A/N: Oh my gosh, I am so sorry for how long this took! Between mid-terms, a huge paper, and some serious writer's block on this chapter, it took me ages to get this up. This was seriously the hardest chapter for me to write and to articulate- I hope you like it!

xxxx

They wheeled him into the ER in a wheelchair, despite Jethro's vehement claims that he didn't need it and helped him onto a stretcher, where a doctor immediately went to work once again taking vitals.

"How's Tony?" Jethro asked, craning his neck in an attempt to see into the trauma room that they'd whisked Tony into. He could barely see what seemed to be dozens of doctors crowded around the bed, most likely around his son, but he couldn't tell anything beyond that.

"Mr. Gibbs, please settle down," a nurse said, gently but firmly shoving Jethro back against the stretcher. "Your son is in good hands."

"I need to see him," Jethro said loudly, straining against the hands on him. "I need to be with him."

"You need to calm down," the doctor corrected. "Let us help you."

Jethro relaxed minutely, fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to see into the trauma room. The doctor sighed and turned to one of the nurses, leaning in close to her and whispering so that Jethro couldn't hear him. After a minute, the nurse nodded and scurried away, past the swinging doors of the room that held Tony. Jehtro watched her with a twinge of jealousy.

"What the hell is that?" He demanded, startled when the doctor slipped a needle into his vein and started an IV.

"It's saline," the doctor answered, clearly exasperated. "You're dehydrated."

Jethro glared at the doctor but allowed him to continue. He figured if he gave the IV a few minutes, acted like he was cooperating, then maybe the doctor would go take care of some other poor soul and give Jethro the time he needed to make an escape.

"Don't even think about it," the doctor said, squinting his eyes at Jethro. "You busting in there isn't going to help him any."

"It is," Jethro said, noticing but not caring about the tiny hint of desperation that seeped into his words. "He needs me as much as I need him. He needs to know he's not alone. His-Tony's mom and his sister are- He needs me. He needs to know I'm here. He needs to fight."

And that was the kicker, wasn't it? Tony had slipped into unconsciousness only with the knowledge that his mother and his baby sister were dead. He had no way of knowing that Jethro was here, was desperately holding onto him, had no way of knowing that he still had something to fight for. Jethro needed to be with him.

"Please," Jethro whispered, squeezing his eyes shut to trap the tears that were threatening. "Please."

The doctor's face changed, softened just a tad, and Jethro felt a surge of hope. Just then the nurse that had gone into the trauma room came back out, her jaw tight and her face solemn. She whispered something to the doctor then hurried away again, leaving Jethro with a sinking feeling in his stomach, an ache that settled into his heart.

"Mr. Gibbs," the doctor said, and his eyes were sympathetic. "I'm going to take you in to see Tony."

Feeling a curious mix of trepidation and hope, Jethro moved to hop off the bed and was surprised when the doctor's firm hands pressed against his shoulders, holding him in place.

"You need to understand something," the man said, and Jethro felt his hope starting to drain. "Tony isn't doing very well."

"What the hell does that mean?" Jethro whispered. It was all he could do not to scream at the doctor to just get to the point.

"Your son doesn't have a heartbeat right now, Mr. Gibbs," the doctor said gently, and Jethro felt his world slipping away, again. There was nothing here for him anymore, nothing to keep him grounded. He felt like a balloon with its string cut, floating endlessly into the sky, up and up and never coming down.

"That doesn't mean there's no hope," the doctor added quickly, his hands steadying Jethro's swaying. "With hypothermia, a person can survive much longer periods of time in cardiac arrest and still be resuscitated."

Jethro didn't find that to be all that comforting. His son was still in there, dead. Fucking dead.

"They're performing CPR on him right now, and they'll be connecting him to cardiopulmonary bypass soon. That will allow his blood to circulate and also to get warmer quicker."

