oOoOoOo
Vance's Office
The director stood behind his desk focusing the full weight of his office and title at the only other occupant in the room. It wasn't so much that he hoped to intimidate the man—indeed, very little made the former sniper ever blink. Still, Vance felt he needed to apply the pressure to maintain control of his leading team (or more accurately, that team's leader—at least as much as Gibbs could be controlled). Vance also wanted to get himself on-board; he wasn't in full agreement with the orders he had been given either, but he kept that part of out of his dissertation to Gibbs.
When Vance paused at the end of his discourse, Gibbs scoffed and shook his head. A disbelieving, fed up grin tugged painfully at the corners of his mouth as his director finished his edict on redirecting the team to domestic matters. It was apparent the ruling to cease looking into the Afghanistan incident had come down from Sec Nav (likely originating from Sec Def) and was politically motivated. In the end, as far as Sec Nav was concerned, the security leak investigation ended when a new contractor began checking the background on all foreign nationals working on military bases; the assault was now considered a closed matter as the shooters were dead. NCIS was being instructed to close the book and move on.
Gibbs, however, was certain there was another chapter (perhaps several more) still to come.
"We don't have all the answers yet, Leon," Gibbs said. "I don't think we've got even half of them. We've got a pile of questions still; we can't walk away from that. We still don't know why these guys started shooting."
"Intel states they were Taliban sympathizers," Vance said. "They want us dead. They showed up with weapons. No more mystery."
"Yeah, well, they may recycle every weapon they get their hands on, but one of those guns belonged to a former DC cop who was under investigation in connection with two drug related shootings here in DC before he died," Gibbs reminded him. "We both know a 9 mil is hardly the weapon of choice for a terrorist."
A muscle in Vance's jaw bunched. He shared Gibbs' frustration with the edict from on high; he also had a lot of questions still unanswered, but his motivation was not the same as Gibbs. Sure, he wanted to know who hired the shooters and why, but he also knew there were more pressing matters closer to home. He didn't have time for Gibbs' gut dragging his major case response team on a trek into the cobweb strewn past of the agency based on a hunch that a flag officer had a secret he wanted kept and it got mixed in with the chaos of the assault on the base in Afghanistan.
"Gibbs, I've got fresh cases from the present that need closing," Vance scowled. "You want me to allocate my major case response team to dig into something that wasn't considered a case from how many years ago? And we're supposed to do this based on your gut feeling that it's relevant to what happened in another country decades later? No one will give odds that you're right, but even if you were, what are the chances anyone involved all those years ago can be found and identified or even remembers anything useful?"
"Won't know 'til we look," Gibbs said as he turned to walk out of the office. "Oh, and I can answer a couple of your questions already. I've got an agent who was somehow involved, know right where he is every minute of the day even, and I've got another person of interest I can question as well."
"A person of interest for what?" Vance demanded.
"Let you know when I have that answer," Gibbs replied.
oOoOoOo
Autopsy Suite
The polished, metallic doors slid open with a hushed hiss. Bishop looked toward the desk against the wall and located Ducky. He was sitting pensively staring at the wall. He turned at the sound of the doors closing and met her with troubled eyes. She was not sure how to take the expression. He had recently summoned her to see him following the completion of a review she asked him to do—the psychological kind rather than the physiological.
"Eleanor," he nodded in her direction.
"Ducky," she replied. "Were you able to learn anything of value? I reviewed the video and the transcripts, but all I got was what I expected to see. If I hadn't already known who the man was, I wouldn't have picked Admiral Porter out as anyone who was acting suspiciously in any of the footage."
"Is that so?" he remarked with a hint of surprise. "Did you review all of the footage?"
He gestured to his computer screen, which held the files she zipped and emailed to him a few days prior when she reached out for his assistance. She was looking for a critical and skilled eye who was not immersed in the investigation (both the one the agency sanctioned and the one Gibbs appeared to be conducting off the books) so that he would not be jaded or influenced by anything other than what he heard or saw in the recordings.
"Sure," she said then shrugged. "I watched the parts with anyone wearing a Navy uniform that had admiral insignia. I didn't see the point in watching all of it. Anything that didn't have Porter in it didn't seem relevant... and kind of intrusive."
Ducky huffed slightly as he shook his head in a way she could not read. He did not seem disappointed or like he was scolding. He appeared more like someone who has had a long held belief debunked but that he was not overly surprised to learn that truth.
"What did I miss?" Bishop asked with worry.
"Half of the story," Ducky replied. "I watched all of the footage you supplied and read the transcripts. I must say I felt terribly like a voyeur infringing upon the McGee family at such a private and painful time."
