Chapter 10

"Fornell."

"Gibbs? I was just about to call you. We've found out some things."

"Like the fact that there was more than one bomb? Three, in fact?"

There was a silence. "I'm starting to see why people hate you, Jethro."

"Only now?"

"Yes, well...you're right, of course. There were three points of origin for the blast. How did you know?"

"McGee remembered from what he saw of the building exploding."

"How is he?"

"Not good."

"Watch him, Jethro. It's going to be hard enough for him to do it on his own."

"Who was it, Tobias? Who did you know?"

"Obvious, aren't I." There was a soft sigh. "Guy from my first team. He was good at pretty much everything. He knew what to do and how to get the job done...until one day he failed to protect a woman from a hitman. She died right in front of him. It tore him apart, but no one realized how bad it was...not until I had to watch him shoot himself in the head in the middle of the office. You don't need that."

"You're right. I don't. Can you get me a list of the casualties?"

"Why? What's up?"

"I think there are some people who shouldn't have been there."

"I'll bring it over myself. I don't know that we have an official list as yet."

"I'll take the unofficial list, then. I remember seeing three men I didn't recognize...and I know just about everyone who works...worked there."

There was a significant pause. "I'll get you the list, Gibbs. Anything that helps us take these guys down."

"Thanks, Tobias."

"Watch your man."

"I will." Gibbs hung up and then went on a search. It was only a desperate wish for something to go right, but he couldn't help hoping that it would. It couldn't undo the damage, the grief, but it might ameliorate it...and it was a task best kept to himself for the moment. If he was wrong it would only hurt everyone else all over again.

And that was the last thing they needed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat on the chair beside Abby's bed, looking anywhere but at her. It caused him a near-physical pain to know how close she was to death. It hurt him to see her so still...so broken. All he could see was the heart monitor. He could hear the ventilator but that was the only sound. It was too quiet.

"I didn't want to come in here, Abby," Tim said softly, still staring at a spot on the wall. "I didn't want to see you. ...that sounds wrong. I did want to see you, but I didn't want to see you like this...so...damaged. I didn't want to see you hurting or in pain. I'm being a wimp, I know. It shouldn't matter what you look like. I should be able to look at you...but I can't. Please, don't be mad at me for that. Please...please, don't die. I don't think I could bear it if you died. I don't know if they told you already, but Ziva is dead..." Tim squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the image of her broken hand. That was the only part he had seen of her. "She was supposed to be safe here. This isn't the Middle East. These kinds of things aren't supposed to happen, not here."

Tim leaned forward, resting his head on the railing. He opened his eyes and saw one of Abby's hands laying there. Carefully, he reached out and touched it...then, he cradled it in his own hands, noticing for the first time that someone had changed his bandages.

"I wish...I wish they'd left your wristbands on...or at least your dog collar." He laughed painfully. "You...don't seem like you without them." Tim swallowed. "Oh, Abby...it's just not fair! None of it! Why us? Why now? Why are you lying there and I'm sitting here...talking to you like you can hear me? Why?" The tears were threatening again. "Why did they die? So many people died, Abby. So many. There's nothing left. It feels like...it feels like the whole world is over. It's all been destroyed."

Finally, Tim forced himself to look at her. It took less than a second for him to start crying again at the sight of Abby, her bandaged face, the bruises, the scrapes...above all, the fact that she looked so different from herself. His head dropped back to the railing and he cried.

"How can it come together again? How can NCIS be NCIS again? It can't. It can't...and I don't know if I can...if I could...ever..." Tim couldn't finish his thought. "I don't have anything left, Abby. I feel...I feel like I'm empty, like there's nothing more, nothing to do, nothing to see. If you die...if...I... Please, don't die, Abby. Please."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Well, Mr. DiNozzo..."

"Tony."

"Very well. Tony, I am most impressed."

"Impressed?" Tony asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He was exhausted already. "I can't do anything at all!"

"You're alive. You're cognizant. You're breathing on your own...and based on our examination, you do not appear to have any paralysis. I'm very impressed by that. You should count yourself lucky."

Tony sobered and stared at the blanket covering the worst of the damage. "Lots of people weren't."

Ducky was right there in an instant. "It's true, but I, for one, am glad you are among the survivors."

Tony tried to hold back the tears. He wasn't one who cried. It wasn't macho...but he couldn't help it. He swore. "It's not fair, Ducky. Ziva's dead."

Ducky looked as though he wanted to hug Tony, to comfort him, but he had to content himself with gripping Tony's left forearm, about the only part of him that was uninjured. "Yes. Yes, Ziva is dead, and no, it's not fair. Nothing about this event has been fair. Fairness, I am quite certain, was nowhere in the bombers' minds when they planned this attack." Ducky paused to take a deep breath. Tony looked up and saw tears in his eyes as well. "I want you to work on getting better, my boy. That is all you should worry about. I don't want to lose you as well. We have lost too many to this tragedy. So...if it is too difficult for you to do it voluntarily, I will get Jethro to come in and order you to get better."

Tony swallowed the large lump in his throat. "You think that would help?"

"I think it worked last time. It will work this time if need be."

"Where's McGee?"

"With Abigail, I believe...I hope."

Tony tried to sit up and was prevented both by Ducky and by the doctor who was still examining him. In the moment, Tony had forgotten about him.

"What do you mean, Ducky? What's wrong with McGee?"

"He is...not doing well, Tony."

"You mean–?" Tony couldn't finish. He wasn't sure he could stand to know that another of teammates was going to die.

"No, nothing like that. I swear. He was injured, but he will heal from his wounds."

