When Leroy Jethro Gibbs heard his front door opening and closing softly at 2 in the morning his eyes shot open and he automatically reached for his gun resting in the drawer beside his bed. Climbing out of his bed and creeping out of his room, he kept his back close to the walls as he slowly made his way down the stairs until he was in his hallway. Seeing the light that was creeping out from under his kitchen door he snuck towards it, getting ready to attack whoever had easily let themselves into his home at an ungodly hour.
The sound of retching made his ears perk up and he slowly pushed the kitchen door open until he could see the figure that was leaning over his garbage can being rather violently sick. He instantly knew it was Tim McGee, his youngest agent, and he pushed the door fully open just as McGee spat for a final time into the garbage.
"McGee?"
Gibbs rushed across the kitchen just in time as McGee threw his head up in shock and his knees buckled sending him plummeting to the ground. With his arms wrapped around McGee's chest, Gibbs gently lowered him to the ground before crouching down beside him. He was shocked to see McGee's face. The young man's face was a mass of bruises, with one eye slightly swollen shut and his bottom lip split. McGee took a moment to collect himself and figure out which way was up before he opened his eyes as best he could and looked at his boss.
"Sorry boss, didn't know where else to go," he admitted, looking down at the floor again when he realised that he had snuck into his boss' home and awoken him in the early hours of a Saturday morning and suddenly the guilt hit him.
"I should go," he stated, putting his shaking arms behind him and trying to push himself up off the cold kitchen floor. His right arm collapsed beneath him and he moaned, falling back onto the floor and cradling his injured arm as close to his body as he could get it.
"What happened McGee?" Gibbs asked, his voice softer than McGee had ever heard it before.
McGee could only shake his head as he struggled to keep from crying. He had already technically broken into his boss' house, the last thing he needed was to cry in front of him as well.
"C'mon, let's move you onto the couch," Gibbs announced, knowing full well his agent was in pain and that moving him into a more comfortable environment would be the best thing for him for now. He gently hoisted McGee up by hooking his arms under his agent's and quickly catching him again when he threatened to collapse back onto the floor.
Slowly they made their way into the living room and Gibbs deposited McGee onto the couch, making sure he wasn't going to fall onto the floor before he went into the kitchen to grab a glass of water and some Tylenol.
"You going to tell me what happened now?" Gibbs questioned again handing the items to McGee and making sure he took the painkillers. Taking the glass back off him again, he leant forward from where he sat on the coffee table and stared straight into his agent's eyes.
"It's not important," McGee mumbled, barely able to get the words past his aching lip. His head felt odd; it was as though there was a marching band practicing on his brain but every time he moved his head he felt faint and his vision blurred.
"When you show up to my house looking like that at 2am it's important."
McGee could see that Gibbs was not going to let go of this and as much as he didn't want to tell his boss what had happened, he realised that there was only so long he could keep quiet.
"I just got jumped by some guys when I was walking to the store," McGee explained, looking fearfully to his left before looking back up at his boss.
"You're lying."
McGee looked up and instantly regretted it as the world spun before him.
"No I'm not," he argued, turning away from Gibbs, not wanting to show his boss that he was struggling to keep control of his own head.
"You think I was born yesterday McGee? Tell me the truth." Gibbs stared hard at the young man, watching as he blinked rapidly obviously trying to clear the fuzz from his head.
When McGee looked up again his face looked much greyer than it had before and Gibbs worried that he might faint at any moment.
"Fine," McGee huffed, clearing his throat softly, "I got jumped by the Bellatos."
Gibbs' team had recently been working a case that involved the rape and murder of two female petty officers. Their main suspect was Marty Bellato, but as of yet they had no conclusive evidence that could tie him into the attacks. Obviously Bellato's brothers thought that it was time they stopped looking.
"They want us to stop looking at the case," McGee explained as Gibbs tipped his head back and sighed deeply.
"We can't do that McGee."
"I know we can't do that and I don't want to, we need to prove that Bellato did it, but they said they'd go after Ziva if we don't stop looking. We have to warn her," McGee pleaded, reaching his hand down into his jacket frantically searching for his cell phone.