"I know," she sighed hung her head. "This was a private funeral, and Tim didn't want any of us there so we didn't go, but…"
"On the contrary," Ducky corrected her. "He would have welcomed a friendly face. It was his father's decree that kept the funeral to just a select few. The clandestine recordings picked up both Timothy and his sister both mention multiple times to each other how they would have preferred if the funeral could have been less structured and restricted. Neither appears to have been enamored with most of those who were present; interestingly, Sarah seemed the more angry of the two."
Bishop cocked her head to the side in surprise. Anger was not generally a trait she saw from her teammate so Ducky's expectation of it was confusing.
"Well, Tony tells me McGee's sister can be a bit hot headed," Bishop noted. "I know she was too emotional to be in his room until recently. Stands to reason if she didn't want a lot of formality at the funeral, she wouldn't be quiet about that. It's not really Tim's way to spout off about anything that makes him mad… unless it's Tony and even then it's more about eye rolling and grinding his teeth."
Ducky nodded, finding that to be a reasonable observation. The elder of the McGee children did have a more balanced temperament; however, the evidence from the video demonstrated he did not feel very differently from his sister.
"Sarah was actually rather quiet in her interactions with the other mourners, relying heavily on her brother to be the family ambassador in speaking to the callers at the wake and later in the receiving line beside their mother after the service," Ducky said, feeling a pang of sadness and respect for his younger colleague for the strength and dignity he displayed during both. "Her objections were mostly in the form of some severe cutting glances and the occasional frustrated sigh, which usually resulted in an indecipherable whispered comment from her brother which appeared to comfort and stabilize her mood."
Bishop nodded and she slouched with disappointment. She had hoped the secret NSA footage from Admiral McGee's wake and funeral would help shed some light on the Porter-McGee connection as the questionable admiral had been in attendance at both.
"So if you didn't find anything, why do you look so disappointed, and why did you call me to talk about this?" she wondered.
"I suppose my mood, possibly even my faith, in our nation has received a drubbing at the very existence of this footage," he revealed. "Eleanor, this was a private family gathering to bury a loved one. Regardless of his lofty career accomplishments, John McGee was a man with a family who needed to grieve his passing. What possibly interest could the National Security Agency have when he no longer could be of service to his country? I am left to wonder if they suspect someone who was in attendance of being a threat to this nation. Considering the list of invited mourners in attendance, my sense of security has been, at the very least, bruised."
She sighed and reminded herself that, despite working for an agency that did clandestine operations and a military past of his own, Ducky was still someone who believed in righteousness and the firm rule of law. She did as well, but having worked at the NSA, she also knew there were instances when their scope was interpreted and expanded as needs dictated. The precisely motivation behind the surveillance at the funeral she did not know. However, the fact that she was able to get copies of the material boded well that Ducky's fears of a traitor in the highest echelons of the military and the government were unfounded. She explained as much to him, but that did not seem to lesson his fears.
"That somehow makes it worse," he replied sourly. "Spying on innocent citizens is beneath the dignity of a nation founded on the principle of freedom. Or should I say, it ought to be. We have traveled down a rabbit's hole with our ethics and justifications in recent years—and much of that journey was our choice rather than a consequence of actions beyond our control."
Bishop hung her head feeling chastised on behalf of her former agency. She understood why they did what they did, but she also saw the shadier side of their actions, the side that was stoking the mild medical examiner's ire.
"I know, but that's not why I went looking for this," she said as she began to regret roping him into this. "Sorry, Ducky. I just thought since Gibbs is laser focused on Admiral Porter this might help. I didn't know if I could find something in the footage that would give him a new avenue to explore. I don't even know what I was hoping to find; I just hoped there would be something."
"Well, there certainly was," Ducky said as his demeanor shifted from the disgust with his nation's eavesdropping proclivities to his assessment of what he saw.
"What?" she asked with wide eyes as her interest was again piqued.
"Admiral Porter," Ducky said firmly. "I suspect I will speak with Jethro about this myself soon enough, but I can tell you that from what I saw, the admiral does have a definite interest in the McGee family—and in Timothy most of all. He made it a point on three occasions to engage him in conversation; two other times he brought up Timothy's name when talking to others."
"He did?" Bishop blinked. "I know he saw Tim at the wake and the funeral—I watched those parts. I didn't see anything of value in the few moments they spoke."
Ducky wagged his finger at her and offered a mild scolding about rushing through a job or just skimming the surface to look for obvious clues. He had conducted a thorough examination—an autopsy of sorts—of all the footage and felt he had a firm grasp on the relationship between McGee and Porter.
