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chapter two
In order to get everyone where they needed to go, Tim, Ziva and Tony took the agency sedan back to NCIS to pick up their cars.
The odd little dance that they usually did, in order to figure out who was going to drive, didn't happen this time. Ziva nodded to Tony then announced, "He is too concussed to drive, my driving will only make his headache worse. Timothy, you will drive. Much as I hate that." She handed Tim the keys and got into the back seat. "I will ride in the back."
Tony just got into the passenger seat and laid his head back on the headrest. "Just drive, McGee. I think I'm starting to see double." Tony knew it was no use trying to hide how bad it was getting. He knew that the Gibbs slaps he'd gotten hadn't made anything worse. Gibbs slaps weren't that hard. Gibbs never smacked any of them any harder than you'd smack a toddler on the leg. It was more the idea than the actual pain. His protests and flinching were just for show. And to let Gibbs know he'd gotten the point. His concussion was just 'maturing'.
Tim just drove. He might not be a physician but he had a BS in biomedical engineering and he knew a concussion when he saw one. He worried about Tony a lot more than he let on. The man was always coming to work on Monday, not every one but a lot, hurt in some way. He was coming to the conclusion that the idiot was cage fighting, some damn undercover thing maybe.
When they got to the parking lot, Ziva scrambled out of the back seat, grabbed her pack and trotted off to her car. She had some calls to make to try to get her father to understand that she really wasn't coming back home.
Tim, on the other hand, took Tony's pack as well as his own. "Come on. I'll drive you home. You're not going to drive safely in that condition."
Tony started to object, swayed as his vision suddenly doubled, and gave up. "Sorry, McDriver. I know it's out of your way. But thanks."
Tim offered a sop to Tony's ego. "Yeah, just a good excuse to ride in my Porsche."
Tony just got into the car and sighed, "Got to admit, it's damn comfy."
Tim drove Tony home. When they got there he just got Tony's pack and his own and headed for the door. "Come on." Tim turned around just in time. Tony's knees buckled and he grabbed at the top of the car to keep from hitting the ground. Tim yelled, "Tony, hang on. I'm going to get the door open then come back for you."
Tony clung grimly to the car, determined not to go down in front of his probie. "Got it." He didn't bother trying to get his keys. They all had keys to each others homes, in case of some emergency; like now.
Tim opened the door, tossed their packs in and to the side. He hurried back to Tony.
"Ok, man, I've got you. Let's get in before you pass completely out."
Tony just groaned then mumbled, "On it, probie. I don't get why I'm so out of it." It was with some relief that he dropped onto his couch. "I don't usually react to a mild concussion like this. Bad, not good at all."
Tim ignored his rambling in favor of examining his eyes, then his prescriptions. "Ok, mild concussion, but double vision and dizziness? When is the last time you ate or slept properly?"
Tony considered that for a moment. "Slept ... three hours. Ate ... don't know. Had an energy bar after I woke up."
"You're an idiot. I don't know what you were doing but ... when did you sleep?"
"About ... 24 hours ago. Give or take." Tony groaned as his headache ramped up again. "Head ... hurts. Can't..." he gave in to dry heaves.
Tim scrambled to find something for Tony to puke into and wound up with the bathroom waste can. It was plastic and would wash easily enough. When Tony was through, Tim brought him a glass of water and a bottle of pills that he'd found in the medicine cabinet. "Here. Drink, then pills. Are these the right ones? If they're not, I'll go take another look."
Tony closed one eye. "That's the right one." He struggled to remember. "Oh, and I've got ... somewhere. Pocket? Don't..." But he succumbed to another round of heaves, producing nothing but a bit of bile.
Tim, worried now, searched both his pockets and backpack, coming up with the other prescriptions. "Ok. What ... Mmmm." he checked the labels and decided that taking them all together wouldn't do much harm. "Here. Take these too. I didn't see you take anything at the scene, so you're overdue for these."
Tony grumbled a bit but took the rest of his meds without more protest. He knew that they would probably just come right back up but it wasn't worth the effort to argue. He flinched slightly as a slice of buttered bread was shoved under his nose.
"Eat that. Two of those meds need to be taken with food. And ... if you only got three hours of sleep and an energy bar twenty-four hours ago, when was the time before that?" Tim had a fair idea what was wrong with Tony, he only needed this last bit of information to prove him right.
