Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.

Author's notes:

To my dear readers and reviewers: thank you so much for your steadfast support over this story. You cannot believe how happy I am every week when I read your comments and see how many people have logged in to read the new chapters. On top of a warm feeling in the heart, it also gives me confidence in continuing to write this story. And it's a fun way to improve my English skills, too! ;-)

I have to put this fanfic on 'hold' (because of two upcoming terms papers followed by a vacation) but it won't be abandoned. In fact, I am planning to post new chapters around mid-August, where we'll see Tim in Afghanistan working on The Watcher while Team Gibbs will count the days until his return… and there will be a lot of angst and drama. Sounds nice?

HAPPY SUMMER!

-"The Three Musketeers" is a novel written in 1844 in by French novelist Alexandre Dumas (1802 – 1870).

Chapter 14: A lamentation

Only by Sunday evening could Gibbs close his house's front door behind him. God, what a weekend! Had he been a superstitious man, he would have sworn evil forces had been summoned against him: the harsh conversation with Ducky, a brainstorm with Pride and Good Sense fighting like wildcats, an impromptu trip to Base Andrews ending with a fiasco, a fight and a stay in a holding cell. Another two "bad days" to add to the way-too-long list of Gibbs' worst moments in life and it beat by a mile the one featuring his best moments.

And Tim was gone.

Gibbs made a grimace as if he had swallowed a gallon of pure citrus juice. Damn, even thinking about Tim's absence hurt! He walked down the stairs leading to his basement. It was late and he was too tired to work on his new boat – in his current state of mind, he would only manage to make a mess of the hull, sabotaging the watercraft before it could even touch water – but drinking a full gallon of Jack Daniels wouldn't require too much effort. After he had gotten him out of Base Andrew's (and scolding him all the way while driving back to D.C.), Vance had given him two days off to "cool his head and get his ideas straight, if that is ever possible" so Gibbs could drink all night and not have to worry about showing up with a hangover at the office.

The basement was dark and silent but the silver-haired man didn't turned on the lights; he knew every corner of this room and he never left discarded tools or wooden planks lying about to make him trip at a moment's notice. He got the bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass out of a cabinet, poured himself a large one and lifted the glass to his lips; but, at the last second, a flash of anger illuminated his ice-blue eyes and he slammed the drink on the workbench, spilling bourbon on the smooth wood surface.

Good God, what was he thinking? Drowning his sorrows in alcohol and wallowing in self-pity while his son was flying right in the heart of danger? Shame on him!

"Think, Marine!" growled Gibbs out loud. "Think like a soldier, not like a weak-minded fool who falls apart at the first contrary wind!"

An internal nod from Good Sense made his brains' clogs turn full-speed. Vance may have benched Gibbs and he would have to keep a low profile for months to come, but the Director would be powerless to stop his obstinate subordinate from discreetly calling a few old acquaintances. That old rascal Ben Thompson, from the Marines Corps; Burt Butler, who had left the army to become a mercenary – a disreputable individual, but resourceful and always present in war zones; or even Paul Simmons at the Pentagon – it would take a bit of prying, but Gibbs could use that incident in the Moscow bar to give more weight to his arguments. And, as a last resource, there was the Option Trent Kort, OTK for short.

Gibbs suddenly shuddered and the glass of Jack Daniels looked more appalling than ever. Kort was about as reliable as a horned viper: he had a multitude of hidden agendas dictating his every moves and it was impossible to know whether he obeyed CIA's orders, somebody else's, or if he was simply freelance. Gibbs remembered too vividly the time when Kort, riding a desk after the "La Grenouille" fiasco, had offered his help in finding one of NCIS's most wanted criminals and he managed to walk out with $300 millions' worth in illegal assets. The CIA executives had concluded Kort was more dangerous in an office than out in the field; consequently, they had sent him in neck-breaking missions as far as possible from D.C., in the hopes the rogue agent would meet his end in unstable countries where people didn't ask questions about disappeared foreigners. So far, it hadn't happened.

The ex-Marine frowned at the idea of asking that particular man for his help; he and the CIA agent weren't exactly on speaking terms since Kort represented everything Gibbs abhorred: disloyalty, unreliability, deviousness, falsehood and selfishness – the exact opposite of McGee's character. It was probably why Gibbs refrained from letting his youngest son stay in presence of Kort for too long; not that he worried that Tim would somehow become fascinated by the CIA agent's twisted personality – the kid had too much inner steel for that – but his gut clenched painfully at the thought of this man of shadows being in close contact with his child of light.