"While Timothy may have been estranged from or intimidated by his father at times, it was the man's importance to him and his overall demeanor that resulted in those reactions rather than his rank or chosen profession," Ducky pontificated. "From what I saw and heard, Timothy feels no such inferiority or sullenness around Admiral Porter. It was apparent to me that if anything, Timothy thinks very little of that man; his reaction tells me he considers Porter a nuisance and someone whose presence he suffers through with good graces merely for the sake of displaying manners. There is no fear of Porter; no intimidation by him; no sense of power being exerted or influence from Porter over Timothy. There could be some resentment toward the man on Timothy's part, but to say that with certainty would be reading too much into their limited discussions to be a credible finding."
"So you think there's bad blood between them?" Bishop wondered.
"Not precisely," Ducky shook his head. "Admiral Porter is a man who needs to be liked and does so by a grand show of impressiveness. He is someone who is politically savvy and knows how to work a room; however, around Timothy he loses much of that luster and command. He becomes slightly unctuous and appears to be ignorant at how ineffective he is at engaging Timothy in a conversation. I could not fathom the reason for the change in the man's personality around Timothy other than to suspect that it is entirely purposeful—like he is trying very hard to remain in Timothy's good graces."
Bishop cocked her eyebrow up at that. McGee was easily the most well-mannered agent she had met at NCIS (or any other Federal law enforcement agency for that matter). He was generally quiet and a bit socially awkward at times, but he was undeniably a gentleman with an even temper. Tony often liked to chide him for his Boy Scout ways, and Bishop saw no reason to find that description inaccurate. How anyone could fear McGee or feel the need to walk on eggshells in his presence baffled her and she said so.
"I have watched your partner mature through his probationary agent days to his more seasoned capabilities," Ducky offered. "He is not an overtly forceful personality, but he is also not quite the feeble soul many mistake him for being. He is a reticent and humble personality, but he is not weak-willed by any stretch of the imagination. I suspect Admiral Porter knows this; after all, he has known Timothy for most of his life. I cannot hazard a guess for why the man displays the caution coupled with fascination for Timothy beyond my theory that it is paranoia. I cannot give that theory much weight, however, as I have no evidence to do so. Still, the behavior is undeniable when the two interact. If pressed, I would guess that he fears Timothy or more precisely something Timothy knows. For his part, our friend and colleague does not seem to notice this deference and fear that Admiral Porter shows him. To the contrary, Timothy only seems to react to the ingratiating behavior with restrained patience, as though he cannot wait for the man to leave but is too polite to force that departure."
Bishop filtered this offering thorough what she knew of the case thus far and found it simply left the waters muddy. The various tentacles of the investigation were little more than a tangled mess of threads that did not seem to intersect in any place or time beyond several hours off the coast of Afghanistan.
"So Tim's not afraid of Porter; he's just annoyed by him?" she surmised.
"My thoughts precisely," Ducky said. "Whatever it is Admiral Porter fears from him, Timothy has no clue about it."
oOoOoOo
Johns Hopkins Hospital
Tony stood beside McGee's bed and was pleased to see the oxygen cannula that had previously trailed from his nose to the tanks in the room was missing. So were many of the other tubes that once were embedded in the man's arms. Only two remained. If the bruising evident on McGee's skin was any indication, the others had departed in the last 48 hours, leaving their telltale black, blue and somewhat green footprints in their wake. Adding to the overall appearance of someone no longer at Death's Door was McGee's position in the bed. He was sitting up and his eyes were open.
Not that Tony expected that to last long as a nurse, who left as he entered, mentioned something about it being time for the next dose. Tony's eyes followed her tight and well-shaped posterior until she disappeared. He then nodded while giving the woman an average rating on his internal measurement scale.
"No comments?" McGee noted, his voice still soft and thin in spots but definitely more active than their last discussion. "No attempts to flirt?"
"With her or you?" Tony asked. "Not really feeling an attraction to either of you actually. Which, now that you mention it, is strange—the part where I don't turn on the DiNozzo charm on her. You, I'd never hit on; not my type, McQueen."
"Are you sick or dying?" McGee asked bluntly.
He found the quick and sharp cut of Tony's eyes after his question oddly reassuring. Whether that was a vote of confidence in Tony's health or a brief blip of normal on his own off-kilter world, he wasn't sure. He looked to Tony for an answer.
"Between you and me, I don't know what's going on, McGee," Tony confessed as he offered a wide grin. "Ever since you took up residence here, I've got this whole crazy cougar thing going on. I mean, Dr. Westlake, Rrrwrrr… Holy platinum hottie, McPatient. Then there's your mom. I mean: Wow! And tell me, since when do you get a hot mom?"