Tony sighed. "Um ... sleep? About two hours 12 hours or so before that and food ... MRE about the same time." Tony knew he was probably saying too much but he really didn't have a choice. He'd told his superiors that he wasn't going to lie to his team, no matter what. But he wasn't going to spill his guts either. He knew that his struggle to keep his secrets was almost over, but old habits die hard.
Tim shook his head. "I think you're more sleep deprived and hungry than you are concussed. I'll fix you something quick. Anything you'd particularly like?"
"Food. Don't care. Kitchen's stocked pretty good. Just ... nothing red." Tony realized he was listing to one side when Tim lifted his feet and started pulling off his shoes.
When he got them off he realized that Tony's socks were stuck to his feet. "Tony? What the hell?"
Tony just whimpered a bit as Tim accidentally, unknowingly tore the scabs off his blistered feet. He had realized they were really bad after he'd gotten to work. Now, all the blisters had burst, oozed and stuck to his socks. "I got a few blisters. Tired ... Tim, please, no questions. Not just yet."
"Ok, Tony, but ... if you're in some kind of trouble. I'll help you, just ... you have to tell me." Tim rubbed Tony's shoulder gently. "Let me help."
"Ok." Tony struggled with his increasing exhaustion, it was now snowballing on him and there was no way to stop the crash that was coming. "I need to eat and sleep before I'll make any sense at all."
Tim just got up put Tony's feet on the couch and headed for the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, "Soup ... not tomato, and a sandwich, ok?"
Tony mumbled something Tim took as agreement, so he started cooking.
As he riffled the kitchen for what he needed, he realized that Tony might be a confirmed bachelor but he could cook. The kitchen was well stocked with everything needed to make at least a weeks worth of meals. He decided on a rich chicken soup and a grilled cheese and bacon sandwich with herbal tea to drink. He hoped that this meal would help with his cold too.
"Tony, here, sit up." Tim knew that he wasn't going to get Tony to the kitchen table.
Tony dragged himself upright and blinked for a moment, trying to reorient himself. "Oh ... soup. Nice."
Tim watched at Tony just picked up the bowl and gulped the soup right from the rim. "Tony, sandwich." Tim picked up his spoon and started on his own soup.
Tony took a look at the sandwich. "Grilled cheese, but what else?"
Tim nodded at the sandwich. "Bacon. Mom always fixed it when I was sick. Thought I'd try it out on you. Is it ok?"
Tony took a bite. "Mmm, yeah, that's the stuff. Really good." He smiled at his friend and realized that he was only putting off telling him, any of them, because he knew that they'd be upset with him. But the program was 'need to know' and they hadn't. Now, due to a change in conditions, it was ending and all the participants had permission to reveal who and what they were, after official consent.
Tim finished eating then, rather hesitantly asked, "Should I call ... someone ... about your feet, I mean." He really didn't like the way they looked, and broken blisters could bring on infection, gangrene, amputation - he dragged those thoughts to a halt. He was beginning to feel really bad and his imagination was running rampant.
Tony, noticing the rather wild eyed look on Tim's face said, "Calm down, Probie. What's getting you in such a lather?"
Tim took a deep breath, he was too experienced, now, to act like a greenie. "I don't know what to do. How to help you. Should I call Ducky? Or someone else?"
Tony shook his head, trying to sort out the questions. He was a SEAL and a unit commander, when necessary, he should be able to deal with this. But his sleep deprived, crashing brain just couldn't. "I don't know. Just ... deal, ok? I'm too tired to care."
So Tim did the best he could. He called Gibbs.
.
Gibbs glanced at his watch as he answered the phone with his other hand. "Gibbs." it was still early, not quite 1700. He listened for a few moments then snapped his phone shut.
"Ducky, I gotta go. DiNozzo and McGee are both in trouble." Gibbs made a face. He wasn't sure what good he'd be with a concussed SEAL and a sick agent. But he had to go
Ducky looked up from his autopsy and asked, "What is it?"
"Not sure. But McGee sounds like he's on his last legs and he said that DiNozzo has something wrong with his feet? Sounded like he's got half an ocean up his nose." Gibbs rubbed his face with one hand. "I need to go assess the situation."
