During a routine stop before work at Elaine's Diner for a cup of joe one rainy morning, Jethro found himself in a situation that he'd never seen coming.
Just twenty-four hours earlier, the MCRT had caught a case. The body of a dead petty officer, Janet McCaffrey, was found onboard the U.S.S Gentry which was in dry dock for repair. While Jethro's team was at the crime scene, Ziva noticed another blood trail which led to yet another body; alive but just barely. The ship only had a skeleton crew currently which helped limit the number of suspects, if nothing else.
They'd quickly that the victim had two recent deposits to her bank account over three thousand dollars. That definitely raised suspicions. The other injured man found on the ship, Peter Germaine, was a civilian. They'd also found out that not all of the sensitive information had been removed from the ship like it should have been making treason seem more and more like a probable motive.
Apparently, the Chinese were also involved in the mess. And it was treason, but forced treason. Michael Rose was a single father to a seventeen-year-old son. The man was facing foreclosure on his home and so out of desperation Michael Rose contacted the Chinese embassy before going off the grid. His son, Stephen, was currently applying to colleges and Michael was going to sell the information in order to secure Stephen's future. At the last moment, he realized how vital the information was and couldn't do it, so he attacked those he was supposed to give the information to and then went into hiding. It took Stephen to draw him out.
He walked into the conference room to find Stephen standing by the window waiting to speak with him about his father's situation. "Stephen. Go."
"And my dad?" the teenager asked. "Can't you help him?"
Jethro sighed. He felt for the teenager and could sympathize slightly with Michael, but this really wasn't a situation that Jethro could stick his neck out on. He couldn't sweep it under the rug and put that on his team.
"You talked to my father," the teenage boy stated. "You can see the kind of man he is. He was just trying to do what's right."
"He killed two people," Jethro noted. "Nothing right about that."
The teenager didn't miss a beat when it came to defending his father. "Good people do things sometimes. Irrational things. Things that just don't make sense." Jethro had to agree with that. "You won't help him, will you?"
Jethro didn't reply. He felt for the kid, but his hands were tied.
Stephen walked up to him. "It's your decision, Agent Gibbs." With that last comment, the teenage boy walked out of the conference room.
He went home twenty minutes later and didn't think much of it. The case was closed and there was no use dwelling on what-ifs after all. Michael made his choice and now had to live with the consequences. Rule #11: When the job is done, walk away.
So, the very next morning, noting that it looked as though it was going to be snowing for most of the day, Jethro went about his usual routine, stopping at the diner to grab his standard black coffee.
Getting out of his old pickup truck, he spotted a couple that he knew from work who were making their way out of the diner. "Morning, Gladys. Colonel. Stay warm."
The pair smiled over at him quickly as they walked by before continuing on their way to get out of the less-than-ideal weather.
He walked into the diner and right up to the counter. "Morning, Elaine."
Elaine gave him a small smile. "Hey, Gibbs. You missed one hell of an accident."
He'd noticed the first responders while he was en route. "A semi, huh?"
"Yeah," Elaine confirmed as she poured and handed him half a cup of coffee. "Driver fell asleep. Beat up his rig pretty bad."
"Well," he commented, "at least he's alive."
The waitress smiled at him. "True. How's the grandkid?"
After a sip of the coffee, Jethro gave a happy little hum in response. "Seven weeks old and she's growing like a weed."
Elaine chuckled. "Sounds about right. Just the coffee?"
He nodded his head. "Yes, Ma'am."
She gestured to the cup of joe in his hand. "Finish that. I'll brew you fresh to go."
He smiled at the waitress as she turned around. "You're too good to me, Elaine."
She turned back slightly and gave him a teasing look. "Someone's gotta help that wife of yours keep you out of trouble, that's all."
He laughed before taking another sip of his coffee.
And that's the exact moment when the veteran agent found himself in a situation that he'd never seen coming. Staring down the barrel of a gun in the middle of the diner.
Jethro quickly drew his weapon as he turned to face the assailant. He quickly assessed his rather limited options, not wanting any of the civilians that were there in the diner with him to get hurt. The person holding the revolver was dressed in black sweatpants and a black hoodie. "Federal agent. Put it down."
Given how erratic the man seemed to be, Jethro was honestly scared. With having to be mindful of the civilians around him, his options were limited and he was more than likely going to be shot.
