Gibbs sat alone in the waiting room, staring blindly at the picture on the wall. Instead of the bucolic green field, he saw a pair of agonized eyes. Instead of the old wooden barn, he saw the burned husk of a once-strong and vibrant agent. Instead of a scene full of life and joy, he saw empty pain and hopelessness.
Slowly, he got to his feet and made his way to ICU. He caught the eyes of the waiting agents, but was blind to the understanding in each gaze. He heard the muffled sobs, but they were drowned by the pounding of his aching heart. He felt the touch of his oldest friend, but he was numb to all comfort.
Without stopping, he carefully entered the room, moving passed the sterile plastic curtains and automatically avoiding the machines and IVs that crowded around the bed. He ignored the stares and protests of the medical personnel who still struggled to perform a miracle that he could no longer believe in. All he could do to help was let go.
After a few seconds to gather more courage than he knew he possessed, Gibbs leaned over to whisper in his agent's ear. "It's okay, McGee. You have my permission."
The twisted lips smoothed into a small smile, and the clouded eyes cleared for an instance, shining with gratitude before they closed.
As the machines went off with their alerts, Gibbs lowered his head ... and cried.