Downstairs in the bullpen, Petty Officer Erica Perelli was breaking the news about the dog Abby had fallen in love with to McGee and Gibbs.
"I wish it could be another way, but it's Navy Policy in fatal dog mauling cases."
Gibbs didn't say a word, he just stared at McGee, who wasn't exactly sure what to do or say at first.
"Uh, Boss, I can take Petty Officer Perelli down if you'd like" He wasn't very confident in what he'd just said, but he'd said it. The look on Gibbs face was burning a hole through him. If only McGee knew Gibbs was only half paying attention to the situation, and it wouldn't have taken much to satisfy him.
At McGee's offer, Gibbs walked off. For once, he truly wasn't paying much attention to what was going on in his case. Vaguely hearing McGee step up and take control, and he took the exit quickly, before his agent realized he wasn't all there. His mind did somehow made its way to Abby, and how devastated she would be when the dog left, and she would probably take it out on the team for a week or two. But he only rested on that thought for a second. Like a magnet, the situation upstairs was back on his mind. What he wouldn't give to be a fly on that wall right now. Somehow he was going to find out on his own. He wasn't going to force it out of either one of them. There was one current investigation that was going to get his full attention.
Meanwhile, back upstairs, Director Shepard was explaining to Ducky how she knew the disease that was progressing inside of her, and the ways it had already begun to show its face.
"According to his records, he first saw a doctor about the disease just a few years before he died." Jen picked up a thick file from atop her desk, and passed it to Ducky. The edge of the folder read "Shepard, Jasper" The room fell silent for what seemed hours as he read the sloppy scribbling of notes from cover to cover.
His thoughts wandered over the symptoms listed in the charts, and the lack of tests run. It puzzled him why a more specific form of the disease had never been determined. A simple biopsy of the muscle would narrow it down.
"Director, I'd like to perform a muscle biopsy. There is no reason to bring anyone else in if you'd prefer. I believe it would satisfy both our curiosities"
He shifted his attention from the file to the woman staring out the window. There was still one more question lingering on his mind. As a doctor, he knew the disease was congenital, but he wondered how she had put the pieces together. Her father had died 12 years prior, and the severity of his symptoms was not yet to a point anyone would truly notice.
"Director, how did you know to look in your father's medical records?"
Slowly Jen swiveled her chair around to face Ducky. At first she couldn't bring herself to speak. Showing someone else her father's medical records meant she was accepting her fate. She was scared. That was not something she could easily admit to herself; to anyone.
"One time Ducky; I saw it one time. And my father's reaction to what happened is the reason it stuck out in my brain." She paused remembering a night she was at home with her father.
It was late, too late for a 10 year old to be out of bed. Colonel Shepard thought his daughter had fallen asleep hours before. He didn't know the ferocious storm brewing outside had woken her. She didn't like thunder storms, but she would never dare admit to her father that she was afraid.
"Face your fears" He would say. "You must look at it head on, and be strong. Fight, don't back down, and don't let it win. Marines have no fears."
But she didn't want to face her fears. They stayed locked up in the back of her mind, threatening to overtake her on nights like tonight. She wanted to run down to him and nestle in his lap. She wanted him hold her and rock her and to tell her it would be alright, like her mother would do. She knew better though. Instead, she would sit on the stairs; as close to him as she dared get. He was within her eyesight, but she remained unseen.
She watched as he poured himself a glass of bourbon. Her mother hated the stuff, and warned her against it, but she longed to try it; to be just like her father. It might take her fears away. One day she would have to find out.
She watched as he lifted the glass. It got about halfway to his mouth when suddenly it hit the floor. He hated messes. She knew he would be mad at himself. But he didn't proceed to clean it up, and that was odd. Instead, he cursed, and shook his hand violently up and down. She didn't understand why. She didn't understand why she had seen Sophia, their housekeeper, cleaning up the spilled liquid the following morning.
She didn't understand until now.
"At first, I paid no attention to the symptoms; my fingers slipping on the keyboard, or losing my grip on a pen." She paused and glanced at the mug of coffee on her desk. "I broke a glass Ducky"