"I'll have Mr. Palmer go with you. He's nearly ready for his residency, so I'm sure he's quite capable of handling a cold and Special Agent DiNozzo's little problem." He pointed to his desk with his chin. "Just make sure that he gets that cream applied." He stripped off his gloves, called Palmer from his tiny office and waited until he poked his head into Autopsy. "Ah! Mr Palmer. It seems that both Agent McGee and Special Agent DiNozzo are in some sort of medical need. Do go with Special Agent Gibbs and tend to them."
Jimmy paled, eyed Gibbs like a snake ready to strike and stammered, "But ... Dr Mallard. I ... I shouldn't. I'm not ... I don't."
Ducky dismissed his misgivings by telling him, "My dear boy, the Good Samaritan law covers this nicely. Now, run along with Gibbs."
Jimmy made a sound high in his throat and scurried back to his cubby hole to collect his bag. He was a bit proud of it, his mother had saved for months to present him with his very own 'little black bag'. She was totally unaware that most doctors now carried some version of a medic bag. But he was still proud of it.
Gibbs watched him scurry out then turned a raised eyebrow to Ducky. "You sure?"
"Yes, I am. He needs the experience. He's due to start his residency soon, as I said. He is perfectly capable."
Jimmy returned just then, bag in hand. Gibbs eyed it for a moment then observed, "Nice." he turned and strode out with Jimmy on his heels.
.
Tony knew something was wrong but he wasn't exactly sure what. His brain was so exhausted that it just wouldn't work. He was sure he heard Gibbs' voice, but why was his Boss here?
He turned his head and blinked blearily at the silhouette he saw against his picture window. "Boss?"
"Right here. I'm going to put McGee in your guest room, he's got a fever and I don't want to move him. That ok?" Gibbs might be a bit of a martinet at work, but this was Tony's private home, he wasn't about to take advantage.
"Fine. He's bad?" Tony tried to drag himself back from oblivion and nearly succeeded.
He failed because Gibbs just said, "I got your six, DiNozzo, go the fuck to sleep."
Tony did exactly that. Whatever else he might know, he was sure that Gibbs did have his six.
Gibbs looked at his senior agent and sighed. He was well aware of exactly what was wrong with him. It was called combat crash.
Tony had left early Tuesday and been gone until late Monday. That was six days. He'd been up most of that time or Gibbs was sadly mistaken. He'd left joking about going on a trip with his frat brothers, he'd come back looking worn out. Gibbs started putting two and three together and getting a picture that was very familiar. The op had obviously been long and difficult, full of things better left unsaid. So now, after days of high tension, forced marches and danger, Tony's adrenal system was just done. And he was crashing from a combination of exhaustion, pain, deprivation and who knew what else. "Damnit, DiNozzo."
Gibbs glanced down the hall to the guest room. Jimmy had taken McGee, as being the sickest, and guided him down the hall to get him into bed. Tony had been left on the couch. He was deeply asleep and seemed comfortable where he was.
Gibbs knew that it was going to take both of them to get Tony into his bed, but he could start the process.
"Ok, DiNozzo, I'm going to undress you. I'll keep talking so you don't knock my head off." Gibbs pulled Tony onto his back and started unbuttoning his shirt. "First your shirt. Real silk? I didn't know silk looked like this. It's not all shiny like I expect, it's dull. Why is that? Do you know?" He finished with the buttons then pulled Tony into an upright position. "Sit up for me. I'll get this off then start on your pants." He stripped the shirt down Tony's arms and tossed it into the nearby chair. "Nice furniture. I never will understand why you live in this tiny rat hole. You can afford something a lot nicer. But..." He started unbuckling Tony's belt. "If you're here as little as I think, I suppose it makes sense." Gibbs got Tony's belt off, pulling it out of the loops then coiling it up and dropping it on the coffee table. "Ok, DiNozzo, that's as far as I can go until we get you up to go to bed. No sense in getting you up then having to do it all over again."
Tony, barely aware of what was going on, slept like the dead.
.
Jimmy Palmer just knew that something was going to go wrong. Dr Mallard said that Gibbs wasn't going to do anything to him, but those piercing blue eyes made him so nervous that he acted like an idiot anytime the agent was nearby. Now, he had responsibilities to a living person that he couldn't mess up. He took a deep breath and got it together. "Ok, I can do this." With that, he squared his shoulders and helped McGee strip down to his t-shirt and boxers. "Now, get into bed and let me listen to your chest." He got out his stethoscope and had Tim breath in and out, again and again, as he moved the scope around his chest and back. "Well, you're congested, but not too badly. It's just the flu. If you can call any flu 'just'. I won't prescribe anything, as it won't really do any good. You've got a bit of a temp, so good old fashioned aspirin, bed rest, fluids. You know the drill." He helped Tim get flat, covered him up and put a box of tissues from the bathroom on the bedside table. "There. I'll be taking care of Special Agent DiNozzo for a bit. Then I'll be in the living room. If you need me just call. Ok?"
