Sometimes, even in the most unfortunate of lives, there will occur a moment or two of good fortune. Lemony Snicket
.***.
Gibbs was reading a boating magazine. He didn't read them often, mostly because when he got wrapped up in a case he didn't have time, and in those all-too-infrequent lulls between investigations he usually worked on his own boat, his means of catharsis, his relief.
But when he had the time, like those times (and, yes, times with an 's') when one of his agents (God forbid) was injured, he liked to sit back with a boating magazine and pretend he had a simple life like the ones in the photographs, with simple pleasures like coming home to a wife and daughter and not a big boat in an empty house.
He needed sleep. He knew that, and he'd sent Tony, Ziva, and Abby home to get some, but he couldn't in good conscience leave McGee hurt and alone in the hospital. So he'd stayed behind, sweet-talked the young nurse into giving him a blanket, put his feet up on the side table, and was relaxing.
Discount the six displaced, hurt boys, the injured agent, the twenty or so pedophiles he'd arrested, and it would be downright jolly.
"Boss?" McGee's voice was thick and grainy. He'd been in and out of consciousness all day until the surgery seven hours ago. After that, he hadn't woken up at all.
Gibbs let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding when McGee's small voice filled the empty room. At least McGee was awake now, and capable of speech. Small miracles in their line of work. "You sleeping on the job, McGee?" But his voice held no ice and his tone was playful and even McGee, usually the last one to catch on to social cues, could figure out he was kidding.
"'Course not, Boss, that would be wrong." McGee sighed, moving his head a little so he could peer at his arm. "That's pretty ugly."
"Yup." Gibbs agreed. He would let the doctor explain to McGee that he couldn't go out into the field for a month, that he would need to stay in the hospital for four more days, that his shoulder might hurt if he used his arm or hand for long periods of time (like when he was typing, Gibbs had asked about that specifically and had felt sorry for McGee when the reluctant answer was yes. The kid was a damn good hacker and a published author to boot.) No, Gibbs would let the doctor play bad guy in the morning.
Settling back into the cushion, McGee's eyes held Gibbs' for a second before darting away. "Tony alright?"
"Sure. Not much trouble to get into in a hospital, even if you're DiNozzo." Gibbs raised an eyebrow, a habit he'd noticed his agents picking up over the years. "Why d'you ask?"
"Just wondering why you're hanging around, Boss." McGee said, then quickly, to cover up his mistake, "Not that I'm trying to say where you should be! It's just…well, the case is wrapping up and I thought that you'd be at home…"
"Someone had to keep an eye on the six kids we got running around this place." Gibbs said, watching as McGee colored further, obviously forgetting the key part of the investigation. "And I wanted to stick around here. I'm catching up on my reading." He nodded to the boating magazine.
"You don't have to stick around for me, Boss." McGee said, voice low and subdued. "I'm probably just going to fall asleep again, anyway."
Gibbs half-frowned. Did his agents really think so little of him? "Sure you will, McGee, but I wanted to be around when you woke up."
"Why?" McGee asked, which was true proof that one should not be allowed to talk while high on pain killers and just out of surgery. "I'm not Tony."
And Gibbs…found he couldn't respond to that. Couldn't, because he would first have to explain to himself the strange bond between him and DiNozzo. Tony was a grown man, after all, yet Gibbs felt…responsible for him. Protective of him. Like a father to a son. And McGee was right that the bond between Gibbs and McGee was different from, and perhaps less than, that strange bond between Gibbs and Tony.
Still, he couldn't leave the strange conversation here, not when there was so much air to clear between them. "No," he agreed, speaking slowly, carefully, "You're not Tony." He settled himself more comfortable in the chair, "But damnit, McGee, you're important, too."
If it hadn't been for the drugs, McGee definitely would have asked another question, but the siren song of oblivion was too hard to resist, and McGee fell asleep looking surprised…and happy.
.***.
