No Second Chances

It had been a long day. It was nearly 11:30 when Gibbs came down to the lab. The crew had spent the day searching for fugitive Nathan West, but he seemed to elude them at every turn.

"Abby, it's really late," Gibbs said, "Let me give you a ride home."

Gibbs knew her car was still in the shop.

Exhausted, she accepted.

They had only been on the road for about 10 minutes when a truck came careening from a side street. "Hold on Abbs," Gibbs shouted as they were hit broad-side. Abby heard a thud and the sound of breaking glass.

The impact with the truck pushed them across the opposite lane, over a small embankment, and flipped the car.

Then there was silence and everything went dark.

*** ***

Abby opened her eyes.

It was dark and her head hurt. "Where am I," she thought, "What happened?"

The room was cold and damp and smelled faintly of dirt.

As she stood up, her head began pounding and she raised her hand to her mouth fearing she was going to be sick. She stood still for a moment trying to let the feeling pass and trying to remember what had happened.

Gibbs, he was driving her home. "Gibbs?" she whispered.

At first she heard nothing. Then she heard a choking sound. Anxiously, she started searching for light. As her hands traveled along the wall, she found a light switch. A low-volt bulbdimly revealed the room.

It was a small room, windowless and cold. Shelves lined the walls and there was an old wooden ladder leading up to a door. The room looked like an old cellar. There were rusted gardening tools, old, burlap potatoes sacks, and small glass jars full of odds and ends.

Gibbs was lying in the corner. His breathing was labored and he was shivering.

"Gibbs! Are you okay?" Abby asked, knowing that he wasn't.

Gibbs tried to talk, but his voice was gurgled. Trying to raise his head he whispered, "Abbs."

"Your injured," she said, "Oh my God, Gibbs, what's wrong?"

She knelt down to examine him.

His shirt was caked with blood and his breaths were shallow and labored. Pulling up his shirt, she found a small wound near his ribcage. It looked like a bullet hole, but when did this happen? She couldn't remember anything and now she was trapped in a cellar and Gibbs was dying. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Pull yourself together," she said to herself. "You can't help him if you fall apart. Gibbs needs your help." He had always taken care of her—had promised that nothing bad would happen. Now he needed her help or he was going to die.

She grabbed his shirttail and held it firmly against the wound.

"Take a breath Gibbs," she pleaded, "Please breath."

He inhaled deeply and then coughed violently. Flecks of blood splattered on her shirt and arms and he moaned in pain. He couldn't breath. There was a wheezing sound every time he took a breath.

Abby had seen this type of wound before—although it had been on a TV show. A young girl had fallen through a glass door and had a shard of glass pierce her chest. A neighbor had initially treated her by placing a piece of plastic over the wound and taping it down on three sides. There wasn't time to waste and she had no other ideas.

Frantically, Abby began searching the shelves for supplies. There was an old dusty role of duct tape. Plastic…where was some plastic? In the corner was a plastic bag full of potting soil. Ripping the bag, she emptied the soil and tore a 5" by 5" scrap of plastic from the bag. She rubbed it against her shirt in a futile attempt to clean it off. Placing the cleaner side down, she laid it over the wound and taped down the top and edges.

"This will help Gibbs, hold on for me, please." She rolled up a burlap sack and placed it under his head. Then, she gently rolled him onto his injured side to help compress the wound.

Abby sat observing him for a moment, hoping that she has made the right call, and that this might really work.

After a few minutes, Gibbs began to breath more easily but he was still violently shivering.

"Shock," Abby suddenly surmised, "He's going into shock."

She took off her jacket and covered Gibbs. Then, she grabbed two more burlap sacks, covered him and tucked them under his chest and knees. Finally, she laid down behind him in a spoon position, using her body to help warm him. As she draped her arm over his side, she felt his hand grasp hers tightly and pull it against his chest.

"You can't die on me Gibbs," she cried, "You just can't."

Abby nestled her face into the back of his hair. As she did, she realized that she'd never been so close to him. She breathed in his scent, wishing that they were anywhere else.

Up until now, she had never thought of Gibbs as more than a friend and protector. The feelings that welled up in her now were different, so intense—a fierce need to protect him, unimaginable fear of losing him, and love—an intense, overwhelming love like she'd never felt before. The fleeting thoughts were unsettling, but they were also undeniable.

After a few minutes, Abby started to feel Gibbs relax and his shivering subsided. Abby gripped him a little tighter and closed her eyes.

"Please don't let us die," she prayed. "Please don't let him die."