...Not sure where this came from. But I had fun writing it. I suppose, more me practicing writing and actually STICKING to a motif. I hope you enjoy :)
Ducky holds on to Breena's hand.
They don't speak; in fact, they hardly look at each other. Their eyes are always on the TV, the channel, always tuned to a news station. It didn't matter which one. All of them were covering the same thing.
Dramatic air shots of a smoking ruins.
Even more dramatic ground shots of pristine pictures of reporters in cleanly pressed suits with perfectly gleaming hair standing in the middle of a storm of dust and dirt they almost don't recognize as home.
Disturbing panoramas in studio of more of Dearing's work- more explosions, more traps, more cat and mouse. Just an endless reel of death.
And flames.
Death and flames.
They listen for any hints of their loved ones, and they listen for the telltale ring signaling the call of an update.
And Ducky holds on to Breena's hand, because her anchor isn't here, and he is her next best thing. He holds on to her hand as she catapulted into their world of uncertainty that is now her world, easing a transition that is impossible to ease, and hoping he can do Jimmy's job as Jimmy does his.
Maybe he holds on to her hand because he needs something of an anchor, too, because he isn't sure what home is anymore.
Maybe.
Jimmy holds on to his scalpel.
He wants to be in the hospital, with Dr. Mallard. Or home with Breena. Or even in the classroom listening to his professors lecture- he just wants to be anywhere but here. But he is needed the most here, and, thus, here he is.
Funny. All he'd wanted was to be needed, and then a bomb went off, and now, he'd love to go back to just being the assistant who's name nobody knew.
He hasn't even begun autopsies yet. Just identifying bodies.
The fact that he's identified three himself makes a sickening feeling of nausea sweep through him until he's about to vomit on the ruins before him.
The fact that's that's three out of thirteen is what tips the scales and sends him coughing up bile onto the sidewalk.
The scalpel is shiny; so bright and brand new, just like the ring on his finger. The instrument feels as natural in his hand as air in his lungs and he wonders if it's bad that the ring doesn't feel as right there as something used to cut up dead people, and then realizes he's spending his honeymoon in a cocoon of misery and despair, and Jimmy wonders if he's not cut out for that life.
Marriage- not NCIS.
He identifies another body, closes his eyes, thinks of Dr. Mallard and Breena, and holds on to his scalpel, because that's all he knows.
Abby holds on to a, by now, lukewarm coffee cup.
She really didn't like coffee. She got her caffeine fix from her Cafe Pows; a little more expensive than Starbucks, and certainly less healthy than the already unhealthy drink of Gibbs and his team, but she just couldn't stand the taste.
But Tim did. So first thing she'd done was order a cup of hot coffee from Starbucks, milk and cream included, and she waited, keeping the cup warm with her hands- waiting until she could give it to Tim.
She watches the doors to the ER, flinching every time a doctor steps through, because she knows, even though she hopes otherwise, that Tim isn't going to walk out under his own power.
Abby clutches the cup tighter and closes her eyes.
"He was on the second floor when it went off- in front of a window."
A sob starts to build in Abby's throat.
"Only survivor on the floor that I found."
She can't breathe.
"Tim! Tim, listen to me! You don't have permission to die. You DON'T HAVE PERMISSION TO DIE."
The sob breaks free, and she's gasping and crying into her hand.
The other still grasps the coffee cup.
Abby opens her eyes, but it doesn't matter; she can still smell smoke, still hear sirens, sirens, sirens that break the utter stillness, still see Gibbs standing by that ambulance- leaning over the gurney-
and Tim.
"Timmy," she gasps. It hurts to talk; hurts even more to breathe. "Timmy."
Why was he still inside why was he hurt why did the bomb have to go off why Tim, why Tim, why Tim, why-
Tears drip steadily down onto the coffee cup. And Abby just holds it tighter.
For Tim.
I have coffee for you, Tim. Just for you.
So, pretty please, come and get it. Or- I'll even come to you!
Just... pretty, pretty, please be okay...
McGee holds on to a flashdrive.
He's floated in and out of consciousness since the blast, and isn't really sure when the floating turned into coherency. But the whole time, he's held on to that tiny rectangular object that was now slick with sweat, and he still holds it now.
He'd woken up with the ER with the flashdrive in his hand, and he'd refused to let it go. No matter how much the nurses tried to pry open his fist, he wouldn't let it go; the flashdrive was important. He can't remember why. His head rings and his vision flashes and he doesn't remember anything but Harper Dearing, the bomb, and Gibbs.
Gibbs saying, You don't have permission to die.