And yet, maybe Gibbs would have to resign himself in making that dreaded phone call to keep Tim safe. Provided Kort would accept to go to Afghanistan…

Another sigh, and then the silver-haired man collapsed on a nearby chair. He was feeling old and tired all of a sudden, probably due to the fact that for the first time of his life, he didn't know what to do. Loosening Kort in Afghanistan would probably cause more trouble than anything else; Vance would be livid with rage and Tim would also be furious at his Boss' intrusion in his life. The young man had made it clear this special project was his alone and he was experienced enough to be spared the presence of a roguish babysitter. Also, Gibbs couldn't help but feel that his concern was arriving too late; Tim had needed his support years ago and, ironically enough, it was manifesting itself after the kid had boarded on a plane.

Gibbs reached out for the glass of bourbon, but then his hand bumped into a regular surface resting on the workbench. Picking it up, he realized it was a wooden photo frame protecting a photo; in spite of the dim light, Gibbs had no trouble recognizing the persons behind the small glass panel: it was a picture of his team members, taken on the occasion of a Fourth of July barbecue held in his garden. Tony was on the foreground, raising a can of beer in salute with a triumphant smile on his face, his other arm slung over Ziva's shoulders. The ex-Mossad had an ironic half-smile on her lips as she held a plate filled with grilled chops. Ducky was on the right side of the picture, trying to keep Palmer in the shot while Abby was on the left in all her Gothic glory, pointing at the American flag entirely made of blue, white and red sequins on her T-shirt. McGee was in the background, staring at the camera...

"Oh, God…" whispered Gibbs as he was suddenly taken aback by the expression on his computer tech's face; the kid looked so sad! Of course, the barbecue had been punctuated by Tony's lousy jokes, Abby's exuberance and Ducky's history lessons about the Fourth of July (in an effort to educate Ziva) but McGee had been quiet for almost the whole day, earning a salve of nicknames like "McDull", "McLame" and "McBoring" from the Senior Agent. As usual, Gibbs had been too distracted by Abby's incessant chattering – plus the fact she accidentally burned one of her fingers on the barbecue's grill, which caused a drama of epic grandeur – to notice the blatant discomfort of his youngest. Tim looked withdrew, almost desperate to melt in the décor as if he couldn't believe he belonged with Team Gibbs any longer.

"Oh, Timmy, what an imbecile I've been," said the ex-Marine, gently tracing the contours of McGee's face on the glass panel. "You've been suffering for so long and you hid it so well, I never saw a thing. But you're wrong about what you've told Ducky, so wrong. You are not a jester: you're my son! My second-born Prince, my genius kid, the brains of my court – don't you realize how lost we would all be without your brilliance, your input? You make magic with keyboards and, more importantly, you prevent us from becoming too harsh and cynical with that shining soul of yours. But you thought you were overlooked by the King and you chose exile, in the hopes you'd be more appreciated abroad. Tim, I swear on Shannon and Kelly's graves that I've never considered you as less important than Tony, Ziva and Abby. I've made a lousy job showing it, I'll grant you that but I will make it up to you, I swear – I'll sign a pact with the Devil's best representative with my blood, if needed. I will…"

"GIBBS! GIBBS! GIBBS!" shouted a strident female voice at the exact moment when the lights of the basement were switched on.

The older man groaned in pain as the hash light hit his eyes and, for a second, he considered grabbing his gun and point it at the intruder – just before his vision cleared and he realize it was Abby running down the staircase. He promptly put the framed photo back on the workbench and got on his feet.

"What's the matter, Abby?"

"What do you mean, what's the matter? You disappeared, that's what's the matter!" shouted the Goth, visibly upset. "I've spent the whole day looking after you, calling your cell phone every half hour and you never answered! I managed to call Ziva at NCIS and she told me she had no idea where you left, telling me a cock-and-bull story about you being assigned a special mission by Vance – on a Sunday, yeah right! Does she really think I'm that gullible? I may be on suspension but I haven't left my brains at the lab!"

"Abby…"

"What happened about that famous Rule no. 3, "Never be unreachable"? As far as I know, it applies to every member of the team, no exceptions. You should practice what you preach!"

"Look…"

"And I am still not re-instated! Ziva told me I should sit still and wait until the six weeks are over and make my mea culpa – well, I'll be damned if I do! You assured me you'd convince Vance to lift my suspension and so far I haven't heard a thing."

"Abby…"

"It's like I count for nothing within the team and NCIS. As if I've never helped in solving cases or arresting criminals for years. Some nerve! I have single-handily neutralized my stalker! I want you to…"

"ABBY! Will you shut up for a second?" roared Gibbs in a rare display of anger. He usually never lost his temper towards his favorite but the too-long day at Base Andrews' brig had dangerously reduced his natural-born short temper. He hadn't had a decent cup of coffee during the past 24 hours, for God's sakes!

