Chapter 4

- - - - -

Carefully, Gibbs set down the dead woman, while trying to tune out Abby's keening. For all her interest in gothdom and forensic science, face-to-face death still freaked Abby out. "Lynn Carpentier," he said her name softly. "A good person; a hard worker."

"You're…we're not going to just leave her here, like, like, that, are we?" Abby asked, wide-eyed.

"There's nothing more we can do for her at the moment, Abbs. There may be others, still alive, who are in need of help." He shouldn't have to say this to her. Or anyone. It was hard to keep from snapping at her.

Abby stood, blinking tears back furiously. "All…all right, Gibbs. Tell me what to do."

He took her arms. "I want you to stay safe. If I can find some place safe to put you, that's what I'll do."

"Don't treat me like a child, Gibbs! I'm not in need of protection. We're not fighting lawbreakers here, and I don't have to be an agent to be useful!!"

"Okay. But we're likely to find other people who have been injured, so you'll need to stay calm."

She took a deep breath. "I can keep from freaking out if I try hard enough."

"Good. That's what I need you to do."

"What do we do first?"

He stopped and listened, motioning her to silence as well. At last he said, "We wait. Until the tornado, if that's what this is, passes by, we can't get to the squad room."

"Why not?? … Oh, the windows…" She swallowed. "All those people working there. Your team, Gibbs!!"

"They'll be fine, Abbs."

"Yes, of course. They're the best," she said, pausing to wipe her eyes. "This will all be over soon, and we'll laugh at how worried we were."

After a minute of silence, they sank down to the floor, their backs against a wall, to wait out the storm. "Gibbs," Abby said suddenly. "Tony, McGee and Ziva…they never went through their possible-PTSD counseling, like they should have done."

He'd realized that. "They said they didn't need it," he replied. "We couldn't force it on them; they weren't showing any symptoms…"

"They needed it. I could tell," Abby said with a vigorous nod. "I couldn't make them go to counseling, either. I hope they're holding together…"

"As you said, they're the best," said Gibbs. They lapsed back into silence.

- - - - -

Ziva hadn't stopped crying until a minute or so after the hail started. Then she started giggling, irrationally. Why is G-d dropping golf balls on us? The tornado that had come on the heels of the hurricane had not had hail, so she didn't recognize them for what they were right away.

"Hail," Jimmy announced, as if reading her mind. "Stay under cover here; those could hurt a lot if they hit you." Then, seeing her flinch at his words, he tentatively reached out and touched her shoulder. She didn't draw away. "It should be over soon," he said.

"And then what happens?" she said, fearfully.

"Then…we get up and inspect the damage. It's only 3 o'clock; the sun will probably come back out."

"Are you Little Orphan Annie?!" she said bitterly. "Look at this destruction! The squad room is in ruins!"

"Yes, but we're still alive."

She trembled. "You are right. We did not die. Yet." Her mind suddenly went to pictures she had seen of the destructive powers of tornadoes. "Yet the walls could still collapse on us, could they not?"

"It's…always possible, I guess. But I don't think that's likely. I think the hail comes at the back end of the tornado. We're past most of the danger from the winds."

"Then when the hail stops…"

"We get up, help people, do what needs to be done."

"Ducky! You said he was—"

"Pinned under a filing cabinet. I managed to pull a table over him to protect him from falling debris before I, uh, joined you under here."

She smiled a little then, warmed in the glow of his altruism. "Good work, Jimmy." A pause, then, "I apologize for my…distress. It was unprofessional."

He raised his eyebrows. "What; do you think this is something that happens every day? I've never been anywhere near a storm like this. I'm just holding together because I know that Doctor Mallard needs me. And I'm itching to get back out there and help him."

"You are right, Jimmy," Ziva said softly. "They all need us. Later, we can deal with our fears." They listened as the hammering of hail gradually lessened to a trickle.

- - - - -

In an interior hallway on the second floor, Schultz' team was safe from the winds and the hail…but the sound of the destruction carried to them, and that was nerve-shattering. "There are people down there," Balere, near tears, jerked her head toward the sounds. "People in danger."

"They may have had enough notice to get to cover," said Schultz. "Joe?"

The former South Dakotan had been straining to hear. "Hail," he said. "The tornado itself has probably passed. I'm going to go reconnoiter."

