Chapter 3: McBarfbag? Please. Not Again!

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews: it's so nice to get some. :)

And now this wee note for those who believe I'm writing a tie-in with JAG: I'm not. However, I did enjoy that TV show that gave us NCIS!

The name Chygwidden is Cornish - I simply thought it a nice coincidence (and a tribute to JAG) to have an admiral of that name in the RN. And since I have my character Tomas McGee (note the - also - Cornish spelling of his first name) being raised in that part of the UK, I liked to have an admiral of this region show an interest in him.

NAVSTA Norfolk – In the bowels of the HMS Devon

Meanwhile, McGee went down the gangway in search of the heads. There should be heads on this deck...somewhere. He hoped to get there in time to relieve his swirling stomach.

He delved out his handkerchief and wiped the droplets of cold perspiration off his brow.

Suddenly, as he turned a corner and stepped over the coaming, some passing vessel's wake hit the Devon making her lurch. His equilibrium was virtually non existent, right now, and so he stumbled and pitched forward into some sailors who happened to round the next corner. The one closest to Tim, reacted without a seconds thought by thrusting out his hand and grabbing the NCIS agent by the elbow to steady him.

"Landlubbers..." He thought, until he remembered a similar occasion when the Devon's XO had reported on board for duty. The sailor himself had been new to the ship and he'd sniggered until a shipmate had poked him into his ribs as a warning, and one of the petty-officers had glared at him. Lt. Cdr. McGee was anything but a landlubber. And this bloke, now... Blimey! He was the spitting image for Christ's sake!

"Thanks, um..."

The sailor peered into Tim's sweaty face.

"Are you alright, Sir? You do look a bit green around the gills."

Tim swallowed hard and in one exhalation he managed a weak "Heads?"

The sailor craned his neck and pointed over Tim's shoulder. "You just passed them...Sir."

McGee spun on his heels which was definitely not the most sensible thing to do as his eyes had trouble adjusting to his brisk movement. The corridor appeared to be become distorted as the walls were closing in and the deck seemed to be slipping away from right under his feet.

As a result, it brought on a fresh wave of nausea making him clap one hand over his mouth and the other clutching his somersaulting stomach. His intestines felt like they were churning into mush.

The sailor sighed and again reached out to support the swaying agent, expertly steering him to and through the door to the nearest heads.

"Here you go, Sir."

Tim wrung his arm from the other man's hold and vaguely waved his hand in dismissal.

"You can go now. Thanks. Eh...I think I can manage from here on."

The words had barely left his mouth when he felt the contents of his stomach sweep up making him retch. He stumbled and only just made it to the sink, both hands gripping it for support so hard his knuckles turned white. His abdominal muscles and diaphragm contracted painfully and this morning's breakfast rushed out and into the sink. Heave upon heave. After the last one, he rested his head against the cool mirror, again feeling a cold sweat break out. His arms and legs felt like wet noodles and hardly able to support him any longer. He was trembling all over and it was all he could do to stay upright. McGee looked up and was appalled when he saw his own pale, sweaty face in the mirror.

He reeled away from the sink and entered a stall, slammed the lid of the toilet down, and sat on it, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his trembling knees. Why, oh why hadn't he taken his Dramamine?

"Kill me..."

Then, the walls and everything around him were on the move again. He moaned, went down on his knees, pulled up the lid again and promptly gave another seemingly endless technicolor yawn, leaning his one arm on the wall in front and the other on the rim. He panted and would've wished he could just lie down and sleep.

"Done, Tim?"

McGee looked up and slowly turned his head which was spinning and seemed to weigh a ton. He groaned when he saw Gibbs casually leaning against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest and an amused smile on his face. Damn the man for looking so good.

Tim straightened his clothes, flushed the toilet and shuffled towards the sink.

He felt like he was ready to sink through the deck in shame. He turned on the faucet and splashed water on his face and in his neck. He cupped his hands under the stream of water and rinsed his mouth before turning the off the tap and towelling his face and neck dry.

"Take a deep breath."

Tim complied but it didn't do much to dispel the giddiness and the ague.

Gibbs offered him the glass of water he'd brought from the wardroom to drink. "Here. Drink."

McGee accepted it with shaking hands and gulped down the fresh water, relishing the cool liquid as it soothed his throat.

"Better?"

"A little." He swallowed. "Sorry, Boss."

"Let's get you off the ship, shall we? C'mon, Tim."

Tim was glad to leave the ship without further incidents. God, did he feel like a wimp! It didn't help feeling the gazes of the whole ship's company fixed on his back. Again. And he was pretty damn sure they'd be discussing his pathetically wretched state by and large.

Gibbs looked askance at his morose agent as they strode side by side along the quayside. "Why is he still that upset by it? DiNozzo isn't even here to kid around. And I won't be telling anyone."

"My luck Tony wasn't there. Wouldn't be able to stop himself taking stupid pics on his cell and pat my belly..." He cast a sideways glance at the ex-marine who seemed, thankfully, in deep thought. "But making a spectacle of myself by actually tossing my cookies with the Boss coolly standing by as a first row witness? Disgusting. Great. Just great. I'll be the first and only in line for the über-wishy-washy reward!" He could just see in his mind's eye the fierce team leader hand it out to him with that scornful smirk.

Both men's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Tim's ring tone for incoming texts. While Gibbs continued at the same, level pace, McGee slowed down to check his inbox. As the caller's name popped up on his screen, he stopped altogether and lickety-split read the message.

This time, his stomach flipped for a different reason than it did before and in a rush, his sallow cheeks regained their color – and some! - he'd lost back there, on board the HMS Devon.

Gibbs, no longer feeling the presence of his agent beside him, halted and turned back to check. Recognizing the goofy look on the younger man's face made him chortle.

Unbeknown to them, they were being watched.