McGee clenched his jaw and heard as much as felt his blood pressure rise slightly. The rapid flutter in his chest made his ears ring a bit but apparently was not sufficient to draw the attention of the nurse who breezed in unannounced and began hooking up a new bag to his IV port.
"Stop," McGee warned Tony in a voice that wasn't nearly as commanding as he hoped. "And if you can't, at least stop looking at my mother. Go look at Geraldine in Human Resources. She has a thing for you anyway."
"Gerri in HR?" Tony wrinkled his face in disagreement. "The mousy-brown-going gray-haired one with the lisp? That's not a cougar. That's an old jackal. Seriously, McGee, how do you have a hot mom and I didn't know it? It's like your sister; she's cute, too. I'm back to thinking you're adopted by the way."
"We are not having this conversation," McGee shook his head as he grumbled.
"And even though Carol is quite the fetching beauty, she also does mom things," Tony grinned in a giddy fashion. "Not like a naughty mom from a pay-per-view movie, but honest to goodness comforting and maternal things. Did you know she brought us cookies in the squad room yesterday afternoon? They were so good she even made Vance smile. She didn't go to a bakery and buy them. She made them herself. "
McGee scowled at the near-drooling adulation his mother was receiving. He did not disagree with Tony's assessment that his mother was priceless. McGee might even go as far as saying she was practically perfect. He thought she was pretty as well, but she was foremost his mother. However, Tony's starry-eyed adulation continued.
"My mother was great, but homemade cookies were not part of her repertoire," Tony continued. "Know what your mom does that I love? She calls me Anthony."
"It's your name," McGee pointed out flatly but was ignored as his annoyance grew.
"When she says it, she gives me this bit of a scolding and smirking look," he said as his smile deepened and grew sheepish. "Like if i was Gibbs there in that moment, he'd be smacking my head."
"I'm thinking he needs to he hit you harder," McGee said rolling his eyes.
"You know, I think her approach is more effective," Tony replied.
"Why are you here?" he grumbled. "What do you want? And don't say my mother."
"Hey, watch your mouth, McDirty Mind," Tony scolded.
He grinned in an impish way that raised red blooms of anger in McGee's cheeks. Tony was there, initially, to check on his partner and assess if he was ready to be questioned. The doctor said he was well enough to begin answering some questions; however, Westlake did warn that he was still on sufficiently high doses of medication that a lucid answer might be difficult to get at all times. Despite the firmness of his current outburst, Tony could tell from the patient's eyes and slowed speech that he was dealing with a slightly doped (soon to be sedated) McGee. Therefore, Tony opted to put off the questioning for another day. With Vance pushing to consider their work done on this one, it was doubtful anything McGee could tell him about Afghanistan (assuming he remembered any of it) was vital. Still, a lack of pointed questioning did not mean the agent was going to let McGee's snappishness regarding his mother go unchecked.
"All I'm saying is I've developed a deep appreciation for Carol," Tony continued. "You should be flattered, Tim. I think she's great. I also think she needs to visit you more, and by that, I mean come to the office, like around my birthday. You could mention to her when it is and suggest that she bring me cookies or something. Think she would do that?"
"I don't know, Tony," McGee said shortly. "I guess that depends on what her actual son tells her about how you treat him usually."
Tony blanched at the veiled threat.
"Ouch," he winced. "Your injury made you mean, you know that? You used to be nice, McGee. Now, you're sour, and not like a Sour Patch Kid candy either—you know, they're sour but you kind of crave them."
"Tony, go eat lunch," McGee suggested. "Your blood sugar must be getting low."
"I am feeling a bit snack'ish," he noted. "Maybe I'll call Carol and ask her if she wants to get a late lunch or an early dinner. It's good for her spend time away from this place—good for you too. I mean, who wants their mom hovering around? Although, I could handle your mom hovering around me."
"Stop talking," McGee groaned. "Stop looking at and thinking about my mother. I can't believe I'm going to say this to you: She's too old for you. Go find a nurse trainee."
Tony inhaled deeply as he ignored the jab and the order that came with it. He was feeling lightheaded in a good and giddy way. His partner was truly on the mend. The case was, well, not entirely solved, but the security threat aspect was closed. Vance was happy, or what passed for happy from him. And Carol was… nearby and probably feeling peckish and in need of a meal companion.
"There is something uniquely enticing about an attractive and mature woman," Tony said wistfully as he stroked his chin at the thought.
