Note: I've got to travel across the country for my last book in a few days so there won't be a chapter next week since I will be away working on my professional writing endeavors. Consider this a little 2-3 week hiatus. Be patient, the last few chapters will be on their way shortly. Thanks for hanging in there this long.
oOoOoOo
Squad Room
Gibbs stepped off the elevator with a flat, almost murderous expression.
There was no one he wanted dead… yet. He wasn't pleased he had pushed Porter into a heart attack—although Ducky made a pretty strong argument the man's health and stress levels even before the confrontation were likely a recipe for imminent disaster even from just climbing a flight a stairs. Still, Gibbs had pushed—and he pushed hard.
He did so for a few reasons. First, the man was responsible for keeping a multi-million dollar drug ring running in the US Navy. That cost countless lives no doubt. Next, he was flat out and unremorsefully evil. He had violated children—unknown numbers of little boys permanently scarred for life because that sick predator couldn't keep his hands to himself. He was the reason (perhaps even the mastermind) behind the murder of Pamela Reeves and that of Kyle Renner while in NCIS custody.
Lastly, he was the reason members of team Gibbs's nearly died—at the warehouse bombing most recently, before that while escorting Reeves, and prior to that in a little communications room at the center of a desolate little outpost in Helmand Province the previous year. No, Gibbs did not feel badly that Porter was hooked up to machines while his heart slowly forgot how to beat and wound down his final days in medical solitude without anyone bothering to care he would soon breath his last. The only regret the veteran agent felt was that the bastard hadn't suffered more and that he hadn't given up more information prior to keeling over.
Fortunately, a call from Vance the previous evening let Gibbs know that Sec Nav felt the same way.
It was agreed that the perverted bastard deserved his end, but all felt it equally unfortunate that he didn't give up all he knew. Still, the names he offered were something. Gibbs's conversations with Vance since returning to the District let him know NCIS was in doghouse with Parsons while becoming something of like a cult hero with the FBI. Fornell reported his team felt collectively that all pedophiles should be interrogated into coronaries Gibbs' style without leaving a mark or a chance for recovery.
For a week that started on such an up note (finding and securing the safety of Carter Scott), it had swung swiftly toward tragedy with the explosion at Norfolk and ended in a virtual dead end with Porter on life support in Florida. As the end of that rollercoaster week rolled around, Gibbs wasn't sure what to expect from the last workday as he stepped into the squad room. He expected to find the desks of his agents empty, but yet another unexpected twist met his eyes.
"McGee?" Gibbs asked seeing the agent sitting at his computer. "What are you doing here?"
"I was reviewing the …," the younger agent began but stopped as his boss's expression gave further nuance to the question. "You mean as in why am I here at the office. Well, I didn't see a reason to stay home another day. I was home all yesterday and the day before. I'm fine to sit here and do research, Boss."
"Go home," Gibbs ordered.
"I can't," McGee replied. "I mean, I could, I suppose. I just meant that I have nothing to do."
"That's the point," Gibbs replied. "You've got broken ribs. You can't do much here. Take a day or two more. Go home. Go… play with your video games."
"I can't because I'm dead," McGee said and earned a raised eyebrow look of confusion in return. "I mean, the avatar I created the other day. Well, that Abby and I created. She stayed home with me the last couple days as well. It got pretty boring since she wouldn't let me do anything so we went online. It was kind of funny at first, creating a new character. We decided to invade Holly Snow's kingdom—well, it wasn't supposed to be an invasion but then things turned a little competitive. Anyway, Holly killed me by accident and now her Queen is trapped in a pit of never-ending solitude."
Gibbs continued to stare. More than a decade of listening to this sort of rambling and these types of details and he still did not get the appeal. Even when McGee played his more war-like games, it still baffled Gibbs. Why anyone would purposefully seek war and consider it entertaining was something he did not understand, but beyond that, having it in a virtual realm rather than a real one that had any connection to reality just made it even harder to grasp.
"Then go read a book, Tim," Gibbs said rather than seek further clarification. "Hell, go write one. Just go home."
McGee did not reply instantly. While he had no intention of going home so early in the day, he also knew saying so would be unwise. Arguing with Gibbs would serve no purpose, just like leaving for the day would be equally futile. He fought this precise battle with Abby that morning and won, sort of. She also believed he should stay home, but she knew of no way to keep him there short of handcuffing him to their bed and removing all implements within reach that could be used to free himself. Instead, she insisted on driving and vowed to do periodic check-ins with him throughout the day. McGee agreed to the plan if only because it would permit him to do the same to her. With the onset of the latest sweltering patch of heat, she was not sleeping well and the stress of the previous week was visibly wearing on her and worrying him.
"I'd rather work," McGee said. "If you send me home, I'll just tunnel in through the agency's firewall and work remotely anyway. I figure if I work from my desk, then no one on the cyber security team will waste a few hours trying to determine if someone breached the agency's security. So it's less work and better for everyone if I stay here."