Tony relieved Gibbs the next morning, bounding in wearing McGee's old MIT sweatshirt and bearing coffee and donuts.
"Tony," McGee said, looking up from the newspaper he was attempting to read using only one hand. It was slow going, "Why are you wearing my sweatshirt?"
Looking down at his chest, Tony snorted. "Should have known that you would be the geek that graduated from MIT, Probie. I must have picked it up in the locker room." He made no motion to strip out of the sweatshirt and McGee sighed, going back to the paper. "I brought breakfast."
"So I see. You going to share?"
"Only if you're nice, McProbie-Wan."
"Why do you always call me that?"
"How about McProbester?" Tony asked, putting the coffee on McGee's tray. Catching sight of McGee's face, he hurried on. "McFlower Power? McGoogle?"
"Damnit, Tony," McGee growled, but only because he was trying so hard not to laugh. He lost the battle, though, letting out a short, sharp laugh and nearly screaming in pain as he almost ripped the stitches in his side.
Tony eyed McGee, feeling guilty again. He shouldn't have led McGee into that house without backup. He shouldn't even have convinced McGee to leave NCIS. Look where it had led them. "Look, Probie…."
"Not your fault, Tony." McGee said, letting this one go early. The two were so often trying to one-up the other, trying to prank and scheme and backstab, that sometimes, sometimes, they both forgot that deep down they were really just brothers locked in an ongoing, extreme version of sibling rivalry.
And McGee knew when to let things lie. Sometimes he'd lord an incident over Tony for days, weeks, reminding him of a mistake or a less-than-macho move. But he knew that Tony felt really horrible over this incident. He knew that Tony was sorry.
And sometimes, not always, but sometimes being sorry was enough. If it came with coffee and donuts.
Tony's face gained a little bit of color and he looked down quickly before McGee could catch the relief flickering in his eyes at the forgiveness. Changing the subject quickly (because, of course, DiNozzos were pretty good as misdirection) he said, "so you want to hear the latest on the boys?"
"Sure." McGee said, happy for the distraction from the pain, from his situation. "They doing okay?"
"Fine. Great, even. The little ones – Charlie, Bobby, and Jordan – don't really have much wrong with them. Social Services tried to claim them but we got some sympathetic doctors to swear up and down that they needed to stay in the hospital for further evaluation. They haven' t been split up yet."
"You know you're just postponing the inevitable." McGee pointed out, surprised when Tony grinned.
"No, you didn't hear the best part! Someone offered to adopt them."
"All six of them?" McGee sputtered disbelievingly. "And they're sane?"
"Sure. It's this old lady from Texas or Georgia or one of those good ol' Bible Belt states. She called NCIS yesterday and Abby got ahold of her. Apparently, she used to adopt siblings from foster care all the time, so they wouldn't be split up, but she hasn't done it in a couple of years. Anyway, she saw the boys on television and the power of the Lord just seized her." Tony shrugged. "Sounds kind of far-fetched to me, but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth."
McGee laughed at the old idiom, at the little miracles that could happen when you most needed them. "That's the best news ever!" He said, happy. "So they all get to stick together?"
"Sure, if the lady checks out. I think she will, though. Stable, forty-year marriage, and she has a farm and all that…Southern…stuff…" Tony quirked a smile, lacing his hands behind his head. "So I guess things really do work out alright in the end, huh, Tim?"
The use of his first name surprised McGee and forced his smile wider still. Maybe this was something like God's plan, where everything starts out miserable and true blessings come out of horrible situations. Maybe it was like points on a dotted line, and they were all just toy soldiers marching down a marked path, not knowing where they were going but knowing that the end point had to be a damn sight better than the starting point. And sometimes it wasn't.
But sometimes, you got lucky.
"Yeah, Tony." McGee said slowly, nodding at the miracle of it al. "I guess they do."
The end.
Well, kind of.
One more chapter, this one an epilogue of sorts that should (should…) be up by Christmas. If not, happy Christmas to every one of you wonderful, wonderful people.