"I'll go with you," added his teammate, Mickey. "Want to lay a bet on the size of the hail? Five bucks says it's no bigger than a dime."

"You're on."

"Call us when you have news," said Schultz.

Mickey looked at his cell phone. "No bars, Klara."

"Then we're not separating. We'll all check out the hail."

- - - - -

But after the hail came the booms and flashes of a thunderstorm, with heavy rain. "If this is a CIA plot…" Mickey mumbled.

"The CIA doesn't hate us that much," Schultz chided. "I think." But she led her group through the hall, swinging one of the only two flashlights in their possession. The building was dreadfully dark, and, aside from the thunderstorm noise, too quiet for a weekday afternoon.

"I wonder what's going on elsewhere?" Balere remarked. "We can't be so unlucky as to be the hardest-hit…can we? And Mickey, baby, no more CIA conspiracy theories, okay?"

"It's not a conspiracy theory if it's true," Mickey grumbled.

The squad room was a dark expanse. Schultz and her team caught their breath as seeing the destruction: Light fixtures fallen or dangling from the ceiling; tree limbs and other unfamiliar shapes; windows broken; some office furniture overturned. "Hello!!" Schultz called. "Is anybody in here??"

Several voices answered her. "Okay!" she called back. "If you're injured, call out and we'll come to you. If you're not injured, I think it's safe enough now that you can come out of your…wherever you are, and get out of this room."

"Klara, do you think the roof is going to collapse on us?" someone called, with a whimper.

"What do I look like; a structural engineer?" she snapped back in typical Schultz fashion, which she knew was expected of her and would be reassuring. Nonetheless, she swung her flashlight toward the ceiling…or where most of the ceiling had been…and stifled a sigh. Yes, they probably shouldn't dawdle; just in case. "You'll be okay, Hopkins. But there are better places to be right now than here, so get a move on."

"I don't want to come out," Tony whispered to Tim. "It's raining. Raining inside the squad room. It's not supposed to rain inside the frickin' building!!"

"Maybe it'll save on cleaning the carpet," Tim answered.

"You going out?"

"You?"

Tony sighed. "We're the number one MCRT team, and I'm the senior agent. We can't let Schultz' team show us up."

"They didn't face a hurricane and a tornado, just last month, like we did."

"Yeah, because they're smarter than we are."

"Tony?"

"What?"

"When we're out of here…if we get out of here okay…I want to go to the PTSD counseling sessions."

Tony grimaced. "Might as well book me a slot with you."

Booted feet appeared before them, crunching on the hail, and then Joe Wicker bent his long body down. "You fellows okay? Hurt at all? No? Need a hand up?"

"It's, uh, raining. In the squad room," Tony babbled. "I don't like getting rained on."

"It'll stop soon enough," said Joe. He pulled Tony out from under the desk, and then Tim. "We need your assistance. Bet we got some folks hurt here. Need to get them out and to safety. Can you do that?"

"Sure," said Tony, straightening his tie, even though a stream of rain was running down it. "I've got a flashlight in my desk." Given a task, he was able to push aside his own worries.

"And I'll get mine out, too," said Tim, and then froze. "Joe, how's the rest of the building? I'd think the Director would be down here now…and Gibbs was…" Where was Gibbs? He couldn't remember.

"Did he go out for coffee?" Tony frowned. "No, wait; last I knew he was going to see Abby in her lab."

"All those windows! Tony, we should check on them."

Joe held them both back. "We need your physical strength up here, where we know there's heavy damage. Klara or Balere can go check the lab."

So they fanned out, with flashlights. Tony encountered Ziva and Jimmy under a desk that was not Ziva's, and silently felt a bit of shame for not having worried about her. It was so easy to think that Ziva could always take care of herself, no matter what.

"Tony!" she cried out, and the tears flowed. "You are unharmed? And McGee, as well?"

"He's fine. Took a hailstone to the knee, but I think he'll pull through."

"A hail…is that like a gallst—"

"More public, but less painful. Come on out. Schultz' team is here; we're getting everyone out of this soggy dump."

Lighting overhead lit up the room, and thunder smashed their ears. "It is raining," she said, still tearful. "I have never worked in an office in which it was raining."

