Chapter 7

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Building #22 in the Yard had sustained no apparent damage, other than, perhaps, a few shingles blown off the roof. It was a multi-purpose building, housing everything from a bank and food court to small offices, large meeting rooms and even rooms that could be used as ballrooms. It was those latter spaces that were deemed most suitable for the NCIS refugees.

Gibbs stood at the building's entryway, looking around the space as the NCIS workers filed in. Every third or fourth person carried a flashlight. It would be a long night. Schultz was still being the public face of NCIS outside; in here, Gibbs would sleep while he could, knowing that as the most senior agent, he could be woken at any time. They don't tell you about natural disasters at FLETC…

It was going on 8 p.m. People had had an uncomfortable couple of hours standing outside in the warm, humid air while their higher-ups decided what was to be done. The clouds had softened, but not cleared; rain came through now and then, sometimes with a little thunder and lightning. Schultz's team member Joe Wicker said this was typical of tornado-cell weather. Gibbs had glanced at Tim when Joe had said this, but Tim had no reaction. Like Ziva and Tony, now that the danger was over, he appeared to have allowed himself to be shell-shocked. Gibbs worried.

"I just find it amazing, Gibbs," said another of Schultz' people, Balere LeBeouf, stopping beside him. "I don't know how the Navy knew to come here when they did. With no communications from us, those helicopters just…showed up. Like a wish come true."

"I don't believe in wishes," Gibbs growled.

"Well, what's the explanation? I'd like to know."

He only shook his head. She smiled wryly and went on into the building with the others.

Lt. Naismith stopped to make one final check that there was no one else desiring hospital treatment. They'd made several flights already, but would not quit while anyone needed help. Good, strong people we have in the Navy and the Marines, Gibbs thought. Then, on an impulse, he called out to her.

"Who called you folks in?" he asked her. "How did you know that the Yard had been hit?"

"Oddest thing," she answered. "The commandant sent us. Apparently someone in NOAA's Weather Service division tracked the cell very thoroughly from far away and surmised that the Yard had taken a direct hit. They called the Academy. I wouldn't have thought that much connecting-the-dots was possible, but I don't know anything more about the weather than what I see on TV."

"That is strange," Gibbs agreed.

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A captain from the Anacostia base came in soon afterwards. "Agent Gibbs? Got a call on the sat phone patched through from Annapolis. Do you have a Timothy McGee here?"

"I'll get him." Gibbs returned shortly with a drowsy Tim, who took the phone without question.

"Hello?"

"Tim! You don't know how good it is to hear your voice!" Indeed, the voice at the end crackled a little with emotion.

"Dad!"

"Are you okay, son? The last I knew, you were saying that the tornado was taking the roof off your building!"

"It was, but I'm fine." Tim started to cry, and held the phone at arm's length for a moment. "Talk to Gibbs," he said into the phone then.

"Mr. McGee? He's fine. A little shaken up, but that's all. He was lucky."

"By which you mean some people weren't. I'm sorry to hear that, Gibbs."

Gears clicked in Gibbs' mind. "Did you summon the Navy to help us? All communications here were down…"

"I just called in a favor or two."

Gibbs took a deep breath. "You probably saved several lives. If we'd had to wait until conventional rescue had come to us…"

"Just doing my part as an old Navy man and a concerned father," Kale laughed. "Let me talk to my boy again and then I'll let you all get back to what you were doing."

Handing the phone back to Tim, Gibbs let his agent walk away with it for a little privacy. Gibbs smiled. Yes, the team would definitely need therapy, but a little parental love would also help the healing.

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At 2:30 a.m., the power came back on.

The sudden presence of low-level evening lights woke up some people, and stirred some others. While a few people stood up, talking quietly with other risers, one person found the wall switches and put the room back into darkness. But not everyone went back to sleep. A few—including Gibbs' team and Schultz' team—left the room in search of a TV and news.

One was found in a nearby administrative office. Ten people crowded in to listen to ZNN.

The coverage was of nothing but the DC tornado ("Disaster in the District", ZNN coyly named it). The facts were stunning: Having touched down just this side of the Nationals ballpark, the tornado had hopped along the M Street area before detouring into the Yard. It hadn't touched down for the entire journey. Twenty houses had been damaged or destroyed; five people killed in that area.

In the Yard the death toll was put at a staggering 21, including 11 at NCIS, two tourists washed off the Barry, and a few Marines and other civilian workers in other parts of the Yard. Taped footage of interviews with Schultz, hair askew, at the wreckage of the Isaac Hull gate on M Street and 6th played over and over. She looked weary in them, and stressed, but she was frank and did the agency proud.

Power had been out in the District and environs for hours. It didn't take a tornado to do all that; the accompanying thunderstorms did their part. The electric company was restoring power as quickly as it could, following the city workers who were clearing fallen trees from the streets.

No solid guesses yet as to the force of the tornado. (One newscaster looked even a little surprised to hear that tornados weren't all of the same wind speed.) That would take a daylight assessment of the damage. The initial guess was that it was a class F-3 on the Fujita scale (158-206 miles per hour winds). At least.

After watching TV for about half an hour, with no new news, the groups went back to sleep. It was comforting, a bit, to have some knowledge of the situation.

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What would the new day bring?

Gibbs and Schultz roused everyone at 8 a.m. "The roads are passable again; the Metro is running again; go home," Gibbs directed. "Be with your families. Take the day to relax. It's sunny and warm. You've been through a lot. Report to work in building #200 tomorrow. We'll see where to put you then."

"Are they going to fix our building, boss?" Tony asked.

"Beats me, DiNozzo. You'll know when I do."

"What about Ducky, and the Director? Do you know their conditions?" asked Ziva.

"They're doing well in the hospital. So are all the others we've sent there."

Tim sat down heavily. "Boss, I—I don't know if I can continue working. Yesterday, I—just froze. I was worse than useless. Schultz' team really showed me up."

"Us up," Tony corrected.

"Yes, they did," Gibbs agreed. "Which is why they'll temporarily be the Major Case Response Team—" he raised a hand to still their complaints. "—until you've all had enough counseling to be fit to return to the field."

"What will you be doing in the meantime, Gibbs?" Ziva's eyes were moist at the acknowledgment of her failure.

He sighed. "Riding the big desk in the Director's office. Please pray for a speedy recovery for him."

His agents turned to go, but Gibbs called them back. "Hey!" he barked. "No matter what you think of yourselves, no matter what you see in the mirror today, I see three good people who made a mistake last month, and would have done their best yesterday, if only they could."

"Thanks, boss." "Thanks." "Thank you, Gibbs."

One does not recover from a disaster quickly, but as the agents stepped out into the sunshine, they felt that, with help this time, they could do so.

-END-