The absurdness of hearing that from Tony struck McGee as hilarious (or maybe it was the fog descending on his brain from the new IV bag the nurse recently hooked up for him). Either way, McGee began to chuckle but stopped abruptly. The humor of the moment turned into a painful gasping cough that let him know frivolity was still a bad idea.
"Sorry about that," Tony said with genuine remorse as he placed a calming hand on McGee's shoulder. "Guess you're still in some pain, huh? Just take it easy. I know how it feels to get shot. Remember when Ziva and I were stuck in that container at the Navy Yard and those Senegalese counterfeiters trapped us?"
McGee regained his breath and fixed his slow to react eyes on his visitor as a look of drugged confusion washed over his features.
"You weren't shot," he asserted groggily.
"Uh, yeah, I was," Tony scoffed. "I had to wear a sling afterward and everything."
"Ziva said a bullet hit some wood on a pallet, and you got cut by it," McGee insisted in a wheezing voice. "You were scraped by a big splinter. It's not the same."
Tony's initial instinct was to agree and let his partner settle, but then he recalled their last conversation—the part McGee participated in. The guy didn't want to be coddled. In fact, acquiescing and showing support seemed to increase his worries, which meant only one course was the truly helpful one. McGee needed normal, and normal between those in the McNozzo partnership was anything but coddling and kind. Tony grinned slightly as he proceeded.
"Oh, so this is a competition?" he questioned. "You think this little medical foray of yours makes you the tough one? Okay, McStitches, top this: I survived the Plague."
"The bug had a suicide gene," McGee countered. "It was a weak strain."
"That apparently had mental health issues," Tony muttered before forging onward. "It was still the pneumonic plague. Fine, a virulent disease that killed half of Europe isn't enough. Well, when we were in Somalia, I got shot up with a dangerous and untested nerve agent that acted as truth serum."
McGee snorted his blithe opinion as he gestured toward himself with his response.
"Beaten unconscious on the floor," McGee challenged. "At least you got to sit in a chair."
That retort caught Tony off guard and left him gaping. How McGee could turn losing a fight with Saleem Ulman's henchmen into sounding like a valiant and heroic act was surprising (to the point it nearly made Tony proud), but it completely misconstrued the event as Tony recalled it. Worse still, it seemed to put McGee one up on him.
"Got my nose broken by Corporal Worth when he was all raged up on 'roids," Tony offered.
"He separated my shoulder," McGee replied through a wince as he yawned.
"A crazy and vindictive CIA agent tried to kill me by putting a bomb in my car," Tony argued.
"You weren't even driving it when it blew up," McGee pointed out. "I got taken hostage by a group of felons in a prison."
"Female felons, McWuss," Tony scoffed. "They had a tooth brush as a weapon. Okay, McKnowItAll, best this one: Gibbs had been head smacking me for years before we ever met you. Top that."
McGee scoffed and managed to roll his eyes as his lids grew desperately heavy while his vision grew hazy around the edges. A numb sensation started to wash over him as he fought to stay focused on the conversation.
"Gee, Tony, I'm in the hospital because I got my heart broken by…," McGee began deliriously. He was going to finish the sentence with the words 'a bullet' but stopped as he spied the fuzzy but easily recognizable figure of the newcomer who appeared in the doorway. "Abby."
Tony cocked his head to the side and smirked, figuring it was a medication induced confession. It would be too good to ignore that statement on a regular day, but seeing as his probie was still held together with surgical thread and medical tape, he was willing to let it slide.
For now.
"Yeah, well, that's beside the point, but I'll let you win this time," Tony said. "By the way, we should discuss that whole issue eventually. A little, long overdue advice from Disney where your crush is concerned, McGluttonForPunishment: Let it go."
"No," McGee objected as he shook his head weakly as he raised his hand clumsily to point at the door but lacked the coordination to do so.
"Seriously, Tim," Tony advised in a low voice. "This time away from the office may be what you need to finally reboot your internal hard drive about our basement dwelling..."
"Abby's behind you," McGee said looked toward the doorway.
Tony grimaced then glared angrily at McGee before turning a radiant smile to the newcomer to the party.
"Oh, hi Abby," Tony said brightly.
He raised his hand to swat his partner but stopped as he recalled where he was and why. Instead, he smoothly swiped is hand through his own hair, smoothing the side of it
"We need to work on our communication," he muttered out of the side of his mouth to McGee. "We've lost our precision since you've been here."
Tony turned again to the doorway, where Abby hesitated. She held in place, hearing part of the discussion but mostly hearing her own heart pounding in her ears. McGee was awake and had been bantering with Tony, something she hadn't heard in quite a while. It was reassuring and welcoming, and she was sorry she had caused it to stop. Seeing him awake and more animated than her last visits lifted a great weight of worry off her heart.