He wasn't sure why Gibbs had said that, but Gibbs didn't give orders for nothing, and he had learned long ago that one of the worst mistakes he could make would be disobeying Gibbs.
So McGee fights for each breath, lets the doctors work through his lethargic haze- and holds on to that flashdrive.
He can't remember what's on it, but he knows it's important. So he holds on to it; he's decided that he will hold on to it until he can give it to Gibbs.
Gibbs will know what to do.
He holds on to the flashdrive, and he waits.
Gibbs will come.
Ziva holds on to her gun.
It's second nature. The explosion rocks the building, sends the both of them careening into the walls, traps them in this little metal box in between the walls, the lights flicker out, and when it's all over, her gun is somehow in her hand, and she does not want to let go of it.
Harper Dearing was an enemy, and he'd made his first attack. She can't let her guard down now or he would be able to strike again.
She's been through enough explosions to recognize she's reacting as if she's in shock. That is to say, not rationally. The elevator is safe, at least, from Dearing, and there's no reason to hold on to her gun as tight as a lifeline. But that doesn't stop her from hearing the sounds of danger and reverting to the primal, instinctual animal created by her training. The animal Tony called 'Mossad ninja', and that she saw a little of in Gibbs' marine persona- the animal that knew only fight or flight.
And, in reality, that knew only fight.
Ziva rationalizes it this time by telling herself that she doesn't just have herself to think about. She has Tony. This isn't just to protect herself from danger; she holds on to her gun because Tony can not protect himself right now, so, it falls to her, and she will do anything he needs her to.
That wasn't part of the animal Mossad created. The animal Mossad created had the goal of finishing the mission and that was it; protecting her partner was a much lower second priority.
Ziva didn't know when it became first.
For once, she was okay with not knowing.
She was okay with just protecting Tony.
Ziva holds on to her gun.
Tony holds on to Ziva's hand.
His head is ringing, ringing, ringing. He can't think; he can barely see. He knows his head went bang bang bang but he's not seeing stars like all old movies say he should. He knows how screwed up in the head head wounds can make him, that it's not like TV and he can't take a whack to the head, then just stand up and keep on dancing on his way. So he knows that he's just screwed up in the head right now.
That's okay, though. Ziva's here. And with her crazy ninja skills on his side, he can afford to be a little loopy.
Even if he would never say that out loud.
Tony hears Ziva panting beside him, and she's moving, though blurred vision he can see her constantly twitching and jumping about like something's wrong, but her hand is still in his. So he squeezes it, and he says, "Relax, Ziva; calm down," or he tries to, but his tongue feels thick, and he's sure it came out slurred. But Ziva did still, and Tony grins.
Loopy, loopy, loopy in the head. So loopy. Tony laughs, and then there's an earthquake, and everything creaks and crashes and bounces around. He feels like he's falling and the sight of Ziva becomes even more erratic; she twitches towards him then away, grasping tight to something, and he grasps on to her, too, before the falling stops, and the earthquake is over.
He still holds on to her. Crazy ninja skills can protect him from danger, maybe- but he can protect her from falling.
Tony holds on to Ziva's hand.
Gibbs holds on to lots of things.
He holds tightly on to his cell phone as he speaks with Ducky. Doesn't apologize, because he knows Ducky knows why he can't be in Florida right now, and doesn't want Ducky to waste precious breath telling him apologies are a sign of weakness. He knows that, too.
Gibbs just explains, in short, clipped tones, everything Ducky wants to hear. Tony and Ziva, trapped in an elevator- Ziva, fine, but Tony with a head injury and zinged out of his mind. McGee, caught in the worst of it, being rushed to the hospital just as they spoke, but paramedics had said what paramedics always said, No promises, Agent Gibbs, but he should be fine.
Gibbs promises Ducky that he'll have Harper Dearing on his table.
He holds the phone even tighter when Breena is put on, and he asks about the good doctor's condition, because he knows Ducky won't be honest. He wonders if this a curse, Ducky's near death and this destruction all at once, because he doesn't believe in coincidences, and for a split second, thinks that Dearing is responsible for Ducky's heart attack, too.
Gibbs holds Palmer's shoulder as the assistant gets sick on the cracked sidewalk. He isn't the only one losing his lunch, but he is one of the few here that didn't sign up for this. Palmer's usually the twitchy one, but now, he's too far gone to even be embarrassed. They all are.
When Palmer rubs a dirty sleeve across his eyes and lets out one deep, shuddering breath, he steers him back towards the rows of bodies.
He doesn't ask if he can handle it.