Jethro nodded numbly, only half listening. Tony, his baby, his son, was in there, dying…

"We're going to do everything in our power, Mr. Gibbs," the doctor said, and the sincerity was so clear in his voice that it made Jethro a little bit scared. "We are going to try to save your son. But I have to make this clear, at this point it isn't looking very good. So when you go in there, you need to…you should say what you need to say. You might not get another chance. Do you understand?"

Jethro swallowed thickly and squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to keep some semblance of composure. They were telling him to say goodbye.

"I understand," he said finally. The doctor squeezed his shoulder, then helped him into a wheelchair, tucking the IV pole into Jethro's hand. He pushed the wheelchair forward then through the swinging doors and closer and closer to the table that held Tony.

Jethro felt his heart thudding loudly in his ears, faster than normal, and wished that he could somehow transfer the extra beats to his son. And then he was there, next to Tony's pale face, and he had to fight to swallow down the bile that rose uncontrollably in his throat.

Tony was pale and gray, a strange color that left little doubt that there was no life left in his body. A tube was sticking out of his mouth and a nurse was dutifully squeezing the bag attached to it every few seconds, delivering oxygen to Tony's starved body. A doctor was rhythmically pressing on Tony's chest, emitting a small beep on the heart rate monitor with every thrust. Jethro could hardly believe that the only solitary sign of life in his son was from the doctor pumping his heart for him.

"Hey kiddo," he whispered, running a hand through Tony's cold, wet hair. "Hi baby."

The room quieted, the buzz of medical terms dying down until the only sounds were the slightly arrhythmic monitor and the air being squeezed into Tony's lungs.

"I know you're tired, Tony. I know you're tired and scared and alone. But I'm here, kiddo. Okay? Daddy's here, and I'm not going anywhere. Just…just fight, baby. Just try your best, okay? Just try your hardest."

He stopped speaking for a minute and was surprised to realize that he'd been lightly tracking 'OK' on Tony's palm the entire time he was talking.

"You're okay, Tony. I'm here. I'm right here."

The noise in the room started to pick up again as new doctors entered the room, bringing with them a myriad of equipment.

"Mr. Gibbs?" A nurse said, gently touching his shoulder. "You'll need to leave soon."

Jethro nodded, trembling as he tried to keep in the tears, the despair that was washing over him. He pressed his lips to Tony's forehead, allowing himself to cry as he clutched at his son.

"If you fight this, baby, if you give this your all and you just can't make it, I won't be mad," he whispered, kissing Tony's nose, cheeks, eyelids.

"I love you, kiddo. No matter what, okay? I love you."

The nurse who had spoken sniffled lightly then spoke up again, her voice cracking a bit.

"Are you ready to go?"

No, Jethro thought. No, I'm not ready to leave my son. I'm not ready to leave, not ready to see him for what might be the last time.

Instead he squeezed Tony's hand, traced out 'OK' one more time, pressed a kiss to his temple, and nodded.

"I love you baby. I love you, Tony. I'll see you soon. As soon as you get better, I'll be there. I'll see you soon, Tony."

The nurse gently wheeled him out of the room, back to the curtained bed he'd been occupying before. Jethro was relieved to see his father standing worriedly next to the bed, clearly waiting for him. The nurse and another man helped settle him in the bed, then left him alone with his father.

"Dad," Jethro said, his voice breaking. Jackson quickly moved forward, wrapping his strong, familiar arms around Jethro's trembling shoulders.

"They're gone, Dad," he whispered, clutching at his father's shirt as he hadn't since he was a child. "Tony's- he isn't looking good."

"I know, son," Jackson said, one hand resting on the back of Jethro's head. "I know, J. I know."

"They're gone," Jethro repeated, letting the tears roll down his cheeks with abandon now, shaking as the emotions of the day overwhelmed him. "They're gone."

"Ssh, ssh, I know, Jethro. I know son. Let it out now," Jackson whispered, rocking slightly back and forth. "I know."

xxxx

Three hours later, Jethro was sitting on a hospital-bland couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he waited for news on his son. Jackson was on one side, Ducky on the other, and the other members of his team were variously sitting, standing, and pacing.