"He doesn't bite," Tony assured her as he waved for her to approach. "And if he does, he's on enough antibiotics that it probably won't give you anything. Then again, he's half out of it on painkillers so avoiding his teeth should be pretty easy."
McGee dropped his head tiredly back to his pillows and used them for support as he turned to look at Tony with confusion. He wasn't sure what Tony was talking about as his head swam. He wondered if he was missing some obscure movie reference involving teeth but decided he did not care enough to seek clarification.
"Better get your 'hi, how are ya's' in now, Abs," Tony said spying the shift in McGee's alertness. "We're about to lose him."
"What?" she blinked as she entered the room with an anxious expression.
"Nurse Ratchet just gave him a nice, fresh IV of happy juice," Tony said nodding at the recently administered solution hanging from the pole beside the bed. "He'll be out of it shortly. Basically he's going down. I'm yelling timber."
"Oh," she deflated. "I tried to get here earlier, but there was an accident on 295. The road was backed up for like 40 minutes. I planned to be here sooner, but there was nowhere to turn off."
Tony nodded understandingly. He looked at McGee whose eyelids were drooping as his eyes began to lose focus.
"See, this is why you struggle with the ladies, Probie," Tony said knowingly then cleared his throat and spoke louder, jarring McGee awake slightly more. "At least stay awake long enough to let Abby ask how you're doing so you can lie badly and say you've never felt better."
McGee blinked with confusion at Tony's words. Individually they made sense, but together they were kind of a jumble. It also seemed strange that Tony was hurrying toward the door after seeming to have just arrived. McGee looked to Abby for an explanation but none seemed to be coming as she approached the bed wearing a pout.
"Are you here?" McGee asked her.
"Yes," she answered slowly baffled by the question. "You can see and hear me, can't you?"
"Were you at your lab?" he asked.
His hazy thoughts told him that her answer would settle his mind. Despite Sarah's recent assurances, he had been certain he spoke to Abby recently. Then again, he reminded himself, he thought his father had spoken to him as well. That alone was sufficient proof that his head was not a good barometer for reality.
"Well, yeah," Abby said looking at him oddly. "I've been in my lab working. Where else would I be?"
He felt a mixture of relief that he had an answer from the source and yet also felt disappointment because it meant that she hadn't visited him previously. Considering how serious everyone said his condition had been, he would have expected Abby to at least come see him once. After all, she left her lab and camped out at the hospital when Ducky got a knife stuck in his hand a few years earlier. It hadn't been a life-threatening injury, but she did not leave until he was out of surgery and given a positive prognosis. Of course, his answer for why there was a difference between her reaction to Ducky's injury and his seemed to be contained in the second part of her answer, which he could barely remember now that several seconds had passed so he let the sinking feeling in his stomach fade… or maybe that was just the medication taking a firmer hold.
His head listed to the side as his lids drooped further. Abby sighed and tried hard not to feel anger toward the idiot truck driver who broke down in the driving lane and caused a three car pile-up—thankfully without serious injuries—which resulted in her arriving an hour later than planned. Since her first visit to the hospital, she had not caught McGee awake even once as all her other time with him generally occurred after midnight. Now, as he was finally upgraded to fair condition, he was moving to a new room shortly according to Penny. This meant his visitors would need to conform to normal visiting hours. That left Abby very little time during the week to drop in.
McGee felt a hand touch his arm. The unexpected contact jarred him awake. He looked up with startled eyes to see Abby standing by his bed wearing a sad and disappointed expression. He wasn't sure what he had done to earn it this time and felt too tired to ask or even apologize. Then again, his fuzzy thoughts reminded him, there was a chance he was dreaming.
"Are you here?" he asked.
She sighed as she frowned and pet his arm gently.
"Yeah," she nodded. "Tony wasn't kidding about that IV, huh?"
"Who is Ivy?" McGee asked. "I'm allergic."
"No," Abby sighed. "Not a person and not the plant. I said IV as in… Never mind. You are down for the count, I guess. I know it's not your fault, but I'm starting to take this personally, McGee. You're always asleep when I see you. It's one thing when it's the middle of the night, but I'm going to get a complex from this. I show up today at 3 p.m. and you immediately check out."
Like with Tony (he'd been around, right?), the words she spoke were ones he knew but they twisted and warped in his mind.
"I'm checking out?" he asked. "Can't be. Dr. Westlake won't even let me walk without a babysitter."
"No," Abby shook her head and patted his shoulder consolingly. "I mean whenever I'm here you're… Forget it. I know it's because of your meds. At least you're doing a lot better; Penny keeps me informed. Still, I don't suppose I'll get a real answer from you right now if I ask if you're feeling any better."
