’t ask questions, knowing that you had watched his torture. Your blood pounded through your veins as you and the others let off round after round, taking down armed enemies as they showed their faces. You took particular pleasure in killing the one who hurt McGee the most, doubletapping his stomach and shoulder, ensuring a slow death and the inability to shoot anyone else.
“McGee! McGee, where are you?! Come on, answer me! MCGEE!” you shouted.
You ducked into a side room, quickly taking out a final armed assailant before noticing McGee. The younger agent was curled up in a ball on the floor, trembling and breathing shallowly. You moved closer to him, saying, “McGee… McGee, can you hear me? It’s Tony…”
“T-T-Tony?”
“Yeah… yeah, it’s Tony…”
“I’m s-sorry… I’m really s-sorry…”
“No… no, you don’t have to be sorry for anything. Nothing’s your fault, buddy, okay?”
“D-don’t let them see m-me… not l-like this… p-p-please… don’t l-let them in…”
You did as you were asked, surveying the room as you reached out for a blanket to cover him with. There was blood spattered on the walls and floor and a small pool under him. His clothes were practically torn apart and pockmarked with cigarette burns, undoubtedly much like his flesh. His abdomen was mottled a deep bluish-purple from the physical abuse earlier in the day. His hands were clenched into fists in an attempt to keep his pants covering his genitals and buttocks; there was a large bloodstain on the seat of the pants. You covered him with the blanket and waited patiently for him to stop shivering as much. After a few minutes, you said, “Listen buddy, we’ve gotta get you to the hospital. I can either let the paramedics in or carry you out to them… I’ll let you choose, ‘kay?”
He started to tremble again whimpering, “I don’t want them to see me… they can’t… please-!”
“McGee, McGee, calm down. It’s okay. They really want to see you. They want to know you’re okay… alive. They won’t say anything. I’m gonna keep you wrapped up in this blanket. I promise.”
The younger agent needed to be calmed down a bit further before consenting to be carried out to the paramedics. Gibbs and Ziva seemed to understand they hang back and didn’t clamor to see McGee. As you laid him down on the gurney, he automatically rolled onto his side, quietly asking you to ride with him. You locked eyes with Gibbs, who nodded his head in approval. You were almost afraid to touch him on the way there, worried how he would react. Meanwhile, the paramedics asked questions about what happened that McGee barely answered, unaware that you knew what happened.
So now you sit in the hospital with Gibbs, Ziva, Ducky, and Abby, waiting for the doctor to come out. She was a pretty little thing, obviously fresh from her residency and still retaining some naiveté. If the timing weren’t so serious, you would take note of her small frame, exquisite curves, and messy-yet-adorable brunette bun.
“You must be Agent McGee’s team,” she said calmly, “I’m Dr. Benz, Agent McGee’s doctor. I have to say that I was… shocked at the extent of his injuries. He was tortured extensively. I noted cigarette burns on his back, chest, and biceps, as well as his thighs and buttocks. He also has severe bruising to his right eye socket, a nearly broken nose, a split lip, and bruised ribs. On top of that, he sustained abrasions to the back of his throat and… and a great deal of tearing to his rectal passage that will require surgery. He’s also started to lapse into a stage of numbness. He doesn’t respond to any stimuli, really, at least not in the way we’d expect. He flinches slightly when touched or spoken to, but he doesn’t answer any of our questions. Agent McGee has requested that no one be allowed in to see him for now, which should be respected for the sake of his fragile psychological state. We’ll keep checking up on him every fifteen minutes.”
“Will he be okay?” Abby asks tearfully, “Like, when can he come home?”
“It’s hard to say. Physically, he’ll be ready to leave in a couple weeks. Psychologically, he’ll need much longer to heal. Rape is extremely traumatic, especially one this violent. It becomes a part of that person forever, whether they like it or not.”
Abby stifles a sob and leaves the waiting room; Ziva follows her. Gibbs curses under his breath, and Ducky puts his hand on your shoulder, whispering, “He’ll come out of this all right, Anthony… he’s stronger than we often think.”
“I hope you’re right, Ducky… I really do… ‘cause I’ll go nuts if he stays like this forever,” you say, then turn to Dr. Benz and ask, “What should we have set up for him, when he’s ready to go home?”
“Does he live with anyone?”
“He’s got a dog… ex-military,” you answer, “Why?”
“I wouldn’t leave him alone for long periods of time,” she explains, “He might be paranoid for a while. Whoever stays with him should be prepared to deal with some nightmares of the assault.”
