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Puppet Master

Summary:

What happened to Tim, and where is his team? Who can he trust when he has no memories to fall back on?  Can Gibbs and the team figure out what has happened in time to save him?  Not a death fic. Set late in Season 5.

Final word count - 35,629

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Notes:

The warning that I DID NOT put on this story is the important one.

If you recognize them, I don't own them, but I would sure take better care of them.

Chapter Text

 


Puppet Master



"... our only salvation lies in resurrecting the dead and burying the living."

Paul Eldridge

~@~





~Prologue~



Pain was the first sensation as awareness returned. Disembodied voices circled around him like the annoying gnats he remembered from summers on his grandparents' farm.


Can you hear me?


Squeeze my hand, sir.


Blood pressure's falling.


Can you hear me Agent McGee?


Is anyone here for him? We need consent to operate.


Agent McGee?


Agent McGee?


The darkness beckoned again and he welcomed the blankness as the only way to escape the pain.



---NCIS---



"Agent McGee, can you hear me?" The choice whether to open his eyes or not was taken as blunt fingers pried one eye open and shined a bright light at it. He winced as the light stabbed a sharp pain through his skull and his eyelid was released. Relief was fleeting as the hand moved to his other eye. This time he forced his lid to stay open when it was released. He was barely successful, but he could see light and shadows through his partially open eyes.


"... wha' h...pnd?"


"Agent McGee, what is the last thing you remember?"


"...T'ny... gl'd... my f'ngers...k...brd."


He didn't see the worried looks exchanged over him as the drugs pulled him back under.



---NCIS---



The third time awareness crept in, the pain was muted, as was the light. A figure sat next to him, silhouetted in the light from the hallway. "Hello, Tim."


"Dir'ctor Sh'pard?"


"Lay still, Tim, you've been badly injured." She stroked his hair as she spoke, the soothing actions reminding him of his mother when he'd been sick as a child. It wasn't what he wanted. Where was the head slap and the orders to recover?


"G'bbs?"


The hand continued with a steady rhythm. "Do you remember how you were hurt, Tim?"


He started to panic as the memories refused to kick in. "What happ'nd, why 'm alone?"


The pressure from her hand was firmer. "What is the last thing you remember, Tim?"


"Not s're."


"Focus, Agent McGee. What is the last thing you remember?" The grip on his hair was becoming painful.


He blinked as he eyes watered, trying to force the lost memories. "I can't... wait...Tony... play'ng joke... me. Please, what happ'nd, where's my team?"


"I'm so sorry, Tim. You were the only survivor."


"I don't under... underst'nd."


"It was a trap. The bomb killed the rest of your team." She ignored the beeps and alarms of the monitors as he struggled with the knowledge.


"No, no, it can't be. Why did I live? Why me?"


"Gibbs saved you, Tim. His body covered you, protected you." The sound of footsteps converging on the small room could be heard.


"No... no..." He felt the sharp prick on his arm and welcomed the oncoming darkness.