A/N: Remember the warnings, people. If you read it anyway and don't like it because of something I've warned about, I honestly don't want to know. Don't get me wrong. I am immensely grateful for all my readers and am open to constructive criticism, but complaining about corporal punishment is not constructive. You're entitled to your opinions, just as I am mine, but kindly keep them to yourself.
"Ah, Jethro, there you are," Ducky said, coming up behind him and clapping his shoulder congenially. "It's a beautiful day to be outside, isn't it?"
Gibbs glanced upward. He couldn't fault Ducky's observations. It was a beautiful early fall day, the sun shone brightly and the sky was a brilliant, nearly cloudless blue. It would have been a perfect day to be out on the water, fishing or sailing. "Yeah, it is," he agreed, "provided of course this bomb drill doesn't turn out to be real."
"Of course, of course," Ducky replied. "It was never my intention to make light of the situation. It's just that when one spends as much time underground as I do, one learns to appreciate the sunshine."
Gibbs nodded. He understood. Given the nature of what they did, it was something they would all do well to remember, to stop and smell the roses, to remember to appreciate the blue sky on a clear fall day. After all, he knew as well as anyone life could change in an instant. He'd known that for years, since a gunshot and a car crash had simultaneously turned his life upside down, and lately McGee, in the aftermath of the shooting, had brought it all back home again.
As if sensing his thoughts, Ducky asked, "How is Timothy doing these days? He seems to be adapting well."
"He is," Gibbs agreed, "at least for the most part. He tried to stage a mutiny over being carried down the stairs, and he's not very happy that he's going to have to be carried again to get down into the parking lot, but I suppose things like that are to be expected."
"They are," Ducky assured him. "You should know that, Jethro. Surely, as a Marine, you've come into contact with plenty of soldiers who had to adjust to devastating injuries. Why you yourself had to make a similar adjustment after Iraq, except of course in Timothy's case it also involves having to deal with the physical limitations rather than being primarily emotional…" The look Gibbs gave him had him trailing off abruptly. He had more latitude than most anyone else in this particular area, but even he had limits. "What about young Derek? How is he working out?"
"Who?" Gibbs said blankly.
"Agent Maynard," Ducky explained.
"Oh, he's fine. He's very young and very eager," Gibbs laughed lightly. "He thinks the sun rises and sets on Tim McGee, and he's terrified of me."
Ducky laughed. "They're all terrified of you at first, Jethro. In fact, I don't think Mr. Palmer has quite gotten over that yet."
Gibbs grinned. "Good."
Ducky shook his head, bemused, but didn't comment, knowing that to do so would only goad Jethro further. "I'm glad it's working well, for both of them. I'll admit I like seeing Timothy around again, and I'm quite pleased with how he seems to be adjusting. I was greatly concerned in the beginning. His depression and isolation seemed to be quite strong."
"Tim's stronger than he knows. He's young enough and smart enough to adapt."
"Yes," Ducky agreed, "it would seem he is. I thought you said he was going to need to be carried down." He nodded toward the gathering area in the distance, where Tim could be faintly seen, moving slowly down a barely existent trail etched into the steep hill, alone. Tony stood the top of the hill, gesturing wildly, presumably arguing with Tim.
Gibbs turned, following Ducky's gaze, and then broke suddenly into a run. "I'm going to kill him," he growled, "if he doesn't break his fool neck first. Of all the damned idiotic stunts…"
"Now, Jethro," Ducky said, following close behind, "I hardly think homicide is necessary."
"Maybe not," Gibbs muttered, never breaking his stride, "but I'm still going to make sure he won't sit for a week."
"Jethro," Ducky replied, torn between sympathy and mild amusement, "I know that you perhaps meant that just as an expression, but will that not be a bit difficult, given Timothy's present condition."
Gibbs didn't stop, but there was a noticeable hitch in his stride. When he turned back, he was wide-eyed and utterly flabbergasted. "Oh, god, Duck, I forgot… I can't… What was I thinking?"
"You were thinking that the lad was being stubborn and reckless and doubtless deserved a good thrashing," Ducky replied. "And you weren't wrong."
"Maybe not," Gibbs said, "but there's not a lot I can do about that now, is there? Christ, I can't believe I forgot."
"In this case," Ducky commented. "I'd say forgetting is a very good sign. It means you're adjusting, that you see Timothy as himself without regards to the wheelchair. As for the other, Timothy's disability doesn't exempt him from needing discipline nor does it render him incapable of receiving it. There are other ways."
"Yeah," Gibbs said, distracted. They had reached the top of the trail, though truly calling it a trail was something of an exaggeration. The narrow path was more like a series of ruts, barely visible in the overgrown grass. "Stop right there, McGee," Gibbs yelled. "I'm coming down." Turning to Tony, who had sidled up beside him and immediately started in about how he had tried to stop McGee, he said, "with me, DiNozzo" and made his way down the narrow path as quickly as he dared.