“Thanks. I’ll set everything up. Are you sure he won’t let anyone in?”
“I can ask him again,” she sighs.
She disappears into McGee’s room, emerging a few moments later, saying, “Go on in… but I’ll escort you out if he gets too upset, okay?” and stepping aside to let you in. You close in on him slowly, announcing yourself so you don’t startle him. He doesn’t move very much. You pull up a chair beside him, where you can see his face.
“How’re you feeling, McGee?”
“Sore,” he rasps, “Did she… did she tell you what happened?”
“I already knew. They somehow got a… a live feed of what was happening to you to us. I… I already knew… I sat through it. All of it. I saw everything they did to you.”
McGee’s lip trembles, and you want to reach out and comfort him. Your hand hovers over his arm, unsure of whether or not you should touch him. You allow your fingers to graze his skin, and he flinches, causing you to withdraw your hand.
“I’m sorry, Tony,” he murmurs, “I just… I don’t know… I can’t-“
“It’s okay, McGee. I understand. It’s okay… it’ll get better. Just rest for now, buddy… ‘kay?”
McGee nods as much as he can, his lip still trembling. You touch his arm briefly and walk out. Gibbs is the only one left in the waiting room. He puts his hand on your shoulder, and you let a few tears slip out. Gibbs draws you into a quick embrace, then orders you to stay the night at the hospital.
“Don’t worry, boss,” you reply, “I had already planned on it. See you tomorrow.”
xXxXxXx
After the predicted two weeks, McGee is released from the hospital. He is pale and somber, silent all the way home, the only movement coming from his head lolling with the movement of the vehicle. You don’t attempt conversation. He simply goes into his room but comes back out a moment later.
“Something wrong, McGee?”
“You’re still here.”
“Yup.”
“Why?”
“To keep you company.”
He looks at you suspiciously until you say, “Gibbs,” whereupon he returns to his room. You know he’s still on a few pain meds, so he’s going to sleep for a while. Dr. Benz told you that he’d had no nightmares at the hospital, but a change in surroundings could trigger them. You set up camp on his couch for the night, thinking about bringing an air mattress over for the remainder of your stay. You order pizza and soda for dinner, gently coaxing McGee out for food; you are pleasantly surprised when he eats two slices. For a moment he looks as though he might want to stay and watch a movie with you, but he returns to bed instead. You sigh as the door shuts behind him, getting out your multitude of DVDs. You get through M and Big Jake before you hear the first signs of a nightmare: whimpers and moans. However, you aren’t prepared for how quickly it escalates into loud, pleading screams. You break into a run, slamming into the door and flinging it open.
“McGee! McGee, wake up!”
“NO! No, please! Stop! NO! STOP!”
“MCGEE!”
You finally shake him into wakefulness. His eyes snap open, tears rolling, his breathing unchecked. He is dangerously close to hyperventilating, so you climb into bed behind him, your chest pressed to his back, trying to help him control his breathing. He squirms wildly at first, not comfortable with the position, but you whisper softly, “It’s okay, Tim. It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Just breathe with me. C’mon, buddy…”
He grips the sheets tightly (“You’re doing great, Tim.”), trying to do as you say (“Just breathe nice and slow… just like me…”), until his breathing is finally at a normal level. You suddenly realize McGee is shirtless. Little round scars, extremely faded, dot his back and arms; you wouldn’t have noticed them if you weren’t so close. Your fingers ghost over them, and McGee is shaking again.
“I’m sorry, Tony… I’m real-“
“No. You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing that happened is your fault. It’s okay. Come here…”
You maneuver your bodies so that you’re facing each other. He is crying softly but openly. You gently pull him close to you, rubbing his back and carefully pressing his head to your shoulder, your cheek resting on his head.
“It’s okay… you can let it out, Tim. Go ahead… let it out.”
As if on cue, sobs burst forth from his lips as his body shakes violently in your arms. He clutches at you as if you would disappear at any moment, his hands fisted tightly in your shirt. His breath rushes over your skin in sharp, humid bursts as his tears soak through your shirt. Heart wrenching sobs cause tears to slip from your own eyes, falling gently on his head. One hand works a soothing rhythm over his back, the other softly stroking his short hair.
“It’s gonna be okay. It’s all gonna be okay,” you repeat shakily, trying to make yourself believe, too, “It’ll get better, Tim. I promise it’ll get better.”