Tim sniffled miserably. "Yah, 'k. Thanks."
Jimmy returned to the living room. "Oh, you've almost got him undressed, that's good." he moved to Tony's other side. "Ready?"
Gibbs nodded. "We'll get him up. Then you'll get his pants down. I can hold him up until you get them off. Then walk him to his room."
Jimmy just said, "Ok, got it." He looked down to see if Tony's shoes were off. They were but, "Agent Gibbs. I don't think we should get him on his feet." He gulped and pointed down. "Look."
Gibbs looked at Tony's feet. "Son of a bitch!" Gibbs thought for a moment then just squatted a bit and tugged. He stood up with Tony in a combat carry and, angling carefully so he didn't smack his head into a wall, carried Tony to his bedroom. With a quick twist and flip, Gibbs had Tony on the bed. He bounced a bit and grunted with each one, but didn't wake up.
"There. Do what's needed. I'm gonna see if DiNozzo has coffee." And with that, Gibbs left to make coffee. Jimmy could hear him rattling around in Tony's kitchen grumbling audibly about the fancy doodads on the coffee maker.
Jimmy went to wash his hands, then, when he returned he said, "Ok, Agent DiNozzo. let's see what you've done to yourself." His attempt to remove Tony's t-shirt brought about an unexpected reaction. Tony woke, grabbed his hand, snarled 'No!' then went right back to sleep. Jimmy blinked then just listened to Tony's chest through the shirt.
"Well, your chest is clear. So my first diagnosis is probably correct. Exhaustion." He had a sudden thought. "But ... cream, cream, where?" he rummaged in his bag, found the cream and examined the prescription. "Well, it's just analgesic and antibiotic but ..." he frowned as he tried to remember. "Dr Mallard said something about his back? Well, he's not bleeding, so feet first."
It didn't take Jimmy long to take care of Tony's feet. He'd blistered them over the toes and the whole back of his heels. Then the blisters had burst. Jimmy cleaned them up by trimming off the ragged bits of skin then used some of the cream to coat everything. He was blinking rather blankly at the job he'd done, trying to figure out how to bandage it to keep the cream in place and off the sheets when Gibbs stuck his head in.
"Done yet? Coffee's on."
"Um ... No, not yet. I'm trying to figure out how to bandage his feet. Toes are hard." Jimmy flinched, waiting for Gibbs to shoot him down with one of his sarcastic remarks.
Instead, Gibbs just said, with considerable mildness, "Just put a pair of clean cotton socks on him. If he owns such a thing. Then call me. I'll tend his back. He'll probably fight you on it."
Jimmy was already rummaging in the dresser for socks, so he just replied, "Ok. I tried to remove his shirt to get his lung sounds. Didn't let me. Ha!" He held up the white tube socks in triumph. "I'll just get these on him and get out of your way."
It didn't take Jimmy long to do exactly that then go to check on McGee again.
While he was doing that, Gibbs just rolled Tony over, saying, "Don't fight me. I'm just gonna put on that cream and get you into a clean shirt."
Tony didn't even flinch. Gibbs did his thing with the cream and a clean shirt then covered Tony with his duvet. "Sleep." Tony snuffled a bit then settled in again.
Jimmy met Gibbs in the living room and just handed him a cup of coffee. "Here. Before you go, how do I handle Special Agent DiNozzo? I don't want to get a punch in the face by waking him up wrong."
Gibbs took the coffee and breathed in the steam with appreciation. "Who says you're gonna have to deal with him alone?"
"Oh, you're going to stay? Thanks. That's good. I was a bit worried about dealing with two patients at once without any help. But ... um ... not that I think you're incompetent or anything but ... training ... um ... do you have any? Not that you probably don't but ..." Gibbs glared at Jimmy in a way that ensured the nervous young man would shut up. "Sorry, shutting up now."
"I've got standard NCIS first aid training and I remember a bit from the old days. But," He raised an eyebrow. "I was a Marine. That means I sorta remember how to follow clear orders."