Gibbs' hand grabbed his arm before he could find it and placed it back across his lap. With a promise that they would phone Ziva and warn her about what had happened in the morning, Gibbs finally got McGee to calm down enough to take his jacket off. Taking the jacket off took much more effort than McGee thought it should have and it left him huffing for breath and gritting his teeth against the pain in his arm.
"Probably just sprained," Gibbs noted, taking McGee's arm before he could protest and pulling up the sleeve of his blood spattered shirt. McGee's wrist was swollen and his hand was trembling as Gibbs got up to go and get his first aid kit from the bathroom.
"You don't have to boss," McGee protested as Gibbs began to wrap a bandage around the injured limb.
"Either I do this or I take you to Ducky first thing tomorrow and I'll make sure he gives you a full examination," Gibbs threatened not even having to look at the young man's face to know that there was a look of frustration there.
"Fine," McGee concluded, resting back against the couch and letting his boss continue his ministrations.
"Let's get you upstairs."
McGee looked up in surprise at Gibbs' suggestion and immediately cursed himself as the world spun before him again. If it weren't for Gibbs reaching forward and steadying him, McGee had no doubt he would have been face down on the floor.
"It's not like you can go home," Gibbs explained, slowly helping McGee off the couch and with as little jostling as he could, got McGee upstairs into the spare bedroom. Setting his youngest agent on the bed, he left to go to his own room to grab a t-shirt and a spare pair of track bottoms. Heading back to the room he was all too aware of McGee being sick into the nearest garbage can and made it back just in time to see McGee push himself off the bed, wiping his mouth with his injured wrist and holding the can in the other.
"Sorry boss, I'll just go wash this out," McGee apologised softly, making to go out of the room and into the bathroom but was quickly stopped by Gibbs blocking the doorway.
"Sit down," Gibbs ordered, taking the garbage can out of McGee's hand and setting it in the hallway for him to clean out later on. McGee sat back on the bed with a wince and a barely audible moan as he gritted his teeth.
"Take your shirt off."
"What?" McGee asked, a notable sense of panic tingeing his voice. He gripped the quilt under his fingers and twisted it from both pain and worry.
"Simple request McGee." Gibbs called it a request but McGee knew from the tone of his voice and the stern look on his face that it was a definite order.
He gave a pain-filled sigh and slowly started to unbutton his shirt. When he had got down to the last button, he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and looked at the ground. In all the years Gibbs had been a marine, he doubted he had ever felt such disgust and such anger at what had happened to one man.
McGee's stomach was littered with bruises, some of them already darkening. Gibbs stared at McGee for a few minutes before he could get his anger under control and went over to the young man.
"Here," he said shortly, fixing the clean t-shirt so he could help McGee get it over his head and injured arm.
"Uh thanks boss," McGee stuttered, welcoming the aid for he was sure if it was left to him, getting the t-shirt on would not have been an option. He could barely lift his head never mind raising his arms above his shoulders. He felt like he had gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson and couldn't remember ever being this sore and bruised, even during his years at high school.
"Get some sleep McGee," Gibbs ordered, setting the jogging bottoms beside the younger man after helping him pull his shoes off and setting them off to the side.
"Really boss I should just go home, I'm sorry I woke you, it was stupid of me to come here," McGee stumbled over his words and struggled to get up. The world danced before his eyes and Gibbs managed to keep him upright.
"McGee, sit down."
There was no denying that Gibbs' tone meant business and for fear of making his boss angrier at him than he already was, McGee sat back onto the bed but refused to lift his eyes from the floor.
"You're in no fit state to get yourself home and how are you planning to climb all those stairs to get to your apartment? Stay here and I'll bring you home tomorrow," Gibbs promised patting the younger man on the shoulder as he headed for the door.
"Don't worry McGee, I'll make sure we get the Bellato's for this, nobody hurts my agents and gets away with it."
"Thanks boss," McGee whispered, smiling as best he could with his split lip. Gibbs simply returned the smile before heading back into the hall and closing the door behind him. Leaning against the wall he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He couldn't get McGee's battered face out of his head and every time he closed his eyes he saw the bruises. Sure he had seen people with much worse wounds in the past but it was the fact that this had been done to one of his own. McGee was like a son to him; he had practically helped to raise him from being the probie on the team to being one of the best agents Gibbs had ever known. Oh yes, he thought, we'll get them.