Rifiuto: Non Miriena
Thanks to JonnyP86, Crawcolady, Sazzita, mcgeeksgirl and Reader for reviewing 2.
He didn't let go of her hand until they rushed her into surgery. Two hours later, and Tim had made himself at home in the waiting room, trying to get the images of the plane crash out of his head. Eventually, he pulled out his headphones and stuck them in, playing music to get the sound of the jet breaking up and exploding to stop ringing in his ears. With his music on 'shuffle', he went through everything from Nutcracker's Spanish Hot Chocolate, to the Shakira and Selena cds his younger sister Sarah had downloaded onto it, insisting that he needed to experience other music besides the Big Band and Jazz he loved so much. He had leaned his head back, closing his eyes to catch a moment's rest, but the familiar voice in his ears caused his eyes to snap open.
Quickly, he grabbed the iPod, pulling up the title of the mp3; in block, white letters, he read the words, Tayla's Last Message from Windows on the World. He swallowed. He had always called his cousin Tayla- it had been a childhood nickname, stemming from Tim's toddler inability to say his baby cousin's full name. So Tayla she became.
"Timmy, it's me, it's Taylor. Something's happened. There... there was an explosion or something in the lower floors of the tower... we can't... we can't get out of the restaurant, we can't get down the stairs, and there's a lot of smoke... God, there's so much smoke! The windows are black, Timmy! It looks like night! We're... we're okay right now, but... but I'm trapped up here with a hundred other people... some people are starting to jump..." He heard her take a shaky breath as panic began to creep into her voice. "Timmy, I'm so scared..." A moment passed as she stopped, taking a deep, breath, tears choking her words. "Timmy, I... I know you were supposed to be on a plane out to California... I hope you made it... Oh God, Timmy, the... the floor is so hot..."
"Agent McGee? I'm Dr. Wilcox-" He looked up, tears in his eyes as he quickly paused the recording; the voicemail went on for thirty-two minutes and twenty-four seconds, her last breath could be heard on the phone as the tower collapsed and the ceiling fell in on itself; Tim had yet to make his way through the whole message, he usually stopped after five minutes, unable to go on. He stood, pulling the headphones from his ears and stuffing the iPod into his pocket. He went to the doctor, suddenly remembering why he was at Bethesda.
"How is she?" The older man gave him a small nod, taking a seat directly across from him.
"She has extensive injuries- several cracked ribs, and third degree burns over about eighty percent of her body. There are lacerations from the crash on her chest and back, and somehow, she managed to dislocate her shoulder. We're going to take her into surgery soon, once we're done cutting the clothing from her body."
"Will she survive?" He couldn't let her die; he'd been helpless to say Taylor, he couldn't let another innocent die the way his cousin, his childhood friends had. He couldn't allow her to succumb to the same fiery death they all had. He had to make sure she survived; he had to make things right, to know that Taylor's death and his becoming a federal agent hadn't been in vain. Her surviving would give him that reassurance, that tiny light in an already dark, horrible day. Dr. Wilcox shrugged.
"Her surviving is entirely up her, Agent McGee." He sighed, reaching out to pat the agent's knee. "If she has the will to survive, then she will. I won't lie, it's going to be a long road ahead for her if she does survive, and she is going to need all the support she can get. Is there any family that we can contact?" Tim shook his head, shrugging.
"I don't know. She... she was on Flight 321, when it crashed in the Navy Yard. We don't know if she was with family or... our team is still sifting through the wreckage, pulling out the bodies. As soon as I was able to get her out, with help, I rushed her here. As of now, it looks like she may be the only survivor." The doctor nodded, swallowing.
"It's going to take all night. And it looks like all we're going to be digging out of this wreckage are bodies." Gibbs turned to Kate. The young woman tossed her head, brushing a streak of dirt off her forehead, and only succeeding in spreading it further over her face. Without a word, he went to Ducky and Palmer, who had separated the bodies and laid them out, attempting to put the pieces together.
"What do we got, Duck?" Gibbs asked, as the M.E. and his assistant turned to him.
"A mess, Jethro!" The eccentric Scotsman replied. "So far, about fifty bodies have been pulled, on a passenger jet this size, I would say it was carrying about one hundred, hundred fifty passengers and maybe six, seven crew, so... a hundred fifty-seven at most."
"How do you know it's a passenger jet, Duck?" Gibbs asked, glancing over the bodies they'd lined up- some full bodies, some only partial body parts. Both Palmer and Ducky nodded towards a nearby piece of smoldering wreckage, and Gibbs moved closer, seeing the number in black paint. Gibbs sighed, turning back to the bodies. Without another word, he returned to where Kate was sorting and logging through the wreckage.
"I don't think anyone survived, Gibbs. Not that I can see, anyway."
"There was one, Kate. That McGee took to the hospital. So there was one."