"Here, Boss," Tim said quietly, handing Jethro a cup of steaming coffee. "I found a coffee shop down the street, got their blackest stuff."

"Thanks, Tim," Jethro mumbled, accepting the offering.

"I, uh, spiked it with a bit of the good stuff," McGee continued, blushing. "It probably won't taste super good, but it's got a bit of a kick."

Jethro's mouth twitched but didn't fully form a smile as he took a sip of the whiskey-spiked coffee.

"It's fine, McGee," he said.

Tim nodded and sat down abruptly,, leaning his head back against the wall. Abby was still sobbing quietly, huddled with Kate and Ziva, who were gently trying to calm her down while still keeping their own emotions in control. Palmer was pacing by the door, eyes wide and unmistakably frightened. Sheppard was on Ducky's other side, stoic as always but clearly effected.

"You don't have to stay," Jethro said quietly, looking at his team. "You uh, you don't have to be here."

No one moved. All talking stopped, Abby stopped crying, and Palmer stood still. They stared at him, faces incredulous.

And then they all started talking at once, Abby gesticulating wildly with her hands, Kate with her hands on her hips, Palmer stuttering and red-faced, Ziva fierce and determined, McGee with his face set firmly.

Jethro was briefly overwhelmed, surprised by the vehemence with which his team was addressing him. Finally, Kate managed to quiet everyone and turned to Jethro.

"Gibbs," she said, slowly and firmly. "I know that's your son in there, but we all love him too. We all love you. There is no way in hell we're leaving you."

Jethro nodded, trying to swallow past the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat.

"Okay," he said finally.

"Okay," Kate repeated, and then everything went back to the way it had been, people pacing and sitting and trying not to let themselves form the thoughts that they were so afraid of.

Jethro's phone rang abruptly, and he fumbled with it, hands trembling and numb and uncooperative. Once he finally had it out of his pocket, Jethro looked at the screen and felt his heart plummet. Joann. He'd forgotten to call Shannon's mom. She had no idea.

Jethro took a deep breath and cleared his throat, then opened the phone with shaking hands.

"Joann?"

"Jethro! Have you found them yet? Oh, I'm so worried, they still haven't come, what if something happened to them?"

"Joann," Jethro said, trying to keep his voice level. He apparently didn't do very well, because Joann stopped mid-ramble.

"What happened? What's wrong, Jethro?"

Jethro took a deep breath.

"There was an accident. Shannon and Kelly…they're both…they didn't make it," Jethro said, not willing to get into the details of their death. Not over the phone. Not right now.

Joann gasped and then burst into loud sobs that she tried to tone down but couldn't. Jethro felt the now familiar bile rising in his throat and forced it down, biting his lip so hard that he started to taste blood.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered finally.

Joann had seemed to calm down enough to at least speak to him now.

"Don't be," she said, her voice trembling. "It wasn't your fault.

Yes it was, Jethro thought, but he didn't say anything.

"What about Tony?" Joann asked quietly, and Jethro could tell that she was crying again. He took a shaky breath and tried to speak even as tears rolled down his cheeks. Jackson squeezed his knee, and Ducky scooted a tiny bit closer to him.

"Tony's- they don't know. We're at the hospital. We're, uh, we're still waiting on news."

"Which hospital?" Joann asked, her voice suddenly firmer than it had been. "I'm on my way."

"Bethesda," Jethro answered. "But, Joann, um, you should know. It's, uh, it's not looking too good."

There was another muffled sob on the other end of the line, followed by some intense sniffling before Joann answered.

"Well, he's a stubborn kid. He'll be okay, Jethro. That I believe."

"Yeah," Jethro said. "Yeah, he will be. Listen, drive safely, okay? Be careful."

"Of course I will," Joann said, but she was crying again and Jethro could relate to her all too well, knew exactly what it felt like to lose a daughter. "I'll take a bus down."

"Good," Jethro said. "Good. I'll see you soon."

"Yeah," Joann said. "See you soon."

Jethro snapped his phone shut and started crying again. He wasn't sure he'd ever stop.