Gibbs sighed and rolled his eyes. He wasn't sure what worried him more, his agent confessing without a hint of worry that he could dismantle their technology barricades as though they did not exist or the fact that McGee spent time weighing the pros and cons of the endeavor only to determine it was simply best all-around if he just came into the office rather than commit an easy felony from home.
Actually, Gibbs realized as he turned on his own computer, what worried him most was how normal all of that seemed.
"You're benched until you're medically cleared again," Gibbs reminded him rather than ruminate on the issue further. "The squad room, lab, autopsy, and MTAC are your only passes."
"Not the evidence garage?" McGee asked for clarification.
"Did I say evidence garage, McGee?" Gibbs replied.
"No," he shook his head. "I was just wondering if you forgot to… Never mind. You said those places only. Gotcha. Um, Boss, why?"
Gibbs sighed and looked at his eager agent. Tony might love the physical chase in the heat of a case, the up-close and personal aspect of breaking a suspect, the legwork that made him a great cop, more than McGee, but Gibbs never met any agent who loved being useful and needed to be needed more than Tony's probie. Gibbs knew McGee's need stemmed from a lifetime of feeling like he had to prove that he belonged where he wanted to be. Among techies, he held an elevated (one might even say at times exulted) status, but around agents there was always the hint of a desire to prove himself. Even now in this room, a dozen years into a career as a full time field agent with some pretty big cases to his credit and more than enough battle scars to support his creds, the wisps of worry and a faint desire for acceptance remained.
And Gibbs knew why in this instance.
"You did the right thing in Norfolk," Gibbs told him. "It was smart what you did with the batteries from your comm links and the phone gadget. Leave all of that to the lab techs to pick through. If they have questions, they'll ask."
McGee nodded. He had seen indications of that opinion in the few scattered reports he had managed to find on the server that morning, but hearing it from Gibbs was the confirmation he needed. Still, being banned from the area that held the physical evidence felt a bit like punishment.
He had a session with Cranston the day before—his first in several months—as a precaution. She felt he was coping well with the week's events but recommended he keep in touch to be certain that was the case. She also warned him there was a chance others around him might be a bit overprotective given that two near-death experiences in just over a year's time would make anyone cautious and worried. He had seen it already from Abby. He suspected that was what he was hearing from Gibbs. Of the two of them, he was more comfortable with Gibbs' worry.
"Any chance you can give the same take it easy order to Abby?" McGee wondered. "I tell her to do that and she starts claiming I'm coddling her."
"Are you asking me advice on how to best to handle a wife?" Gibbs asked.
McGee opened his mouth then shut it, seeing the folly in his inquiry.
"I'm just going to work on trying to make sense of the latest bundles of code the cyber unit unlocked from the laptop I pirated last summer," McGee said instead. "For some reason, Director Vance has renewed interest in it. Do you know why?"
Gibbs offered him a suffering look.
"First you want marital advice and now you want me to figure out the importance of a secret computer program?" Gibbs remarked. "I'm starting to question whether DiNozzo's the only one with a skull fracture."
oOoOoOo
Abby's Lab
The music was silent that morning as a headache—one that matched nicely with the muscle aches—was building in Abby's temples. If she didn't know better, she would have suspected she was coming down with the flu. However, she had no fever and it was about to be August—hardly flu season. Still, in an abundance of caution, she was waiting for a call back from her doctor to see if going in to be checked was wise. While she waited, she decided there was another patient that needed some attention: Tony.
Ziva reported the previous afternoon that he was back at his apartment, now off morphine and transitioned to Percocet, so that lucid conversation was possible once again. However, it appeared that the CIA's cagey control officer was not interested in doing much talking with anyone now that her charge was home and in his father's care. The why behind that was another issue Abby wanted to probe into, but first she felt checking on Tony was best. A quick text message to Anthony Senior revealed that Tony was, for the moment, alone in his apartment while Senior was off picking up groceries so he could spend the weekend "taking care of Junior."
Abby was not surprised when her call was answered before the first ring stopped.
"Tell me you've got a plan to spring me from the joint," Tony said swiftly.
His voice echoed from the speakerphone in the empty lab space. The sound of it was a little slow but not nearly as loopy as it had been in the hospital.
"So I guess we're not going to discuss rollercoaster sex and tofu again, huh?" Abby replied.
Tony grumbled and claimed ignorance of the remarks. He also pleaded for her to develop amnesia about anything he said while high on painkillers. Ziva had informed him of several alleged remarks he made, but he had no recollection so felt he should not be held accountable.
"So are you calling because you miss me or because you need me?" Tony asked. "Either response will make my day—a choice of both might make me feel even better. I don't care what the doctor said, I'm ready to roll now. Maybe Bishop needs to actually chase the bad guys, but I could trip 'em if she led them to me. I might be able to cuff 'em too if she'd hold them down a bit."
"Wow, and I thought Tim was stubborn about this," she replied. "What you just said made his morning sulking seem reasonable and mature."
"Okay, then I take that to mean you didn't call for my help," Tony sighed. "That must mean you called because you missed me."