"Then, what is it?" Tony asked. "Come on, Ducky. McGee's my...my friend. He's not just my coworker. Tell me what's wrong."

"Very well. Timothy is...grieving in an unhealthy manner. He was outside NCIS when it blew up and he blames himself for Ziva's death."

"Why? Why would he do something so...stupid?"

"Because he gave her information that allowed her to miss the traffic jam which saved his life. In his current state, he sees no difference between himself and the bombers. To him, it is his fault that she was there and thus, he killed her. Because of the scale of the destruction, his mental state was not accurately ascertained and it was allowed to fester for nearly a day. Now...Jethro has tried to speak to him. I have tried to speak to him. I don't think we've gotten through to him yet."

"Figures," Tony said, leaning his head back. He was so tired. "Probie always was too keen on taking responsibility."

"Yes. Well, you won't be helping him if you worry yourself sick. I suggest that you rest. Perhaps the next time Timothy comes, you will be able to convince him of the things we cannot."

Tony yawned and winced. "No pressure."

"No, Tony. There is no pressure. We will do our level best and you will rest and recover. That is the best way, the only way, for you to help Timothy right now." Ducky patted Tony's cheek gently and then nodded. "Sleep, my boy. Get well. Doctor's orders."

"You're an ME," Tony yawned, but his eyes drifted closed.

"I'm still a doctor."

"Right...Ducky..." Tony felt himself drifting away and his last conscious thought was that if Tim decided to kill himself, Tony would kill him first.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

After Tony fell asleep, Ducky let himself out, needing a break from everything. It was hard to be required to help everyone else feel better. He himself had lost in this tragedy as well. He remembered his call to Jimmy's mother and wished he could forget it. In fact...

He took out his phone.

"Fornell."

"Ah, yes. Agent Fornell."

"Who is this?"

"Ducky...with NCIS."

"Dr. Mallard! You're about the last person I was expecting to call."

"Jethro being the first?"

There was a laugh. "Yes. Anything you need?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I was wondering if you could tell me where all the bodies pulled from NCIS have been taken."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

A man on a mission pursues that mission until it is completed. Gibbs was that man. Fornell's casualty list had given him more than one piece of important information. He couldn't pretend that this would make everything better. It wouldn't, but it would help. Even one piece of good news would help ameliorate the unending bad news. As he strode through the hospital, he felt himself get just a little excited. It was a foolish feeling seeing as he of all people knew that loss never healed quickly...if at all. Still...

He stopped at the door to a surgical recovery room. Quietly, he pushed open the doors and walked in, looking around at the beds to find the goal of his search. Beside one of the beds, a couple stood, looking down. With more than usual tact, he approached them.

"Excuse me," he said softly. There was something about the room that made impossible to do anything but whisper.

One of them looked at him. "Yes?"

"My name is Agent Gibbs. I work at NCIS. Could I speak with you?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was a morgue...which was to be expected...and one looked a lot like any other: sterile. This one was full of bodies. People from NCIS. Ducky knew that. He knew most of them by name...and yet, he was only there for one of them. It wasn't that he didn't care about the others, but he hadn't had the chance to say goodbye. Silently, he walked over to one of the drawers and pulled it open. There was a body under a sheet. A small smile graced his lips and he wiped away a few tears before uncovering the face.

"Ah, Mr. Palmer," he said, his words merely an exhale of sound. "I am so sorry that I was not able to come before now. It was wrong of me. I apologize."

Jimmy lay on the slab, silent. Where he had seemed to hear Kate talking to him after her death, Jimmy spoke no words at all.

"I must also apologize that I will not be able to do your autopsy. Perhaps it is because I cannot do it in my own...in our domain. Perhaps it is just because it would be too much like doing an autopsy on my own child...of which I have none. Perhaps that is why you are not speaking to me. Only the dead upon whom I work talk to me." Ducky sighed deeply, all confidence...all his strength gone. "Many have said it, Mr. Palmer, and now I add my voice to it as well: It is not fair. It is not fair that someone like you, so kind, with so much potential, that you should die now...and I live. I can only suppose that there is a reason for it because the alternative is too painful to bear. I can only hope that there is some measure of light in this...this darkness because otherwise we, all of us who have survived, we will all drown in our sorrow."

The morgue was silent and still. None of the dead revealed their secrets. Laying on his back, Jimmy's body looked almost pristine. Only a hint of charred skin and hair on his neck, running around to the back of his head showed the damage that had killed Jimmy. Ducky cried silently for his friend. In his grief, he put a hand out and grasped Jimmy's shoulder, feeling how cold it was.

"Goodbye, my friend. A part of me would like to give up, would like to give in to the act of terrorism, allow it to destroy the pleasure I find in life, to mar the joy that comes from the work I do...but I will not. Your death would be pointless if I did. If I allow myself to give into my grief, I will be handing the victory to your murderers...and I will not do that, Mr. Palmer. I will not dishonor your death by quitting."

Still, his tears fell in silence, but Ducky was not ashamed of the tears. Crying was a way of demonstrating a feeling of loss. He had lost, and he acknowledged it.

"Jimmy, you would have been a great doctor...and, if I may say, an even better ME. I wish that I could have seen what you would have chosen. I will not have that privilege, but I will honor your memory, although it will not be the same without you assisting me...and..." Ducky smiled, even though he cried. "...and I hope you will save me seat beside you." He slowly drew the sheet back over Jimmy's face. "Goodbye, Jimmy. Go with God, Mr. Palmer." He closed the drawer and walked out of the morgue, somehow strengthened by his one-sided conversation.

He would not allow any more damage to be done by those who would tear them down.