"YOU ARE NOT DONE UNTIL I SAY YOU'RE DONE!"
"YES, SIR!"
"ARE YOU DONE, MARINE?"
"NO, SIR!"
With the long ago echo of his drill instructor in his ears, Leroy Jethro Gibbs breathed.
Just breathed.
Still on his back, eyes level with McGee's filthy boots he felt the jolt as the helicopter skids separated from the deck of the ship that had been their prison.
The ship that he had assumed would be his grave.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
The plan, the world's slowest moving escape plan, wasn't supposed to be more than a mental exercise; a distraction; a grounding for sanity when their bodies couldn't fail fast enough.
It wasn't clear to him exactly when he had given up hope; he had held on to it even as they had trudged deeper and deeper into the rainforest. Kept it up when they first arrived at the ship, maintained it even as his finger was broken and broken again as he refused to comply with their captor's questions.
But somewhere between wake-up calls with that damn baseball bat and various sessions of 'fun' with the guards, the plan had become, at best, a way to provoke a confrontation leading to a fast death. At worst, they would succeed in getting off the ship only to die slowly, starved and lost in the jungle.
He had moments of lucidity when he would grieve for the life Tim had sacrificed. He had kept up the illusion of hope as the last and only measure of comfort he could provide to the younger man who had been foolish enough to follow him without question.
It wasn't until Ellie Bishop's voice came through the phone that he felt the flicker of hope again, allowed himself to imagine anything more to be possible.
With that unexpected voice came images of home; quiet mornings in the bull pen, late night chats in autopsy, hugs from Abbey, repairing Bishop's truck in the parking lot, quiet commiseration from Leon, the soothing blankness of sanding a plank of wood, the simple comfort of a clean shirt.
Somehow an image of pure imagination also flicked through; Tim holding a blanketed bundle in his arms.
For that Gibbs found himself returning; like a spirit pulled from the ether. In a second his mind jumped back into 'boss-mode' and was working through the possibilities of getting to the top deck in time for their miracle.
For the man who had dutifully kept up his belief in him, who had made sure that no scrap of food went to waste, whose voice and encouragement he had clung to during the darkest moments, for the man who was stronger than Gibbs could have ever imagined 14 years ago.
For Tim, Gibbs allowed himself to believe their plan would work, and that he could get them through the ship and to the helo. Even as they ran the steps Gibbs wasn't sure if he really believed they would make it or if he was still pretending for Tim's sake.
The reality seemed so far away that he hesitated when he first saw the helicopter, actually there, hovering, waiting for them.
He knew that nothing was certain, so he ensured Tim was lifted on to the bird first; he would not risk leaving him behind.
Once Tim was on, Gibbs had exhaled, the job was done and he almost forgot to raise his arms to clamor on to the flight himself.
It seemed unreal. He wasn't supposed to have made it. He had made his peace with the inevitability of death in a way he never had before.
Yet here he was, escaping.
He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and focus on the wind whipping through cabin but the sound of military Spanish had him focusing on the feel of his father's colt still in his hand.
His time in Columbia had taught him to be wary of South American troops. He knew it wasn't a fair judgement, but he also knew that 'El Jefe' was likely not exaggerating his own influence. There was no space for assumptions or to let down his guard. Nothing was over yet and Gibbs would not entrust their deliverance to anyone who didn't swear to the American flag.
He tightened his grip on the pistol and pulled himself up to a sitting position. They had come this far and he would not give up hope again.
He clenched his teeth and focused, accepting the help as a hand reached under his bicep to pull him up into one of the secured chairs. Across the small cabin Tim's eyes were on him. Gibbs nodded once.
He would get them home.
