"Hop up then," Ducky said, patting the autopsy table invitingly.

"You know, Ducky," McGee said as he climbed, rather that hopped, up on the table. "I really didn't mean anything by what I said. Truly, no disrespect. I know you're a great doctor."

"I know, my boy," Ducky said as he gently helped McGee to remove his sling and jacket.

"It's just that sometimes it would be nice to see an anonymous face for these things. We work together every day, and this isn't even work related. You know?"

"Don't worry, Timothy. I'll be discretion itself." Ducky was patiently waiting for McGee to clumsily unbutton his shirt. "The time-honored practice of doctor-patient confidentiality has found its way even down into my dungeon."

"I know, Ducky. It's just a little embarrassing. And you're my friend." McGee carefully shrugged his shirt off the top of his shoulders to reveal a thick, bloodstained bandage taped to a spot right under his collarbone. "Where's Palmer?"

"Cleaning the coroner's van. He'll be a while yet," Ducky said, putting on rubber gloves. He peeled the tape off the bloodied bandage, peering over his glasses at what it'd been hiding.

"Dear heavens, Timothy," he exclaimed as the wound was revealed, "You've been shot!"

"I know," McGee said, looking away from him. "It's nothing, really."

But Ducky had narrowed his eyes as he pondered the swollen and damaged flesh. "Permit me to disagree. This is the exit wound. That means you were shot in the back."

"Yes, I know."

"I'm sorry," Ducky said quickly. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's just not quite what I was expecting. You were however right. The bleeding is because of a couple of torn stitches. But don't worry, that I can fix. What happened?"

"I don't know," McGee said. "I haven't been carrying anything heavy today. I thought the bus driver was driving rather erratic this morning. Maybe I was thrown around a little too much."

Ducky had actually been wondering how he'd gotten shot, but he didn't repeat his question. There would be time for that later. Instead he cleaned the area around the wound, cut away and pulled out the loose string, readied the suture and brought it up to McGee's chest, but stopped himself just before he pierced the skin.

"Oh my, I completely forgot," he exclaimed. "I don't usually have to ask my patients this, but would you like a local anesthetic?"

"It's just a few stitches, right?" McGee said hesitantly, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"Quite right. Two at the most."

"Then it won't be necessary," McGee decided. "I don't think it'll make much difference. I'm on pretty strong painkillers as it is."

"I should hope so. This isn't pretty." Ducky concentrated on the black thread for a minute before continuing, "What I don't understand is what you're doing here."

"Where else should I be?" McGee stared at a spot on the wall, trying to ignore what was being done to his shoulder. "Gibbs ordered me to go with you."

"I meant why you're here at work," Ducky clarified. "You should be at home, resting."

"At home, feeling sorry for myself, you mean," McGee said with a hint of self-loathing.

"No," Ducky said. "I meant resting. I know the squad room might seem rather testosterone charged, but for something like this, it's perfectly all right to stay at home and rest for a few days. When did this happen?"

"Friday night," McGee said, quickly changing the subject back to safer ground. "I'm just on desk duty anyway. Even if I stayed at home, I would be in front of the computer all day. I might as well be here and do something productive."

"I suppose. Perhaps I should speak with Gibbs, see about getting Tony to wait on you hand and foot for a week or two… hmm?" Ducky said with a playful smile.

McGee snorted, a bleak smile playing on his lips.

"There you go, all done." Ducky patted the last piece of tape in place on the new compress just as Gibbs barged in through the sliding doors. He shouldered Ducky to the side, placed his hands on the table on either side of McGee and leaned into him.

"Your gun was stolen and you didn't tell me?" His voice was low and menacing.

McGee's eyes shifted nervously. "I… I reported it right away, boss, both to the police and to the agency. I filled out all the appropriate paperwork and I'll get a new gun as soon as the doctor clears me. It will not affect my work."

Gibbs clearly wasn't placated. "You did all that, but you didn't tell me. What happened?"

"Some guys stole my car and the gun was in the glove compartment. I'm sorry."

"Are they the ones who shot you?" Ducky asked.

"Ducky!" McGee turned to him, accusingly. "What happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?"

"Oh, dear." Ducky was clearly flustered. "I'm terribly sorry, McGee. I completely forgot."