Jimmy gaped at Gibbs for a moment and received one of his amused smirks in return. "Ok. That's good. Not that I'm going to order you around a lot or anything like that but ... I'm babbling again, aren't I?" Jimmy turned and hurried into the kitchen. Gibbs made him so nervous that he always acted the fool when he was around. He poured himself a cup of the coffee Gibbs had made, but one sip convinced him that there was no way he could drink it.
"Here, give me that." Gibbs reached over Jimmy's shoulder and relieved him of the mug. He poured half the coffee back into the carafe then got another mug and went to the sink.
He filled that mug with water and stuck it into the microwave to heat. "Always remember ... you can make it weaker but you can't make it stronger. Here ..." He poured hot water into the mug of coffee, filling it up. "try that."
Jimmy took a sip. "Much better. Not that ... well, it is ... but."
"Palmer, I'm not gonna smack ya. You're not mine, I keep my hands off. And smackin' ya wouldn't do much good. You don't think like that. Calm down before you have a stroke."
"Oh. Um ... I'm not good with physical violence, even though ... but ... well ..." He took a deep breath. "Calming down now."
"Good. It's going to be a long night. DiNozzo isn't going to be much trouble but McGee? He's really bad off, isn't he?" Gibbs didn't bother to hide the fact that he was worried.
"Yes, but it is just the flu. I don't think he's in much danger, unless it turns into pneumonia. But I'd be more worried about DiNozzo in the same condition. Because of Y. Pestis, you see. But McGee? His lungs are good, so we'll just push fluids, and meds for the congestion and pain. He'll be up and around in no time. Couple of days, tops."
Gibbs blessed Jimmy with one of his rare smiles. "See, Palmer? Nothing exploded, and I'm not inclined to shoot you. We good?"
Jimmy smiled shyly, "Better." He took another sip of his coffee and Gibbs was pleased to see that, while he liked it weak as dishwater, he didn't flinch at it's near boiling temp. Or put anything in it.
Gibbs jerked his head in the direction of the living room. "Let's go sit down, get some rest before we have to play medic again."
"Ok, if I fall asleep, just shake me. I don't do anything ... dangerous." Jimmy settled in the huge, comfortable recliner, leaving the couch for Gibbs.
Gibbs settled on the couch, leaned back, then replied, "I do. Don't touch me, just call my name until I answer. Sometimes only 'Gunny' works." And with that, he leaned forward, put his empty mug on the coffee table, laid down and went to sleep.
Jimmy regarded this with some amazement. "Damn, I wish I could do that." He got up and went to check on McGee and DiNozzo.
McGee was half asleep, in that vague zone that only the truly sick can reach. Jimmy took his temperature and pulse. "Well, you're sick as a guy can get. But it's just the flu. Try to sleep. I've got meds coming."
"Won't do any good. Flu's a virus." McGee tried to focus but it was really hard.
"No, no antibiotics. Just symptomatic treatment. Fluids. That sort of thing." Jimmy patted him on the shoulder.
"Mmmm, ok. but ..." McGee looked around, puzzled. "Where am I?"
"DiNozzo's guest room, if you can call this glorified closet a room. Don't worry about it." Jimmy tucked him back in. "Go back to sleep, if you can."
Tim blinked for a moment then sighed, snuggled down and fell asleep. Jimmy worried about having to repeat himself for a moment before he realized that the cold medicine he'd given his patient was making him very drowsy.
A quick glance in the other bedroom proved that Tony was also asleep. Jimmy wasn't sure how much longer that was going to last, but he wasn't about to wake Tony up to check his vitals. They would wait until he woke up on his own.
.
Several hours later, Tony woke up, disoriented but not combative. He lay in bed for a few moments, trying to figure out what happened. A voice from the door informed him, "Combat Crash." he rolled his head to see Gibbs lounging against the doorframe coffee in hand.
"Ok. Not good. I do anything stupid?" Tony pried himself into an up right position.
"No. Didn't even snore. Coffee, breakfast. Fifteen minutes." Gibbs left, having imparted all important information.
Tony snorted softy. "Still a functional mute." He got out of bed, did an assessment and decided that he was good to go and stripped off his t-shirt and boxers. He'd sweated them in his sleep so he wanted dry. The tiny sound from the door made him flinch.
He turned to see McGee staring at him from the hall. "Damn. Don't tell me, I really don't want to know. I'm too sick to deal right now." And with that his co-worker shambled back into the guest room and nearly fell into the bed.