The Lab Rat blinked out of surprise and then her lower lip started to tremble; why would the Team Leader shout at her? She hadn't done anything wrong! She had just looked all over town for him as her silver-haired fox never answered her calls or texts. It had been the worst week of her life – McGee leaving, she being blamed for her behavior, kicked out of NCIS, her friends unable to help her – and she had looked forward for a weekend at Gibbs' house, watching him work on his boats while she would have poured her heart out about the unjust punishment Vance had given her. But instead, she had spent the day driving through D.C. and driving all her acquaintances crazy with her anxious questions.

Gibbs saw Abby's eyes shining with tears and he immediately gave her a hug, aware that the woman would fall apart if she didn't receive immediate comfort from the man she considered as her father.

"Look, Abby, I'm sorry. It has been a long day and I'm tired."

"But what have you been doing?" said Abby, sobbing against the ex-Marine's shoulder.

Gibbs thought fast; mentioning Base Andrews was quite out of the question – Vance had been very clear on this point – and it was safer to play along with Ziva's lie. It was probably the first time the Team Leader was happy that one of his subordinate agents had lied but he took a mental note to not let Ziva turn it into a habit.

"I had to do something for Vance – a milk run, really, but it couldn't wait and I had to leave my cell phone and ID to not involve NCIS in this mission. Even Tony and Ziva didn't know what it was about and I was forbidden to say a word about it. As you are well aware of, Vance is quite angry with our team for the moment so I couldn't refuse doing a chore…"

"I am not to blame!" exclaimed Abby, relinquishing her hold on the older man, her eyes red from unshed tears. "Nothing that happened to the team is my fault!"

"You're right, Abby – in fact, everything that has happened recently is my fault," said Gibbs, frowning severely. "I failed as a Team Leader, I let too many things unsolved between my subordinates, creating a situation where one of us is suffering from our misdeeds and I am unable to do anything about it."

"That's right! I've been suffering for days about being sent home like an incapable; Tony is only concerned about that silly business about a review board and Ziva complained about having more work to do during my absence, can you believe it? They have completely forgotten what had befallen me; I thought we were friends and they would defend me no matter what but no, they just sit still and look at their navels. And all the other agents at NCIS laughed at me!"

"Abby, I was talking about McGee's sufferings," corrected Gibbs.

The Goth woman stared at the ex-Marine, as if she could hardly believe what her ears had just heard. Her stupefied expression would have been funny in other circumstances, but Gibbs didn't feel like laughing at all. Obviously, thinking about McGee's reasons for leaving the US hadn't crossed her mind and it would take a long time before Abby would start considering that they all had been too callous towards the computer tech – including her.

"What do you mean? We've never hurt McGee!"

"Yes we did, Abby – and the sooner you'll accept it, the better. We all played a part in his decision to go in a war zone for whatever project a bigwig has concocted and, if we ever wish for a chance to win him back, we'd better take a good look at ourselves and admit the truth."

"But what have I ever done to Tim?"

"Oh, come on, now! Don't play dumb, it really doesn't suit you."

Abby started to sulk: "If it is about that business of me dating him before he joined NCIS, then I am not responsible. How was I to know he'd become one of my teammates?"

"That's not the point, Abby. The fact is, as soon as he came became one of us, you used his feelings towards you to get whatever you wanted – a personal link at MTAC, extra hands to help you at the lab, a bodyguard to accompany you at rock concerts, a boyfriend if nobody else was available on Saturday nights, and so on. You damn well knew McGee wouldn't refuse you anything because, somehow, he kept hoping you would become his girlfriend again but once the needs were over, you pushed him away in favor of the first jerk you've met at a party."

"Hey, what about "Never date a co-worker"?" answered Abby back, her face like thunder. "Timmy and I would be married by now if it hadn't been for your stupid rules!"

"Married? Give me a break; you have the same fear of commitment as Tony and I! It isn't my greatest accomplishment, by the way. I should have told you that being in a loving relationship is the greatest thing that could happen in your life – God knows, the only times I've been truly happy had been during my marriage with Shannon – but you can't wish for this kind of miracle if you consider a person only as a mean to an end. In my case, the three ex-wives were a mean to end my solitude; in yours, Tim was your back-up plan. Well, a friend is not someone you take advantage of!"

