A/N: This chapter has been a long time coming. Sorry for the ridiculously long delay, real life has been a bit full on lately!

This is the last chapter of this story, and there will be a sequel dealing a bit better with the aftermath. Hopefully I'll be able to start posting it soon.

Huge thanks go to Trina109, my beta and good friend. Without your encouragement, I doubt this would've gotten written.

McGee's new state of consciousness didn't last long.

The medical team subjected him to a battery of tests-including the MRI they'd been wanting to do- checking his reflexes, his responses to pain, his memory and his cognitive abilities, as well as a host of blood and other medical tests that Abby couldn't remember. There were so many of them. And throughout it all, McGee had gritted his teeth and borne it, squeezing her hand at intervals as if to make sure she was still there.

It seemed to Abby that he'd barely woken up before he was drifting off to sleep again. She tried not to think that it was a symptom of any brain injury he may have received, forcing herself to think instead of what he'd been through in the last few days. But sitting there, alone, next to his bed in the darkened ICU, made it too easy to believe the worst.

She was relieved when Ducky arrived and was able to talk her out of the worst of her gloom. The elderly Scotsman just made too much sense to ignore. And she was in the room when McGee's team of doctors met with Ducky, talking in low voiced whispers and throwing around medical terms that she didn't really understand.

Ducky's translation dispelled the last of her gloom.

"Most of Timothy's test results have come back remarkably normal for someone who has been in a coma for several days. In the morning, they will be able to move him to a normal ward."

She jumped up and hugged the older man, unable to express her jubilation any other way. When she'd calmed down a little, questions started to form in her mind. The foremost of which was "What about the MRI?"

Ducky sighed. "They either weren't able to or weren't willing to tell me, Abigail. Telling me any information at all is a matter of professional courtesy, as I am on record as Timothy's personal physician."

She had to be satisfied with that.

...

Gibbs closed his eyes in relief as the gist of Abby's excited phone call sunk in. Leaning back in his desk chair until his spine popped- he'd spent too much time at the office lately- he allowed himself a rather rare smile.

Straightening up, he saw that both Tony and Ziva's eyes were on him and knew they'd been trying to overhear his mostly one-sided conversation. Unwilling to keep them in suspense- McGee was family, after all- he grinned again.

"They're moving McGee to a regular room."

Tony stretched his arms back over his head in a 'victory' pose.

"When?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"That is good news." Ziva's characteristically quieter reaction was nevertheless heartfelt.

"Yeah." Gibbs made a shooing motion with his hands towards his team. "Go on, get out of here."

They didn't need telling twice, grabbing their belongings and heading for the elevator. As they left, Gibbs could hear them arguing over who got to visit McGee first. Shaking his head, he looked up at the catwalk. Seeing a gleam of light from upstairs, he made his way up the steps two at a time to deliver the good news.

...

The transfer was accomplished the next morning with, to McGee's mind, a great deal of fuss. He still felt completely exhausted; at first it was easier to just let the assorted doctors and nurses do whatever they were bent on doing without wondering why he was being subjected to the seemingly endless tests and questions.

But as his patience wore more and more thin, and his foggy mind became a little clearer, he realised that everyone's- including his family, his team mates, and even Abby- smiles seemed a little forced, that everyone was a little bit edgy. What was going on?

Finally, he was settled in a different room- he was amused briefly that it was a private room, wondering who had managed to get his insurance to spring for that- and everyone had made their excuses and left him to get some rest. Well, everyone except Abby. He still didn't want to let her out of his sight if he could help it. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that she was here, with him, and not lying in Ducky's cold storage. He shook his head, trying to dispel the awful memory of her unconscious- or dead, as he'd thought- and instantly regretting it as it set up a wave of pain through his heavily bandaged head.

Looking over at her now, he reached for her hand and flinched a little when she wouldn't look at him. He hadn't been imagining it. She wouldn't meet his eyes. He sighed.

"Abby, what is it? What is everyone avoiding telling me?"

Her head came up at that, her green eyes suddenly wary and he knew he was right. She was- everyone was- hiding something from him. But they'd thought wrong if they'd depended on Abby not to tell him. She was horrible at keeping secrets, especially from him. She shook her head a little and he knew she was going to try to avoid telling him the truth.

"Abby, if you don't tell me..."

"The doctors said not to, they said it should wait until you're a bit more recovered..."

"Why? What is it?" He couldn't help getting a bit panicky now. "Something's wrong, isn't it? Am I- am I dying?"

She shook her head again, taking a deep breath.

...

Brain damage.

He felt the knowledge sink in, feeling like a lead weight in his chest and stomach, pinning him to the bed.

Brain damage.

The man with his steel pipe had really done his worst, hadn't he?

From what Abby said, they didn't know for sure what the extent of the damage was- or what impairments he might have to expect, to live with.

He felt like crying. His intelligence, his skills, his *brain* was the only advantage he had. His whole life, he'd been-if not the smartest kid in the class- at least close to it. He'd fought for acceptance his whole life because of it. It wasn't easy being the geek, especially when your whole ambition was to work in a profession traditionally dominated by jocks. And now...

How much of that had he lost? Abby had said that the doctors thought the damage was limited to his occipital lobes. His anatomy knowledge was extremely rusty, but he thought he remembered that the occipital lobe had something to do with sight... right? He immediately tried to see if there was anything wrong with his sight, but couldn't notice any difference. Frustrated, he lay back, staring at the ceiling.

What would happen now?

Giving himself a mental shake, he forced his mind back to a more positive outlook. Until they knew how extensive the damage was, he had to hope for the best. If the effects were just a reduction in his sight, well, he could live with that. It wouldn't necessarily even affect his job- after all, there were many field agents with worse eyesight than his, including Gibbs.

If the effects were worse... well, he'd learn how to deal with them.

He had to.