Abby bit her lip as she weighed her options. The truthful answer was sort of neither. Certainly, she did miss Tony, but mostly she was just checking on him to see how he was feeling. She had lost her battle with McGee to get him to stay home for another day and take the weekend to finish recovering. The fact she gave in so easily was another reason she was checking in with her doctor. It had been a long week and she was feeling extra spent, but in a way that didn't seem like the usual fatigue she was experiencing. She wasn't precisely worried, but she was hyper aware of any deviation in her routine and what it might mean. For all the weight that lifted from her shoulders in the spring when the doctor let her know the pregnancy was viable, some part of Abby's mind had worried that the other shoe might drop at any time.
"I was just checking in," she finally responded. "I heard you were home, and I wanted to know how you were doing."
"Well, my father tried to feed me last night," Tony groaned. "I told him I only need to keep my left arm immobile, which leaves me the right one to lift my fork. He's been hovering. He was never big on waiting on anyone hand and foot so he's a bit out of his element. I suggested he get me a naughty nanny mostly as a joke, but he's been gone a lot longer than necessary to pick up a few things at the store. I'm a little worried he's interviewing some high-priced call girls who don't mind wearing French maid uniforms."
Abby chuckled a bit but stopped as the aches that woke her that morning washed over her again. It was a dull sort of pain that started nowhere in particular but lingered nearly everywhere leaving here feeling anxious and nauseous.
"Be patient with him and yourself," Abby advised as she pressed her hand to her side as a foot or an elbow began jabbing her, letting her know that her passengers were also not enjoying the day. "I'm going to tell you what I told Tim for the last two days: A lot happened this week. Let those who love you do what we need to do to process all of it."
Tony sighed, hearing her gentle chiding and a slight edge in her voice. He figured that was somewhat McGee's fault, but Tony understood all the same.
"I know this whole episode scared my dad a bit," he admitted. "I've been hurt at work before—hell, I had the plague even—but I always kept that stuff from him. Now, with him living in DC, I can't do that so easily. I was thinking this morning it might be easier on him if he wasn't so close."
Abby sighed sympathetically. McGee did the same thing, hiding work injuries, from his family. She finally convinced him the previous evening to call his mother and let her know what happened. As expected, Carol was worried and suggested it was time for him to look for another job. She leaned her argument heavily on his new family responsibilities, but McGee would not take the bait. He simply changed the subject then ended the call with a promise to check in with his mother the following week as he normally did.
"Once you're back on your feet, or in your instance on your shoulders, your dad won't worry quite as much," Abby suggested. "So other than having a suave and attentive valet and butler, how are you doing?"
"Uh, well, I'm bored," Tony said. "Watching TV or movies is out. It makes me dizzy still. Reading is a bit easier, but if I try to do that for too long, I feel seasick like the room is tilting. The doctor said that could last for another two or three weeks. My surgical scar is healing nicely, but it's starting to itch. I can't dress myself and going to the bathroom is a whole new lesson in planning."
Abby sighed sympathetically.
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I almost walked out of the house with two different shoes on this morning," she said. "I wasn't paying attention when I got dressed and I can't see my feet anymore so Tim was the one who pointed out the mistake to me."
Tony laughed—not precisely at her folly so much as it was at the thought of his probie trying to politely critique his wife's attire. He probably spotted the error quickly but held off saying anything on the off chance that her quirky sense of style had intended to mismatch the footwear.
"That's better than me," Tony said. "This morning, I tried reorganizing my movie collection by genre and kept forgetting what categories I chose so it's more random shelves of discs than anything with an order now. I considered alphabetizing the sheet music in my piano bench, but I figured I'd forget what order the letters belong on right now so I stopped. The only thing left for me to do is take my fish for a walk."
As he paused, he heard a slight intake a breath from Abby. He took that as a hiss of worry, which he felt compelled to allay swiftly.
"I'm kidding," he said. "Abs, I'm going to go nuts doing nothing for two months. Tell me you need my help or give me something to do—anything. Please."
She looked around her desk and found it barren of any evidence needing her attention, any reports requiring her vetting, any computer needing her skill. Like Tony, she was feeling useless. The difference was, should something change upstairs, she would be called into action… sort of. Her lab assistants did most of the actual hands-on testing currently—a safety precaution she agreed to in the interest of her health and that of her unborn children. However, analyzing reports could only be done when there were reports available for analysis. Currently, she had none.
"I've got a mold and bacteria analysis seminar to go to next week," she offered. "It's a half-day lecture in Georgetown if you're up for it, you can join me."
Tony groaned. Four hours in a room full of geeks talking about spores and infectious microscopic growing things that could probably eat his face off it not kept checked in a petri dish seemed a bit worse than the torture of solitude and being spoon-fed by his father.
"Yeah, I'm thinking I'll pass on the wonderful world of science offer," he replied. "I've had my fill between getting my own bionic man treatment in Norfolk and McGee flashing me pictures of your critters. They look like aliens—or McGee; same difference, I guess. I mean, they're kind of gawky so I definitely see the resemblance to your husband right off."
Normally, she let McGee and Tony have their juvenile squabbles. It was not her place to defend or scold either of them. Their little snipes at each other were a sort of sibling rivalry that was theirs alone to manage. However, this was a special situation.