It doesn't matter if he can or not. He just will.
Gibbs sees the shape of a wedding ring under the latex glove, pauses, but Palmer doesn't pause. He turns his back and walks firmly towards the end of the line of the dead- and if he's shaking, it doesn't slow him down.
He can handle it.
But there are those that can't handle it, and that's who he goes to, next. Abby's in tears when he finds her, but her head's on right, and he thinks tears are better than shock. He checks her over again, makes sure she really went to go see the paramedics he sent her to, then asks, because he can't deny the knot of worry growing in his stomach, why she's not with McGee.
Abby shakes her head, wipes her eyes, and just tells him she doesn't like seeing her Tim hurt like this.
Gibbs sighs. That, he can understand. That is typical Abby, and anything that is typical Abby is good.
Then she looks at him with fire in her eyes, and she says, "Gibbs, kill him."
That's not typical Abby, but Dearing took her home from her- from them- and he tried to kill them all, so he can still understand.
He kisses his forehead. That, is promise enough.
He holds the pieces of Abby's broken heart until she is strong enough to put them back together again.
As distraught as she is, she, just as much as them all, knows how important his work is now, and she lets him slip away without protest. Lets him slip into McGee's room, where it is dark and still, and lets him make sure with his own two eyes that his agent is safe.
McGee is still, but he's breathing easier than when he'd last seen him, and he's now awake and coherent, not just awake. Gibbs' eyes linger on where he knows, just hours previously, a shard of glass pierced his side, and he frowns.
What were you still doing in there, son?
He takes a few steps forward, and McGee's green eyes blink, drifting to meet his, and then, they're suddenly alive again. Gibbs nods approvingly, the gesture more than any words he can think to say, but McGee is quickly agitated, and one fisted hands roams vaguely from his side, towards Gibbs.
He steps forward again and reaches out to grasp the fist, and the moment his fingers have touched McGee's cold and clammy ones, the agent relaxes. The fists falls into a slack, limp grip- and drops something into Gibbs' hand.
Gibbs stares at it.
It's a flashdrive.
He wonders at the inexplicable sight for just a moment, but then, it all makes sense, and the conflicted storm inside him just gets even worse. He swallows as he stares at the flashdrive, then coughs and closes his hand around it, holding it tight, and looks back to McGee. The slight tension that was there before has all drained away, as if that flashdrive was his last singular purpose in life, and now he can finally rest, and Gibbs thinks, not for the first time, that McGee would've made a good marine.
McGee was already asleep when Gibbs, gently, gave him a light head slap.
"Hey. Tim."
McGee's eyes fluttered open, just a little.
"Don't. Ever. Do something like that. Again. Are we clear?"
He blinks, surprise flitting across his tired features- but then, he nods.
Gibbs smiles again.
"Good work today, McGee."
And then he leaves- holding on to the precious flashdrive.
Rescue crews take a long time to infiltrate the unsteady building, and even longer to free Tony and Ziva, but Gibbs is there, when they finally get out. He's the first one to get a look at the trapped agents, and he's the first one to reach a hand in to help them finally escape. He holds Ziva's gun once he's eased it from her shaking hand that he doesn't think she realizes is shaking, and he tells her everything is over now. He doesn't know if it's just her training on account of the shock of everything that's happened, or if Ziva took a blow to the head, too, but he doesn't order her to a paramedic. He orders her to stay right beside him. When Tony's ready, they can go out together, but he's not letting her out of his sight.
He holds on to Tony's hand because it was a fight to get him to let go of Ziva, and if Gibbs hadn't grabbed his hand, he would've lost what little he had. He keeps on holding on to it because Tony can't stand on his own, and Gibbs' support is barely enough as it is.
Ziva's eyes are darting back and forth, dilated, almost confused, and he looks at her for a long moment until she meets his eye and nods. Ziva says she's okay, but he knows better than most her word is no promise when it comes to that, and he decides Harper Dearing will have to wait until he knows Ziva is okay. He knows Tony's not (and McGee certainly isn't), and, one hand on either one's shoulder, he leads them out to safety.
He head slaps them both, too, as gently as he did McGee, and tells them, "You never take an elevator in this situation again. Got it?"
Tony laughs, the sound grating and uneasy, and Ziva just manages a mute nod.
He decides further chastisement will wait until both of them are in their right minds.
Gibbs holds on to his team, as he sees it.
He has lost everything once, after all. He doesn't want to lose everything again.
So he holds on to his team. He holds them together until they're whole, and he keeps them safe until there is no danger to be kept safe from.