McGee heard her words but a thought that was more pressing rose in his mind as he felt the pull of sleep tug hard on him.
"Tony has a crush on my mom," McGee said groggily.
"Um, I don't think so," Abby shook her head and chuckled quietly. "Not like that anyway."
"He said the plague gave him a sliver in Somalia," McGee continued. "Does any of that sound wrong?"
"All of it," Abby nodded as she rubbed his shoulder as his glazed eyes blinked slowly. "Get some sleep, McGee."
She slouched dejectedly as the medication took a firm hold of him. Sleep pulled him under swiftly as his head listed to the side toward her touch.
"If this was a scientific study," Abby said while she settled into a seat beside the bed, "nearly all evidence would point me toward reconsidering everything that I figured out lately."
The pulse meter beside the bed beeped softly but regularly in a calming rhythm. Abby listened to it with a sense of relief as she looked at him. He still sported a sickly pallor and hollows in his cheeks. The dark circles remained under his eyes, but they were not as pronounced as they had been previously. The recovery was going to be long, but it was undoubtedly underway. Knowing that was enough to overcome her disappointment in his frequently unavailable nature when she saw him.
"However," she noted with a relieved sigh as she continued to speak quietly as she clasped his hand gently, "this is not a scientific study or about needing proof. This is about you getting better, getting back to normal and getting back to all of us… especially me. I wanted to tell you today that I got subpoenaed to testify at a trial in New Orleans next week, which is both good and bad. It's good because I get a free trip home for a few days. I can see my family while I'm there, but it's also bad because it looks like while I'm gone they're going to discharge you. I wanted to be here when you leave, but don't worry. I'll call you… Oh, except you don't have your phone, do you? It's in evidence still. I'll call your sister instead. I have Sarah's number. She'll make sure we catch up with each other."
oOoOoOo
Squad Room
A tall, thin woman with amber skin entered the squad room and cast her eyes around to find all desks in the center area empty except one. She turned to face Bishop with a questioning expression.
"Where's Gibbs?" the woman asked.
"In MTAC," Bishop replied. "I'm Special Agent Ellie Bishop. Can I help you?"
"Dropping this off to him," she said as she held up a rather thin inter-office envelope. "It contains a file he was asking about."
"And you are…?" Bishop asked.
"Cassie Yates," the woman replied. "Also a Special Agent. I'm stationed at Norfolk."
She nodded to Bishop then placed the file on Gibbs' desk. She turned to look at the empty desk across from his.
"Do you know how McGee is doing?" she asked as a worried pinch appeared in her eyes. "Tim started out at Norfolk before Gibbs had him reassigned to his team. We worked together vetting employment applications while he was still a probationary agent."
Bishop nodded, recognizing Yates' name from various email dispatches concerning the Virginia base 200 miles south of the Navy Yard.
"He's out of danger," Bishop answered. "According to this morning's report, his condition is now considered fair. They might release him soon."
"Already?" Yates blinked. "I mean, that's great, but I thought he was… you know."
"Oh, he's not well enough to be doing anything other than laying in bed," Bishop explained. "His doctor is tops in her field, but she's not that kind of miracle worker. The hospital is just going to kick him out soon—you know, the screwed up health care system figures as long as you're not needing transfusions that you're no longer in need of their round the clock care."
Yates nodded, disappointed that her old friend wasn't fully recovered but glad he was on his way to that. Hearing McGee was the agent gunned down overseas shocked Yates. In her mind, McGee was a capable field agent, but she knew his true strength was his technological skills. She would not worry if he was ever assigned to watch her back, but she knew she felt better for the agency (and at times the nation) when he was at a computer or in MTAC making sense of and wading through the tonnage of information that floated around them in tangled webs needing the proper logician to bring order to that chaos.
Her silence and the sad look on her face made an impression on Bishop.
"You worked with him a long time?" Bishop asked.
"Only a year, but we keep in touch," Yates said then smiled guiltily. "I'm a huge fan of his book. I kid him all the time, especially around my birthday, that he owes me the sequel. I don't care if he doesn't publish it for the rest of the world; I just want to read it. I'm not usually a shipper, but I just need to know that Agent McGregor and Amy Sutton end up together. The way Deep Six ended on that front was just… It drives me nuts not knowing if they'll ever figure out that they're meant for each other."
Bishop nodded. She heard something from Tony about McGee once trying his hand at writing. She asked McGee about it but only received a mumbled half answer that told her nothing. Yates' revelation added yet another layer to her teammate, much like learning he had once dated Abby.