"Ahem," she cleared her throat in reprimand. "Do not pick on M-C-G-E-E when the b-a-b-i-e-s are in the room. They have ears now and can hear what you say."
Tony shirked at the thought of babies without ears. The whole concept of them needing to grow the audio appendages sent a chill up his spine. He then made the mistake of saying so.
"Ears now?" he shuddered. "That's…. creepy."
"Really?" Abby questioned. "I think babies without ears would be creepier."
"No, I mean…," Tony said, wishing he had the ability to shrug. "Your Mini-McGee's and their little parts. There are two tiny persons living inside you. That doesn't freak you out at all?"
"No," she chuckled. "They move enough now that you can feel it from the outside, too. I'll let you feel them the next time I see you. It's really cool."
The feeling in Tony's gut, the one he tried to ignore, flared again. It was easier to find the whole discussion of Abby and her babies creepy and deflect what he was actually feeling with a joke or an over the top remark.
The problem started when he was in the hospital. As soon as he was lucid enough to understand where he was and grasp the seriousness of what had nearly happened, his thoughts turned dark. He and McGee had nearly died. He had wanted McGee to leave him. Tony felt he owed that to the next generation of McGees to have an intact family. That his partner refused to leave was both infuriating and predictable.
That was the problem with working to closely with someone for so long. You didn't always do what was best. Sometimes you did what felt right and what's feels right and what's best didn't always synch up. Tony wasn't sure what that meant for his working relationship. He himself had made some questionable decisions regarding Gibbs and Ziva in the past. He stood by those choices, but he was someone who acted on his gut. McGee was supposed to be the thinker.
There was also the thought that, had the worst happened, at least some part of McGee would have lived in on his unborn children. Tony didn't have that on his horizon. If he had died, his father would have no family left and there would be nothing more of Tony in the world.
He shook his head, lost on those thoughts, as he realized the phone had gone silent.
"Well?" Abby asked after a long pause. "Tony, I'll let you feel them kick. Tim and I were just saying yesterday that we haven't had anyone over so let's figure out a good night for you to come for dinner. You can feel them then."
"Uh, I don't think so, Abs," Tony said. "That's… really… uh, personal."
"Oh, I don't mind," she said brightly. "This is really exciting."
"Yeah, you might not mind, but your husband might," Tony offered. "Me, touching you—you know how he gets. He has a fit if anyone stands too close to you in the elevator—and that was even before you two were married. If he was that territorial about you before, it's certainly more now. I know he still goes down to the lab to make sure your assistants are properly keeping their distance and behaving. If he sees me laying hands on you, well, who knows how that will turn out."
Abby scoffed and chuckled slightly.
"Since when are you afraid of Tim?" she asked.
"Me, afraid of McBabymaker?" Tony replied. "No. I'm just saying, why kickstart an asthma attack of offense from him. You know he gets a little ramped up when other men are around you."
"He doesn't care if Gibbs is around me," Abby argued.
"That's because the Boss scares him," Tony replied. "Your twitchy other half is an intelligent man."
"And you're changing the subject," she pointed out. "Why you don't want to get to know my babies? Have you given up your campaign to have them named after you and to be their godfather?"
Tony shook his head and sputtered as he tried to plead his case. He believed, and felt McGee was obligated, to follow through on his promise to name his first born after his partner. As his first born was a double-header, that meant he needed to name both children after Tony. Whether Tony got Morse Code signals tapped to him via an in utero foot had nothing to do with that obligation.
"Are you afraid of babies?" Abby asked boldly.
"What?" Tony scoffed although his voice sounded a notch higher. "No. Of course not. Babies are… little and cute and… little and… viscus fluid leaks out of them and…"
"And they're terrifying to you," Abby noted. "I'm going to work on this with you, Tony. We'll get through it together. I know how you can conquer this fear. Just leave it to me."
She was going to start giving him a lesson on the intricate biology of human reproduction—the cool stuff that she found infinitely fascinating that they never covered in depth in any science class—when her cellphone sounded letting her know she was getting another call. She ended her discussion with Tony, promising to call him again in a day or two to check on him again. Then she looked at the number calling her and recognized it as her doctor's office.
"Abby?" Dr. Amy Shinseki's smooth voice greeted her. "I got your message. I want to come in. I'm holding office hours at GW today. Can you come in now?"
"Right now?" Abby replied as she looked at the clock. "Uh, sure. Is there a reason you're getting me in so quickly?"
The worry in her voice ratcheted up a notch as another wave of aches rolled over her and sent her heart racing.
"Because I want to get you in before my day goes crazy," Shinseki replied warmly. "It's a full moon tonight. I know there's not a lot of science behind those old wives tales, but I also know after 20 years in this career that my husband never makes plans for us on nights with a full moon for a reason."
oOoOoOo
George Washington Hospital
Shinseki's Georgetown office was smaller than the one she kept at her practice in Arlington, closer to Abby and McGee's home. There was no waiting room in the smaller space but as there were no patients ahead of her, Abby was ushered into the office/exam room instantly. McGee accompanied her while sporting a worried expression. A nurse swiftly busied herself taking temperature and blood pressure readings then doing a quick finger prick for a blood sugar reading. She there and gone within five minutes leaving the couple alone while they waited for the doctor to arrive.