He crouched down beside her. "You're from an arid country. You like the rain. It means you no harm," he said, gently, and offered her his hand.

"Yes. I—I like the rain," she said haltingly. Taking his hand, she stepped out of her little shelter, followed by Jimmy.

Jimmy's mind sprang back to his original mission. "Tony—Dr. Mallard. He's pinned—"

"Where?!" Tony demanded, and then called out, "McGee! We need you!" Then to Jimmy, "Where is Ducky?"

It was hard to remember precisely. They had all been near Gibbs' team's area when the tornado hit, but the room was dark now in the gloom, and the chaos of debris made it hard to tell. "Over here, I think," said Jimmy finally.

He was right. There was the small table Jimmy had put over his mentor, to shield him from the storm's fury. "Doctor Mallard? Doctor Mallard!"

Tim pulled the table off. Ducky was certainly pinned; a tall filing cabinet covered him from toes to chest. "Any reason why we shouldn't lift this off, Palmer?" Tony asked.

Jimmy quaked, as he always did when someone (other than Ducky) asked him a medical question. He felt like he was being tested. "I—no; it should be all right. It would be nice if an ambulance was right here now, but…can you call for an ambulance now?"

"Cell tower is down. I don't want to try the landlines; with all this water, one could get an electrical shock," said Tim. "I can find a phone in a dry room in a bit; see if it's working. Let's see how urgent things are, first."

Ducky swirled back to consciousness. "Ah, there you are Mr. Palmer. Are you all right, lad?"

"Yes, Doctor; I'm fine."

"Good. Good. I worried about you, my boy."

Jimmy blinked and smiled. "We're going to lift this cabinet off you, Doctor."

"Good, lad. I think I've broken a rib or two. Hope it's nothing more inconvenient than that."

"I'm…sure it won't be, Doctor."

"I don't imagine that, even with the filing cabinet off me, I shall be of much use here. Jimmy, lad, until medical help arrives, you must…"

"Don't say it, Doctor. Please," Jimmy said in a low tone. "There are laws…"

"There are laws, and there is the practical side of life. If we are supremely lucky, then no one in NCIS is worse off than I. I would not count on that being the case, however. Mister Palmer, all that I am asking is that…you do the right thing."

"But how…"

"You'll know it when you come across it."

"Enough talk. Let's get this cabinet up," Tony commanded. "On three…" At his countdown, the three men lifted the heavy cabinet off Ducky, while Ziva pulled Ducky out.

Ducky groaned, and fell unconscious. "I shall try to find a working telephone," said Ziva, and dashed out.

- - - - -

"DiNozzo…McGee…Wicker!" The woman waved to them, from not too far away in the gloom, and then scrambled over to them.

They almost didn't recognize Nikki Jardine without her face mask. An elastic tie from it dangled from one ear, but the mask itself was gone. "Need your help," she said briskly. "Got people over on the other side of the room; some hurt, some I think are dead."

She was surprisingly matter-of-fact about it. When the men didn't react right away, she grabbed Joe's arm. "Well, come on! I can't do this all by myself!"

They followed her, then, although they did stop to check under every desk and other shelter for refugees. Mickey and Shultz were already at work, coaxing frightened people out and assessing them.

"I heard you talk about Gibbs and Abby," said Schultz by way of greeting. "I gave Balere my flashlight and sent "her down to check on them. If she's not back in 20, we go check on her."

"I can't imagine that any part of the building would get hit worse than the squad room," Tim said.

"Yes, Probie. It's because the NSA hates us," said Tony.

"The CIA," Mickey corrected.

Schultz pulled off some not-so-heavy rubble. "Oh, my stars," she said. There were four bodies, huddled together.

- - - - -

Balere, meanwhile, took the front stairs down to the basement level; the level of Abby's lab. Stepping off the bottom stair, her boot went into a couple inches of water. Immediately she withdrew it, fearing electrical shock. "Gibbs??" she called. "Abby?? Are you down here?" No answer. She swept the room with her flashlight, and could just make out the windows…and what looked like a car dangling through the window.

Praying that Gibbs and Abby had made it out of the lab safely, Balere scrambled back up the stairs, only to be met by armed soldiers on the first floor. "Stay where you are!" one snapped.