"Well, he's going to have some time on his hands," Bishop shrugged. "Maybe he'll use it to draft your birthday gift. Um, what's with the file for Gibbs? Do we have a new case?"
"No, more like an old one," Yates said. "That's a file Tim brought to me years ago. It was a cold case even then. He got his hands on it and asked me to look into it for him. I feel terrible that I never got around to it. He was transferred to the Navy Yard almost immediately after I received it. I looked at it and meant to dig into it, but then we were an agent down with his departure so … Gibbs probably wants my head on a platter, but I put it in a drawer years ago and forgot it was there until Gibbs called to ask me about it."
She sighed and admitted to herself that she was glad Gibbs wasn't there to give her that stony look of disappointment for her file handling gaff. What importance it still held or relevance it had in the present day, she did not know. She was just glad she was handing it off and would depart before facing the man who called for it.
Bishop was intrigued by Yates' information. She looked curiously at the envelope on her boss's desk.
"What sort of cold case?" she asked. "Something that happened at Norfolk?"
"No," Yates shook her head. "It's an old NIS case from a base that's no longer open."
"Alameda?" Bishop ventured, feeling her pulse quicken with anticipation.
"Yeah," Yates nodded.
"Something stemming from a Tiger Cruise?" Bishop pressed. "Child molestation allegations?"
She and Tony had compared notes and what they seemed to indicate was not good. It was troubling and sickening. She knew that, on some level, neither ever wanted to find the missing NIS file. Now, it appeared it had come home.
"Yes, sort of, on the Tiger Cruise aspect," Yates said with a confused look on her face. "Maybe this isn't the case Gibbs is looking for after all. Although, considering what's in it, I kind of doubt it. He doesn't believe in coincidences as I recall."
Bishop shook her head. The eager look in her eyes pleaded with the other agent to tell her more.
"Tim's marginally mentioned in this file," Yates explained. "I didn't realize that until I pulled it out the other day. If I had known, I'd have looked into it long ago. It shocked me. I think if any other agent was mentioned in this file, they'd have looked into themselves. But Tim's a rule follower… as long as it doesn't involve computer security. Anyway, he gave it to me back when he was still fresh from the Academy. He did the right thing, I guess. I mean, if looking into it turned up something, he obviously couldn't be involved and make the case stick. Of course, I don't think anything will come of it."
"What's the coincidence?" Bishop asked and swallowed as she braced for the awful news.
"McGee," Yates said sorrowfully. "There really isn't much in the file. No one ever pursued the case. They opened it, but there was no evidence to prove anything ever happened. It looks the original report wasn't credible. It's just a guess on my part, but I think McGee suspected that his father called in a few favors back in the day to make it go away, which considering one of the notes in the file, doesn't surprise me. That being said, there's no evidence Admiral (then Captain) McGee did anything like that, but… Tim and his dad, you know? Their relationship never gave me the warm fuzzies."
Bishop nodded. She felt horrible. First, she had found the existence of the file. Until she did so, the past was in the past and slumbered undisturbed. Whatever domino she tipped when doing that and letting Tony know, they were about to start knocking over even more. Next, she had doubted Gibbs' gut. She had been told, numerous times, that to do so was unwise. Regardless of what they learned from this inquiry, she knew she was prepared to shelve her skepticism about her boss' sixth sense forever.
"The agent who opened the file never closed it," Bishop said. "He must have believed the allegations but not been able to prove them."
"Well, it was Mike Franks," Yates scoffed then grinned appreciatively. "Considering what I found out when I did a little checking, I wouldn't be surprised if he left it open just to avoid the paperwork."
"How many kids made the outcry claim?" Bishop asked carefully as she tore her eyes away from McGee's desk. Looking at it, even empty, was not possible as she waited to hear the devastating news.
"Uh, just one technically," Yates said. "The inquiry never went beyond Carter's accusation. Considering the chaos of the cruise finishing and the retirement celebration held for the XO at the end, it's not surprising no one else came forward with a similar the story."
"Wait, just one victim and his name was Carter?" Bishop asked curiously. "McGee didn't claim that someone… hurt him as well?"
"Whoa," Yates waved her hands as she shook her head. "The victim was a John Doe who was found drowned in the Bay, well, most of him was found anyway. He ended up on the local PD's docket not ours. Police never even ID the body. The Carter kid just made the accusation that he saw what happened."
"He wasn't molested by an officer during the cruise?" Bishop blinked. "That's not why the file was opened?"
"Hell no," Yates' eyes went wide. "This was a murder, or the kid claimed it was. In the end, no one believed him."
oOoOoOo
A/N: More to come…