"You should have told me you were feeling ill," McGee said gripping her hand.
"I'm feeling achy not ill," she corrected him as she rested on the reclining table. "I only called the doctor because I heard that a couple techs in the evidence garage caught a stomach bug so when I started feeling like I had the flu, I figured I'd check in before I actually came down with anything. My call was a precaution only."
McGee grit his teeth. He blamed himself. She had been through a lot in the last week between his absence for traveling to Puerto Rico, to the commotion with Carter Scott that ousted her from her home, to the insanity of what happened in Norfolk. She wasn't sleeping and was getting run down by her worry for him and her insistence to play his nurse-maid. That, he vowed that morning, was stopping immediately. Despite the twinges it caused, he had insisted (successfully) that he would drive her to her appointment.
"Alright," Shinseki said as she entered the room with a tablet in hand. "I'm admitting you."
"What?" Abby and McGee said simultaneously.
"As a precaution," the doctor replied. "Abby, you're showing signs of premature labor."
"What?" she shook her head. "No. I haven't had a contraction. I'm just tired and feeling like I have the flu."
Shinseki shook her head and placed a comforting hand on Abby's shoulder.
"Those aches you're feeling are not the flu," she reported. "Those are mild contractions. You're feeling them primarily in your back. It's not uncommon for a woman carrying twins, but it is a concern. Your blood sugar is also slightly elevated along with your blood pressure. We caught this early and that is good news. I want to capitalize on this advanced notice that's why I want you here under observation for now. I'm getting you checked into a room, and we're going to run a full panel on you and get you hooked up to a fetal heart monitor just to make sure everyone is doing fine. We're going to administer you some tocolytics to stop the contractions from getting stronger and hopefully stop them all together. This sometimes happens when an expectant mother catches a virus. The body is under considerable strain with the pregnancy so when other systems go out of whack, like having elevated gluclose and white cell counts, the body starts shutting down what is not essential."
"My babies," Abby gasped. "No."
She squeezed McGee's hand tighter as she sat up abruptly. Tears instantly filled her eyes as she drew a sharp and fearful breath.
"There is no reason to panic," Shinseki said calmly to the couple. "We've caught this early so I'm cautiously optimistic we can mitigate this. Now, I know you're anxious, but try and stay calm."
"You think the tocolytics will be successful?" McGee asked, his mind whizzing back to his understanding of biomedical "What are you going to administer?"
"We always start with Terbutaline," the doctor replied. "We can administer it safely for up to 72 hours if necessary without much worry of side effects."
"Terbutaline?" McGee said and caught a questioning look from his wife. "That's a beta-2 adrenergic receptor agonist, a chemical used for smooth muscle relaxation and vasodilation of bronchial passages in treating asthma."
"Precisely," Shinseki said then lifted an eyebrow. "Chemistry degree?"
"Biomedical engineering," McGee replied. "But I know about know about it because I take it for my asthma. You're treating her with asthma meds?"
"Essentially, yes," the doctor replied. "Whereas yours is likely an inhaled administration, Abby will receive an intravenous one at a higher dosage. There are side effects that we will want to monitor as well, so you'll be here for a day or two at least, Abby. If we can stop the preterm labor with the first round of meds, we have a lot of options to consider to keep it at bay."
"And if the drug doesn't work?" Abby asked in a small quaking voice.
"Then we'll try another one," the doctor said confidently. "For now, I want you to relax as best you can. I know that's hard, but that is what you can do to help with this treatment, okay? Now, I'll send Claire back in here once your room is ready. Abby, Tim, it's going to be alright."
Abby nodded and told herself to think positive, but she felt the tears dribbling down her face before she had the chance to wipe them from her eyes. She turned her head toward McGee's shoulder as she fought to hold back a sob while he placed his arm around her and whispered that everything would be okay.
oOoOoOo
Autopsy Suite
Ducky sighed as he hung up the phone. The unexpected call from McGee along with the news he conveyed sent a chill through the medical examiner's heart. There was not much he could do for his two colleagues but offer words of scientific consolation that medically speaking the course of treatment Abby's doctor was proscribing had a relatively high success rate. That the success rate in that statistic was based on women nearer to the end of their third trimester rather than just at the start of it was a fact Ducky kept to himself. However, he knew he could prove useful in other ways to them and was about to prove that as the doors to autopsy opened.
"What do you have for me, Duck?" Gibbs asked as he entered wearing a puzzled expression. "Are you going to tell me you've got Porter here on a slab? Someone should have called me long before he arrived if that's the case."
"Whether fortunately or unfortunately, that is not the case," the medical examiner said. "Timothy tried to reach you, but you were not answering your phone."
"I was with Vance," Gibbs answered.
"Ah, well, neither Timothy nor Abigail will be returning to the office today," Ducky revealed. "Abby's been admitted to George Washington University Hospital. She's experiencing premature labor."
