Author's Note: NCIS belongs to CBS and Donald Belisarius. I am making no money off this.

This story contains themes and descriptions of child abuse and mental illness.

McGee's actions later might be out of character, but you have to remember that he'd just shot someone less than ten feet away from him. Add the chaos from the aftermath, and everything else. The human body just can't handle that much stress at once; it catches up.

Also, I've had panic attacks before; it really did feel like I was going to die.

Chapter 3

Tony stared down at the dead woman. "She was pretty."

"McGee made a good shot." Ziva said, taking a picture of the pistol. "His aim has improved."

"Christ, Ziva!"

She looked up at him. "What?"

"This isn't right!" He gestured toward the woman's body. "Why did he have to go for a kill shot? He was close enough to just wing her."

"The woman nearly killed her son, beat an old man to death and would have killed McGee. You want me to have sympathy for her?"

"What if she didn't know what she was doing?" he asked. "She probably had mental issues, or something."

"Why are you trying to make excuses for her actions?" Ziva stood up to start photographing the position of the body.

"I'm not! It's just…" Tony stepped around the woman's legs. "McGee just doesn't shoot people. Ever."

"He is a federal agent." She picked up the woman's gun and put it into an evidence bag. "He is trained to use lethal force if he feels it is necessary."

"I know, but-."

"It is McGee."

"Yeah."

Gibbs glanced up to the rearview mirror. "How're you holding up, Tim?"

Tim was in the back seat of the car, holding the girl in his lap while her brother was gripping his right arm. "I feel sick."

"We're almost to the hospital."

"I didn't wanna do it, Boss." Tim's voice cracked.

"I know."

The little girl looked around the car. "Where doggy?"

Tim looked at Gibbs, eyes wide with panic. "Where's Jethro?"
"He's fine, Tim. I took him back up to your apartment."

McGee nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Boss."

"What's your name?" Tim asked, crouching in front of the girl. She was clinging to him, refusing to let anyone get close to her.

"Ashlynn Grace Turi."

"How old're you?"

She held up her hands, all five fingers on one and then one finger on the other. "I'm dis many."

He looked up at the doctor, who was taking notes. "She's six."

The doctor came closer, but Ashlynn squeaked and buried her face in Tim's shoulder.

"Careful," the woman sitting in the far corner said. She was the child advocate assigned to monitor them.

"Don't hurt her!" Her brother, Kevin, clambered down from the exam table. "She doesn't like shots!"

"I'm not going to do anything," the doctor said in a calm voice. "I only want to make sure none of you were hurt, alright?"

Kevin stood next to his sister, gripping her sleeve. "No!"

"Kevin, it's okay," Tim said. He glanced up at the doctor and the woman. "How about you do an exam on me; show them what you're gonna do."

"Just make sure nothing inappropriate is showing," the advocate said.

"I'll keep my pants on."

She nodded. "Alright then."

The doctor looked at the terrified children. "Okay. I'll go get you a gown, and you can change behind the curtain. Wait here."

Kevin tolerated his examination, but he kept looking toward Tim the whole time. Ashlynn needed to keep hold of Tim's hand, or she'd start crying and cowering away from the doctor.

It was hard to watch.

"Tim, you okay?" Gibbs asked, sitting down in the chair next to McGee.

"I don't know."

"What'd the doctor say?"

McGee shrugged. "Don't remember."

Gibbs noticed that the Turi children had fallen asleep on the floor at Tim's feet. "You need to go home, get some sleep."

He shook his head. "Can't."

"Why not?"

"I killed somebody, Boss." McGee leaned forward, starting to sob. "I killed somebody!"

"You didn't have a choice."

"I killed her, Gibbs!" He started rocking back and forth in the chair. "I didn't want to, but I k-killed h-her! God, I'm so sorry!"

Gibbs wrapped an arm around McGee's shoulders, looking around for a nurse. The man was starting to hyperventilate, going into a massive panic attack. Close quarters killings always hit harder than busts that turned into firefights.

"Sir, is he alright?" a nurse asked, coming over.

"He's having a panic attack."

"Do you think he'll agree to a sedative to take the edge off?"

Gibbs looked at McGee and nodded. "It might help."

McGee looked around, terrified. "Boss….can't…."

"I know, son. Take a deep breath and hold it, okay?"

"C-can't…." He was shaking hard, almost as if he were going into a seizure. "Sc-scared….boss!"

"Hold on, the doctor's gonna give you a sedative."

McGee gripped the arms of the chair, gagging.

Gibbs quickly maneuvered his youngest agent to the floor, getting him away from the two children. The last thing he wanted was for Tim to puke on the kids.

"Is…is….this a heart….heart attack?" McGee asked, latching onto Gibbs' shirt. "Don't….wanna….die!"

"It's a panic attack, there's nothing wrong with your heart; you hear me?"

He didn't seem to buy it, but he nodded anyway.

McGee was being prepped to be taken to a room as the sedative took hold.

Kevin and Ashlynn woke up and started crying for Tim, who kept trying to get off the gurney and protect them.

"No way in hell am I gonna sign off on that." Gibbs crossed his arms.

"I know you don't want him admitted for a psychiatric evaluation, but he just killed someone. He's clearly not handling it well."

"It's only been eight hours, and everything is catching up with him right now. That's all it is. One panic attack is not grounds for an admission."

"Will you at least settle for overnight observation in one of the regular rooms? He's not in any condition to go home right now, anyway."

Gibbs looked over at McGee, who was staring listlessly at the ceiling in a drugged haze. "Alright."