Still, Jethro didn't pull the trigger, a million things running through his mind as he stood there. The gunman, however, did fire. Jethro took a hit at the top of his right shoulder and immediately flinched from the pain. The veteran agent raised his weapon again, gritting his teeth against the pain. "Stephen." Jethro lowered his weapon once more and Stephen followed suit. Two men who were also regulars and had been sitting nearby then tackled the teenage boy into a booth a couple of feet away, safely securing the kid's weapon.
The teenager started sobbing. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
How the hell did we get here? Jethro then grabbed his right shoulder and grimaced. He could already feel the blood soaking through his shirt and onto his hand.
Jethro heard himself let out a painful moan. The combat veteran had a pretty high pain tolerance but his right shoulder was bothering him more and more by the minute.
"Help's coming," he heard one of the kitchen staff say as Elaine made her way over to Jethro to see how he was doing now that the situation was under control.
The waitress handed him a dishtowel. "Here, Gibbs. Use this to apply pressure."
Jethro gave a little nod, taking the dishtowel from her. He winced slightly as he began applying pressure to the gunshot wound.
Elaine was helping him stem the bleeding when he moved to sit up. "Careful, Gibbs!" the waitress remarked. "You don't want to aggravate it."
She had a point, as his shoulder definitely didn't appreciate him moving it. "It can wait," he said determinedly as he tried to get to his feet.
Elaine reluctantly helped Jethro to his feet, noting the look of discomfort that crossed his face. "Take a minute. Get your bearings."
It didn't take long before Metro Detective Sportelli and his partner both showed up to the scene along with an ambulance following close behind.
After Jethro was given some medical attention from the paramedics on scene, he gave his statement to the responding officers, refusing to go to the hospital over something that he felt he was fully capable of handling.
Jethro should've known though that Detective Sportelli wasn't going to let the issue go without a fight. The man wasn't built for backing down. Nor was Elaine who in the end was the one to win the little battle of wills.
Less than thrilled, Jethro allowed himself to be transported by ambulance to George Washington University Hospital to get an x-ray and such done to help assure that he didn't end up with any permanent damage from getting shot.
Thankfully, the doctor who treated him didn't expect there to be any complications or any lasting issues from that morning's shooting. It was a through and through and the bullet had missed the subclavian artery, which fed the brachial artery, and the brachial plexus, the large nerve bundle that controlled arm function. The doctor did, however, prescribe him some painkillers, gave him some cleaning instructions, and told Jethro to have his arm in a sling for at least four weeks. At which time, the doctor wanted to have a follow-up appointment with him.
He gave the man a pointed look. "This ain't my first rodeo, Doc. I'm good."
The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Be that as it may, Gibbs, I still want you back in here so we can make sure that shoulder of yours is healing as it should."
Jethro scoffed in response but then conceded. "Fine."
He wasn't thrilled but was immediately glad that there wasn't any permanent damage expected. That was the last thing Jethro wanted.
He called into work and filled the director in, being ordered to take the rest of the day off. His father-in-law Mac had, thankfully, picked Jethro up from the hospital and drove him home. He was well aware that his father-in-law could probably think of way better ways to spend his time on his birthday, but still the man hadn't hesitated to give him a hand. Stacy and Wayne Erickson then agreed to grab his truck from the diner for him, which was a huge help as well.
He turned to his neighbours. "Thanks for the help, you two."
"Of course," Stacy said. "We're just glad you actually asked for help."
"Yeah," Wayne easily agreed. "Normally we have to basically shove the help down your throat before you'll take it."
He shook his head in fond exasperation. "That's dramatic."
Wayne shot him a pointed look. "No, that's accurate."
Stacy snickered at her husband's comment. "My other half's got a valid point."
Jethro rolled his eyes and then his attention was pulled to something off to the side. It would seem that someone had filled his wife in on the morning's events, given the car that was now pulling into the driveway.
Jumping out of her car faster than he would've credited her with, Shannon rushed over to him. "Jethro!" She threw her arms around Jethro, being careful to not aggravate his shoulder when she did so. Even then, it felt as though the redhead couldn't get Jethro into her hold fast enough.
He tried his best to return the hug and reassure her. The problem was he couldn't use both his arms like he wanted to. "I'm fine," he murmured. "Shan, I'm fine."
"You idiot," she replied. "You dumb, brave, idiot."
He kissed her on the forehead. "I'm fine," he reiterated. "I'm right here."
Getting shot by the seventeen-year-old kid while waiting for a coffee. That was one hell of a way to kick off the day.