The news hit Gibbs like a punch to the gut. He blinked and took a step back. He scrubbed a hand across his face.
"What happened?" he asked. "McGee just said she had an appointment."
"She has an elevated white count so she may have contracted a virus," Ducky said. "Considering that she is carrying twins and add to that the stress she has been experiencing recently and even a normally tolerable 24-hour stomach bug could create complications. She is fortunate that she has such an experienced doctor who acting quickly upon receiving Abby's call stating she did not feel well. The doctor fortunately took Abby's worries seriously."
Gibbs nodded. He was no medical expert, but he could count. There were far too many weeks to go before the anticipated birth date. He knew medical science had progressed greatly, but he also knew instinctively that being born more than three months early was a recipe for disaster.
"Do they think they can stop it?" he asked.
"The doctor is hopeful," Ducky replied. "Timothy asked me to double check a few things about the drugs they will be administering. I forget sometimes with our reliance on him for his computer skills that his first area of expertise is chemistry based. I plan on taking a late lunch and going to the hospital to see them in an hour or so. Abigail should be resting by then. I do not expect Timothy is going to leave her side until they determine their children are no longer threatening to make an early appearance."
"What are their chances if they do?" Gibbs asked.
Ducky sighed. His grim expression was all the information Gibbs needed.
"It goes without saying that no matter what happens, Abby will not be back at work anytime soon," Duck continued. "She will either be in the hospital or on bed rest. Someone will need to oversee the lab. I know Mr. Curly is always looking to step up and prove himself."
Gibbs' expression lost its worried aspect and changed subtly to something else, something more calculating. He held his tongue for a moment, drawing the doctor's questioning stare.
"Is there something I should know, Jethro?" Ducky asked.
"Curly is taking care of a special project for the director," Gibbs said evasively. "He's going to be too busy to oversee the lab. We'll put Larry in charge for now."
"Mr. Perrine?" Ducky questioned then shrugged his acceptance. "What he lacks in sociability he certainly makes up for in accuracy and adherence to standard operating procedures. He is methodical and not by any means creative, but other than grumbling from case agents that he will not entertain any of their theories until he has run all his required tests, I cannot foresee any issues."
Gibbs snorted as he started toward the door. He translated Ducky's assessment. The supervisory agents and team leaders would have to deal with Larry's personality quirks and lack of user friendly buttons to push to get their work done ahead of others. It might make for a grouchy core of investigators, but the lab would be in capable hands until Abby was able to return. As for the favored lab tech, Bill Curly, there was a lot more in store for him than the man expected.
oOoOoOo
Arlington National Cemetery
The early morning sun trickled over the silent, rolling landscape. A sea of headstones blanketed the green grass sprinkled with due that sparkled in the morning rays. Fog caused by the intense humidity hung over the Tidal Basin in the distance as the first visitor to the graveyard stood in front of the simple white stone carved with the names, dates and final rank of the man encased in the concrete vault six feet below the surface.
McGee stood at his father's grave and sighed with a heavy heart. He had spent the night staring at home first staring at the ceiling and next staring at a picture of the man but finding answers in neither sight. It had been a nerve-wracking night. He left the hospital at 10 when he was certain Abby had fallen deeply asleep. The medications appeared to be working, but there were still more tests and observations to go. Then there was the waiting to see what would happen should they remove her from the drugs to find out if her body would cooperate. Remaining outwardly calm and believably composed for Abby had taken nearly all of his energy.
He had expected to simply drop from exhaustion once he got into the house and sat on the couch. Instead, that's when the thoughts started churning, the ones that whispered all the fears he told Abby to ignore throughout the afternoon and evening.
Fear was something McGee knew and understood. It had been a part of his world for as long as he could remember. Whether it was fear of the dark as a little boy, fear of heights when he was slightly older, fear of failure once he started doing well in school, fear for his father when he sailed off to be with the fleet in harm's way, or even fear he'd made the wrong choices in his life and wasn't deserving of any success, it was something he lived with always. He usually found a way to maneuver around those fears, even if it took a while and a lot of internal coaxing. This, however, was different.
This was fear for his family, his own family. Winning Abby's heart and getting her hand in marriage was the greatest success he had ever dared imagine. Having a family with her was a bonus he never anticipated. Now, having the possibility of losing one and having to watch the woman he loved suffer inconsolably over it struck a new sort of fear in his chest. This one, he realized, was what true terror felt like. He had faced his own possible death a few times and while he did not consider himself all that brave in those instances, he somehow managed to survive. This time, he did not know how he would because what he felt, the horrible, crippling ache that might loom on the horizon if the treatments failed would change and damage his world irreparably.
And that left him thinking dismal thoughts about someone he never thought about in times of trouble: his father.
But he could not get the man out of his mind so when dawn arrived, McGee called a friend who worked at the man's final resting place and received permission for early admission to the national cemetery.
He stood at the grave and listening as birds chirped lightly while littering the ground in search of elusive worms.