"But…"

"Like I've said, I don't blame you. I've set a bad example and now I have to live with it. Too bad McGee has to pay for our actions but then again, the poor kid is used to it…"

"I'VE NEVER HURT HIM!" screamed Abby at the top of her lungs, but even here her protests sounded hollow. Gibbs turned his attention back to the discarded photo without adding another word, puzzling the Lab Rat – why on Earth would he constantly look at that frame? Sure, the photo was a great souvenir of that Fourth of July barbecue but there were more pressing matters at hand. Since a direct attack hadn't worked, Abby opted for a diversionary move:

"Look, Gibbs, I cannot think clearly outside my lab. I need to be there to take stock of the situation, see? I'm sure I'll be able to figure out what the Hell is happening to our team once I'd be reunited with all my "babies" – I need to be in a tidy place whenever my ideas get confused; it helps calming me down and besides, I'd be certainly more useful working on cases than being locked up in my apartment, twiddling my thumbs. That's why it is vital for me to be re-instated as soon as possible and you are the only one who can convince Director Vance to rescind his decision. This whole thing is sheer madness, by the way – how in the world does Vance think you guys can work without me? We're the best team of NCIS but in order to keep our number-one position, we need to stay together. One for all, all for one, just like in "The three musketeers" movie, to quote Tony!"

"Abby, I've already told you Vance won't relent. Accept your punishment and be a better person from it."

"HOW DARE YOU SAY THIS TO ME? You said you'll always have my back!"

"Yes, well it wasn't a license to act the fool, especially in front of the whole bullpen. You should have known better than making a scene to McGee and besides, since you know him so well, you should have realized he wouldn't abandon his dog in a kennel. Tim can hardly be accused of cruel behavior towards animals – and don't even start to mention him shooting at Jet, otherwise I will say things both of us will bitterly regret in a close future."

"Gibbs! I did nothing but protect an innocent dog from being executed."

"And you've blamed Tim for the whole matter, regardless he was suffering from deep bites on his neck and shoulder. Mind you, like I've said earlier, I'm the main culprit – I should have shown some concern about his well-being instead of letting you make a scandal all over NCIS. Do you know what I've overheard in the men's bathroom, about a week after this incident? I clearly heard Williamson asking McGee: "What's a good man like you doing in a team of jerks?" and Tim never answered, obviously too embarrassed by the question. Of course, I disregarded Williamson as a jealous bastard at the time, but with retrospect I'm starting to think that maybe he had hit the problem head on."

"You can't be serious!"

"Rule no. 51, Abby: "Sometimes, you are wrong". It's a rule I've learned way too late in life and it had caused me to make too many mistakes; however, Tony, Ziva and you are young so you still have the possibility to change before stubbornness ruin your lives."

"But you can't be wrong! You're never wrong!"

"Thank you for the vote of confidence; I used to believe that, too… Until Tim's departure opened my eyes but once again, it was too late," said Gibbs as he picked up the frame from the workbench. He remembered he didn't have any other pictures of his youngest and, since he was on leave for the next two days, it would give him enough time to find a photo center and ask if Tim's image could be isolated from the group's, and enlarged. Maybe Gibbs could make a frame to protect the new photo…

Abby nervously ran her hands through her pigtailed hair; things weren't swinging in her favor and she could hardly recognize her silver-haired fox in this broken, pensive man. Her usual tactics – indignation, hugs, protestation, cajoling – had failed one after another and she was getting at her wits' ends to find a way out of this mess. Finally, she opted for the argument of her imperiled finances:

"Gibbs, I really need to work; otherwise I won't be able to pay the rent at the end of the month. My fridge is nearly empty and my car is running out of gas as I've spent it looking for you all over town. Vance doesn't realize how hard it is for a single woman to lose her income! It is impossible for me to live for six weeks without money; I…"

"Abby, do you remember Mawher?"

The question cut short the Lab Rat's diatribe.

"W-What?"

"After you opened the door to Mawher and got almost killed, I blamed McGee for your disobedience. I told him he wasn't worthy to sit on an office chair and he had to work on his knees for a week while enduring Tony's lower-than-imbecilic sarcasms. I acted like a total bastard towards the kid, simply because I couldn't accept the idea that you were the one responsible for this mess in the first place. And McGee took it like a man; he never argued, never protested and did his undeserved punishment without a word of complain. Heck, he didn't even bore a grudge against you. He showed a great lot of dignity and in the end, I was the one who got so ashamed I couldn't wait to give him his chair back. Now, doesn't that make you think that you could follow his example?"

Abby, too furious to answer, turned heels and climbed the stairs in a furious stomping of her platform boots, making a noise imitating the charge of a herd of elephants.

"Look, if you need money, I'll be happy to provide you with…"

"Go to Hell, Gibbs! You don't want to help me getting my job back? Well, I don't want to have anything to do with you!"

"Abby!" protested the older man, but only the loud slamming of the house's front door answered him.

Gibbs sat down again on the chair, worn out by the day's events and discouraged by the discussion he just had with Abby. He knew he should go upstairs and lie down for hours of well-deserved rest, but he had one last thing to do before sinking in the oblivion of sleep. Holding the framed photo to his chest, he closed his eyes and did something he hadn't done for a very long time.

He prayed for his lost son.

TBC…