"Well, ok, then, don't deal." Tony couldn't help but be a little bit hurt by McGee's attitude. He fished out boxers, sweat pants and a hoodie, dragged them on and wandered off to find breakfast.
He found both Gibbs and Jimmy Palmer in the kitchen. Palmer was making scrambled eggs while Gibbs dealt with toast. He could see that the oven was on, probably keeping bacon or sausage warm, and the coffee maker was burbling away. His stomach announced his presence with a loud growl.
"Damn, sorry about that. What's on the table?" Tony settled in his favorite chair and waited. He wasn't about to mix in where two people were making food.
Gibbs plonked a mug in front of him. "You want all that fancy crap?"
"Yeah, I do." Tony accepted the container of hazelnut creamer and sugar bowl, happily 'ruining' his coffee with a huge dollop of creamer and two spoons of sugar.
Gibbs scowled at this then said, "I don't get it. Knowing what I know, I wouldn't think you'd want anything in your coffee. What gives?"
Tony realized exactly what Gibbs was asking. "Helps keep me grounded. Coffee with crap." He grinned, raising his mug in salute. "I'm state side. Virgin, I'm in the box."
Gibbs nodded his understanding. "I see. Well..." he considered his words for a moment. "it's ok ... I guess."
"Well, gee, thanks for that enthusiastic endorsement." But Tony gave him a grin over the rim of his mug.
Jimmy stifled a snicker as he set a plate in front of Tony. "There, bacon, eggs, toast, hash browns. You want butter, jelly, honey for your toast. I looked for cereal but couldn't find any."
Tony mumbled, "Out." around a mouth full of eggs.
Gibbs just folded a triangle of toast in half and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth. No one commented. Gibbs had good table manners, his Mother had made sure of that, he just didn't always use them.
Tony finished his eggs and started on the hash browns, alternating bites of them with rashers of bacon.
All three men finished their meal in record time.
Jimmy started to pick up the dishes but Gibbs stopped him. "I've got it. You go check on McGee then come back and give DiNozzo a once over."
"Ok. I think Agent McGee is going to be down for at least another 24 to 48 hours. He's pretty sick." He glanced at his watch, paled then exclaimed, "And I've got just enough time to check on him before I miss the bus. I've got class in an hour." He rushed out to see to McGee
Gibbs shook his head then yelled after him, "Don't panic. I'll drive you. Got to get back to the Yard."
Tony grumbled, "I'll be with ya in a few. I can take a shower in the gym. McGee's down for the count, so you'll be a man down."
"No. Those feet need a while longer to heal. I don't need you limping around like a foundered mule." he aimed one of his sly smirks at his senior agent. "Besides, McGee shouldn't be left alone."
"Well, shit. Ok, Boss." Tony knew Gibbs was right, he just didn't have to like it. "I'll just work from here. I've got high speed wifi ... and you don't care, do you?" Tony glanced up into amused blue eyes.
"Nope, really don't give a damn. You gonna be able to stay awake?" This was the only thing that really worried Gibbs. If Tony fell back into a deep sleep, McGee might need something and Tony not hear him call.
"I'm fine now. I really don't need that much sleep. If I get a good solid four or five hours, I'm good to go. It's just ... my feet really do still hurt." Tony thought to himself, 'I'm tossing those boots.'
"How the hell did you get your feet into such a mess?" Gibbs was going to cut Tony a new one if he'd been careless with his boots.
"New boots. They leaked and I had both boots full of sand. Not so good when your extraction point is 20 from drop."
"Ouch. And how far was target from drop?"
"Roped in. Clean job. Quick out. But the devil is in the details." Tony shrugged, dismissing his troubles as just part of the job.
"Sure is." Gibbs looked up as he realized that Jimmy was hovering in the door. "You ready?"
"Yes. I gave Agent McGee his meds. Special Agent DiNozzo, you need to take yours. I'd see to it but I really hate being late for class. Sir?" Jimmy glanced at Gibbs.
"Don't call me sir, I never got a commission. I'm just a grunt, retired even." Gibbs jerked his head toward the front door.
"I'm sorry." Jimmy hurried to the door and waited for Gibbs to join him.
Gibbs gave up on telling Palmer not to apologize, just as he'd given up on McGee. It was just too ingrained in their psyche but he still hated meaningless apologies. He followed Palmer out the door.