"Seems like our longest conversations have occurred since you died," McGee said softly. "That's not me criticizing you or commenting that you never had time for me. You didn't but that's not what I meant. It's more a complaint for myself. I should have made more of an effort when you were alive. I knew you weren't the type to… Anyway, things are… life has been chaotic lately. I haven't been by here at all in the last year and I'm sorry for that. I just never found the time; I don't think I wanted to find it. You see, I got hurt at work and it made me forget a lot of things. One of the things I forgot was you dying. When Penny told me about that, I didn't want to remember it. Then, last night, a few things came back to me. Standing here, when there was snow on the ground, watching them lower your coffin into your grave. I remembered that. I didn't cry, not a single tear, while they did that. I wanted to, but I knew you'd have told me not to so I didn't. I waited until I was back at my apartment by myself."
McGee took a deep, shaky breath and exhaled in an uneven fashion as he felt the jitters from the day before begin to radiate from his stomach again.
"After I remembered that, it started me thinking," he continued. "You left us, me and Sarah, a lot. I used to get so mad and worried when you did that. You told me why and I had to accept it, but last night I was thinking about it and I can't understand how you did it. How you just up and left us all the time and never told us that you missed us or wished that you could stay. See, Abby, my wife, is in the hospital because she almost miscarried our children yesterday. Thankfully, the doctor thinks they have that under control now. Things were looking up when I finally left last night to go home, but all I could think about all night was how sick at heart I felt having to leave her at the hospital just for a few hours and how mad… How mad I am at you for voluntarily leaving your family time and time again and never saying it bothered you or showing us it did… or maybe I should say if it did. My children aren't even born yet and I want to apologize to them for not being there with them last night; I want to apologize to Abby again because I had to leave because the ward she was on has strict visiting hours. I want to ask you if you ever felt, for even a minute, even half of what I felt last night. I don't know my children yet, but I'm terrified for them even though they're under a doctor's care. Which got me thinking, Penny told you I was in the NCIS building when it was bombed two years ago, but you never even called to see how I was. You never asked what happened to me. Maybe you asked someone on your staff to get you that information, but you never asked me. I can't imagine not wanting to hear my son's voice say that he was okay after hearing about something like that. I know it does no good to be mad at you now, but… I am. I know a lot of that is just misplaced anger about Abby nearly having a miscarriage, but… I don't care. In the last year, I've nearly been killed twice and almost lost my family, and you're not here to tell me to suck it up or be strong or that everything is going to be fine—and that makes me mad, too."
His chest heaved as he ground moisture from his eyes with the heel of his hand. His ribs ached. His head throbbed. He was tired and worried. Ducky told him to expect this eventually, a renewed stage of grief, as the forgotten memory of his father dying would force him to go through the grief stages again as his mind processed the loss once more. Doing so when he would rather be focused on his wife and children was decidedly inconvenient, McGee thought, but he figured he didn't have much choice in the matter.
Still, having had his say to the man's headstone, did relieve some of the pressure he felt building in his chest through the dark hours. He hoped it cleared his mind and calmed it somewhat so that he could go to the hospital and put on a believably brave face for Abby.
"By the way," he said, his voice leveling out and sounding less angry, "I don't expect a reply. I was just venting. Okay, ranting is probably more accurate. Sorry, Admiral. I know how you disliked emotional discussions of any sort."
He drew a deep breath, one that made his mending bones twinge, but one that also helped clear his mind. Into that renewed sense of calm, he heard a voice not far from his position.
"If you came here looking for answers or solace, you probably won't find much," Bishop's voice carried apologetically through the still morning air. "This is kind of the place might have a certain finality that can be peaceful, but it's also where all the answers stop."
McGee looked over his shoulder to see her approaching softly over the dewy grass while sporting a sympathetic expression.
"I know," McGee said. "I just woke up and felt like I needed to come here before I went to see Abby."
"Sometimes, we just need to talk to our fathers even if they can't or won't talk back," Bishop nodded. "Gibbs was looking for you. He asked me to find you. Actually, we're all a little worried about you. Is your phone on silent? I know it's on because that's how I tracked you here."
McGee nodded and pulled the device from his pocket. He had it on fully silent. Protocol dictated he would not take a call while in the cemetery so he saw no need for it to even be on vibrate when he arrived. He noted the missed calls—relief washed over him as he noted none of the calls were from Abby or the hospital. Bishop seemed to read his momentary apprehension on his face.
"I called the hospital before coming to find you," she reported. "Abby's still stable and still sleeping. Are you going to see her?"
He nodded. He called the hospital as well when he woke up and learned she had an uneventful night. He figured he would give her a bit more time to rest. While doing that, he found himself drawn to his place. He vaguely recalled standing on this spot on a dreary day just after Christmas—no snow on the ground but the air cold enough to freeze breath—as the casket six feet behind his feet was lowered into the ground. There was a 21-gun salute to cap the full military honors. He'd received condolences from the Vice President and the Secretary of Defense. Sec Nav, too, offered a handshake and a few words. McGee hadn't been listening to them so whatever was said was lost long before a gunshot in Afghanistan erased his memory of losing the man whose body rested in this spot.