McGee turned his head back and startled. Gibbs was if possibly even closer, their noses only millimeters from touching.

"You got shot and you didn't tell me?" Gibbs' voice was pure steel.

"I… I… um… I didn't…"

But Gibbs wasn't interested in feeble apologies, instead he went straight for the kill. "Your gun was used to kill two marines on Saturday morning."

McGee paled noticeably. "He… he killed someone?"

Gibbs did a double-take. "You know who did it?"

"Yes," McGee tried to explain. "And so does the police. They've been looking for him since I reported the theft. What are you doing?" he asked as he felt Ducky tug on his shirt from behind.

"I just want to check the entry wound, make sure everything's all right," Ducky said comfortingly.

"That's not necessary," McGee said, trying to pull his shirt back on.

"Oh, it's no bother," Ducky said lightly, also pulling at the shirt and winning.

"Ducky, I said no," McGee said sharply, but it was too late, the shirt was already half-way down his back and he closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

After a brief pause he heard, "Oh, Timothy." Ducky's voice was heavy with sadness. "What did they do to you?"

Gibbs looked up from his intense scrutiny of McGee's face and looked at Ducky over McGee's head.

"This is just… oh, Timothy. Can I see? Please?" He pulled the shirt further down McGee's now unresisting arms, the white cloth gathering at his waist, his arms still trapped by the sleeves. McGee hung his head in shame as Gibbs moved around the table, McGee powerless to stop him from looking.

One look at McGee's back was enough for Gibbs' anger to dissipate completely only to flare up again, now redirected. He put a hand on McGee's tense left shoulder in silent support, careful not to touch anything.

"Who did this to you?" he asked softly.

"It doesn't matter, it's being taken care of," McGee said tonelessly, carefully avoiding looking back at them.

"Of course it matters," Gibbs said, sounding angry again. "And you're an NCIS agent; this is an NCIS case."

"It happened on my own time," McGee stubbornly tried, but it was a feeble argument, and he knew it.

"When it happened isn't important," Gibbs said. "You are NCIS 24/7. You are always our responsibility. Something that is equally important, however, is that this was done by someone who stole your gun and killed two marines with it. Like it or not, that makes it a NCIS case."

He moved around the table to face McGee. "Quinn's team is already all over it, the evidence is with Abby, the dead marines are in there." He pointed to the coolers across the room and McGee's eyes involuntary followed his finger.

"So we'll let Quinn deal with it," McGee said, tearing his eyes away from the coolers. "I'll go talk to him." He made a move as if he was getting off the table, but Gibbs put his hand back on his shoulder, holding him still.

"Do you really think I'm going to let someone else take this case, your case?" Gibbs' voice left no room for objections, but McGee tried anyway.

"That's not necessary. Quinn's good, so is his team."

"No," Gibbs bit him off. "They're not good enough. They're not as good as my team."

"Quinn will…"

"No. You deserve the best."

"Boss…"

"This isn't a discussion, McGee. I'm talking to the director right now." Gibbs practically ran out of the room, deaf to McGee's protests.

Ducky helped McGee to put his shirt back on in the uncomfortable silence Gibbs had left behind. "What's wrong, Timothy? Besides the obvious, of course."

"I don't want them to know," McGee said dejectedly, his head still hanging. "I didn't want him to know. I didn't want anyone to know. You were right; I should've stayed at home."

"I'm sorry I told him, Timothy," Ducky said, putting McGee's arm back into the sling. "I'm sorry if I forced you into something you weren't ready for. But it would've come out anyway. Things always do. And I don't understand why you don't want them to help. You're the victim here."

"Exactly," McGee said bitterly. "Gibbs doesn't need a victim on his team."

Ducky frowned. "What are you talking about? I've patched them all up for all kinds of things over the years."

"But have you ever thought of them as victims? Haven't they always come out on the other side as winners?"

"So will you, Timothy," Ducky tried to console him.

"How can I? How can I ever look them in the eyes once they know?"

"It won't be difficult. I promise you, you have nothing to be ashamed of. That's all in your head. You just have to trust them… trust us."

McGee looked up at him forlornly. "Trust…" he said slowly, as if he'd never heard the word before.

"Yes, trust. Are you ready to tell us what happened now?" Ducky asked softly.

McGee turned away from him. "I have to go. Thanks for all your help."

TBC…