"I started thinking about him, the Admiral, las night and I wondered if it meant anything," he said as though Bishop had been hearing the thoughts in his head. "I finally remembered the funeral. I wondered if it was a sign. Remembering the death of one family member because…"
He swallowed as his voice trailed off and a bitter taste filled his mouth.
"You're not losing anyone else," Bishop said quickly and confidently. "Abby and the twins are fine. Don't start thinking otherwise. You'll just stress yourself out for no reason."
McGee sighed as he turned away from the grave, realizing Bishop was right and that there were no answers to be found there. He fell into step beside her as she began walked back to the path that wound through the sea of headstones.
"Yesterday was Abby's nightmare," McGee said. "This is what she's feared from the start, that something would happen and… I kept telling her there was no reason to think anything bad would happen. You'd think I of all people would know better than to say that."
Bishop sighed and put her arm around him and hugged him lightly, cognizant of his still healing bones.
"No, Tim, I think you are the perfect person to say that and mean it," she offered. "After everything you've been through, you can speak with authority on finding a reason for hope when things look bad. We didn't think you were going to make it after you were shot. Now, look at you. So, you listen to me, there's no reason to think about funerals or losing anyone today. A year ago you were just starting to get back on your feet. Now, picture this: A year from now, you and Abby are going to be scurrying around your house chasing your kids because they're going to be crawling around like a pair of eager ants just looking for trouble. You want to worry about something, worry about them climbing the stairs or tearing down the curtains."
McGee smirked and whispered his thanks as he returned her embrace and offered up a silent wish (perhaps a prayer) that she knew what she was talking about.
"Other than wondering where I was, did Gibbs need something from me?" McGee asked, trying to shift his brain to more productive thoughts.
"Yes, but it can wait," Bishop replied. "He and Vance have some special project they're working on that has something to do with internal communications. I don't have all the details, but I think Gibbs wants you to write a program that is going to look for something involving email or text messages."
McGee nodded, not thinking the assignment overly complicated and wondering why they were not asking the cyber unit to tackle it. The most likely answer, he knew, was that Gibbs didn't want to deal with the cyber geeks across the street in the annex. He had a certain tolerance level for the programming savvy agent on his team, but anyone who spent the majority of their career in the basement just looking at code was a creature Gibbs generally tried to avoid.
"Does this have to do with whatever you did with Gibbs in Florida?" McGee asked.
He was still in the dark on the purpose of their travel and what it accomplished. There were several bases in Florida and he wondered if they head a lead on the head of the drug running scam.
"Um, I'm not sure if this is directly related," Bishop answered.
"What did you do down there?" he asked and sensed he tensing up. "Ellie?"
"I'm not sure what I'm allowed to tell you," she said truthfully. "McGee, there's a lot that's gone on and some of it leads back to what happened to you in Afghanistan and what just happened in Norfolk last week. I don't know that I understand all of it, but some of it involves Admiral Porter."
McGee snarled at the mention of the man.
"Rear Admiral," McGee corrected her tersely. "He's not a full admiral and shouldn't be addressed as one."
"Okay," she nodded. "So I guess hearing that he had a near fatal heart attack and is on life support isn't going to add to your worries."
McGee stopped in his tracks and looked at her questioningly. When her expression did not change, he huffed his lack of worry.
"Not in the least," McGee said. "I've never truly hated anyone in my life—not even Ari Hswari, the guy who killed Kate Todd—but for Porter, I've considered making an exception. My whole life, the guy was just… He made my father think I was a liar when I was a kid, or I think he did. I'm not sure any more about those days. What I do know is that anytime that guy walked into a room, I couldn't walk out of it fast enough. You know, finding out he was the person I went to have dinner with on the carrier last year was what got me thinking there was more to my trip out to the ship than dinner with some of my father's friends. I knew there wasn't a force on the planet that could make me willingly sit at a table with that guy. So, if he dies, I don't see it as being a huge loss."
Bishop nodded and held her tongue. McGee had no clue how lucky he was, how close he had come to a childhood tragedy, and how desperately unlucky his friend Carter Scott had been. Whether that secret would remain hidden was anyone's guess. With Porter now all but dead, there was a chance Scott's past could remain buried as he wished. Whether McGee would ever find out the truth was a question only time would answer, but for now, it was apparent that his mind was far from working matters.
"I was thinking of stopping by to see Abby," Bishop offered. "Do you mind if I follow you there? I'll wait in the lobby until you summon me, but I would like to see her if you think that would be okay."
"That'll be fine," he nodded. "I think visitors will be good for her. Just don't mention work until she asks you about it and then give her honest answers. If the lab is a little crazy, tell her. If we start lying to her, she'll know and it will make her even more anxious."
Bishop nodded. Thankfully, things were quiet around the Navy Yard at the moment. How much longer that would last, she did not know. Gibbs and Fornell spent the entire plane ride back from Florida two days earlier with their heads together planning and plotting something. When they returned to the office, they went directly to see Vance. After that, Curly had a special assignment and all talk of the drug case had stopped… at least as far as she knew.
oOoOoOo
A/N: More to come.
